The Tao of Gio #1: Bow-Wow Now

Gio is the inimitable Shih-Tzu with whom I have lived for the past two years. We’re sliding comfortably into the beginning of our third year together. Towards the dusk of a day, when the sun edges its way over the surrounding apartment buildings, I sometimes reflect on how I better understand his personality, quirks, fears, and sense of humor (yes, dogs do have a sense of humor). I also see a dog with an indomitable spirit. All this engenders in me a growing admiration for the cute little guy. I’ve learned many valuable lessons from him, and continue to do so.

For instance, Gio is a peerless example of what it would be like to live a life that is in the Now. He lives on the cusp of what it is to truly be present and mindful of the moment. There might be memories of the past zipping around in his head, but he doesn’t live there. There might be a hope for a treat in the future, but he doesn’t dwell in that spacetime either.

It might sound obtuse and a bit overtly anthropomorphic trying to relate some kind of zen-like spiritual attitude that I want to embrace through the use of dog as metaphor, but Gio truly is the perfect example of a Buddha presence. When he wants to play, he plays fearlessly. When he eats, he does so with determination and joy. When he naps, he sleeps unabashedly.

The added spice comes from the little touch of evil that lives somewhere in the recesses beneath the hair that covers every inch of his body. Gio is definitely not the dim-witted, irrevocably happy, slobbering dog you might see at the beach or park that obeys all commands and is under the thumb of its master. The little touch of evil makes him more interesting; it’s an added dimension of his personality.

Because he always lives in the present, if he doesn’t want to be picked up he will let me know with a little nip at my fingers. If he doesn’t want to play, he’ll simply lie down and look up at me with soulful eyes that say, “Not now, bucko,” and ignore the toy I’ve just flung across the room for him to fetch. If he’s underneath the table, I’ve learned it’s better not to reach for him, unless I don’t mind him making a snack out of my hand. He’s very expressive in many ways. Apparently dogs have a plentitude of facial expressions, most of which come from their ears. Gio’s ears can tell me a lot if I decide to sit back and take notice.

Gio never compromises himself to the past or future. Whether he’s in a good mood, a tempestuous one, or is having a sullen day, that’s who he is – then, there, Now.

If there is reincarnation, I want to come back as a puppy like Gio and have a brief life by earth standards, but one that’s rich in living in the moment. I have glimpses of living in the Now, but don’t truly know what it would be like to be present every second. It’s a constant practice and something I work on every day, and thank Buddha Gio’s there in the morning when I wake up, lying next to me, licking my face so he can get his breakfast, because that’s all that’s on his mind.