Dogged Loyalty

I thought I learned my lesson with Old Yeller, Hooch and Marley & Me.  I thought I proved I can't handle anything even remotely dramatic, when it comes to animals - especially dogs.  But sadly, I got sucked into another tear-jerker of a dog film this afternoon. 


"Based on the 1987 Japanese film Hachiko Monogatari, as well as on a true story, Hachi: A Dog's Tale, stars Richard Gere as a college professor who finds an abandoned dog and takes the poor lost animal in. The film follows the two, 
as the man and animal soon form a strong and unexplainable bond."

          
It all seemed harmless to me.  How could watching a movie about "Man's Best Friend" actually becoming a man's best friend, be a bad way to spend a rainy Sunday?  How could two hours of canine comfort for the soul turn into an afternoon poorly spent?  Here's how:  My eyes are still swollen, my nose is still running, and my teeth still ache.  I can't stop thinking about the real Hachi, about the screen play, about that fact that this movie isn't just a movie at all.  I can't stop feeling this heart-wrenching anxiety, this unbearable sorrow, over an animal I've never met, over an Akita who was renowned to possess a kind of dogged loyalty I didn't even know existed.

Hachi is reliable, pure, inexplicably steadfast.  He walks Professor Parker to the train station every day, and then goes home to wait - meeting and greeting the people he sees along the way.  Each evening, he comes back, sits patiently, and watches for the Professor to exit the terminal.  He's greeted warmly by his teacher, by his savior, by this amazing family man, whose life was unexpectedly turned inside out and upside down, by a lost dog.  I cry.  And I can't stop crying.  What a beautiful story.  Dog and human, brought together by circumstance, kept together by recognition of an obvious attraction, merged by the dedication and loyalty each holds deep in his soul.


And then Professor Parker dies.  A heart attack strikes, mid-lecture, and he collapses to the floor.  The family comes looking for Hachi, and finds him waiting.  The trains go by - one, two, three.  He's confused, but he waits.  He's lost, yet he waits.  The family tries to pull him away, make him a home.  They move from the neighborhood, and take him along, welcoming him into their house.  Hachi follows the Professor's daughter and son-in-law reluctantly, but with every chance he gets, he escapes.  He returns to the station.  He goes back to the old house.  He waits, for the Professor to come home.


Finally, the Professor's daughter tells Hachi that she misses him too, that she understands, that she constantly thinks of her father - every day.  She says she loves Hachi, and she wants him to live with her, but if he needs to go - she understands.  She opens the gate, he licks her hand, and he leaves.  Back to the station.  Back to wait for Parker.  More tears.


The commitment Hachi shows is unlike anything I've ever witnessed.  He doesn't know the term "discouraged."  He doesn't know the word "good-bye." He only knows "patience, dedication, love."  Hachi exemplifies dogged loyalty.  Unwavering, unfaltering - for nine years, he returns to that station, day after day after day.  I'm without words.  My heart breaks for this dog, for this sentiment, for the realization that Hachi may never understand that Parker is NOT coming back.  And for finally understanding that it wouldn't matter if he knew.  He wouldn't care.  He'd sit and he'd wait - every day - just in case.  He'd accepted that role, and he planned to honor it, to the end.  That's what heroes do.  And that's why Hachi is special.


I cry, and I cry, and I cry.  I can't stop crying - considering this amazing expression of loyalty, wanting to be better than I am, knowing I've never come close to a commitment of this kind.  I cry hard, and I seek out my own dog, hoping to find comfort in her face.  She's laying in the guest bed, taking a nap, and when she hears me crying, she jumps to her feet.  She kisses me quickly and lovingly, addressing my sobs and tears.  She knows.  She feels my angst.  She shows genuine love and concern.


I often say, we can learn a lot from dogs - and I still think that's true.  Animals are real.  They do what they feel, and they believe in us, every day.  They stand by us, no matter what - and they live to keep doing it.  We don't ask them to stand guard, to kiss away our tears, to wait for us every day - but they do.  And they 
will.  They always, always will.

- L.

Fit for a Queen

Smiles by Stevens, Visit #4:  The Coronation  

Appointment with Dr. Shea Stevens, DMD.

Today was my final visit (crosses fingers) with Dr. Stevens.  And nothing against my 31 year old dental/mental miracle worker, but I'm hoping the next time I see him will only be in passing - after my newly "routine," 6 month cleaning with Tina.

During Visit #3, we embarked on a mission to excavate a damaged and badly decayed molar.  We hollowed out the filling, scraped away the decay, and exposed the remainder of the unaffected tooth - though little but the root remained.  And don't underestimate the strength of a root.  It's deep-seated, steadfast, unwavering.  Roots are like soldiers.  They dig in, anchor down, and refuse to let go.  It's rare for a root to crack - and I was happy to learn that mine had been able to withstand the pressure.  In all honesty, I wasn't quite sure they were capable of holding up.

Had I needed a Root Canal, I would have accepted it.  Doc Stevens explained that they simply extract the nerve pulp from the root, seal it off, and the pain is gone.  But imagining that process is painful in itself.  The vision of the nerves, clinging to their roots, fighting to stay entrenched in the comfort zone they've come to know as home.  And what then?  When the pulp is removed and dies off, the root is filled and sealed.  The pain is gone, but what remains?  The root has nothing left to fight for.

Maybe this procedure is genius in the dental world.  Root Canal = Instant Pain Relief.  The tooth keeps on chewing, goes on functioning, nothing is lost.  But what about a mental root canal?  What happens when the pain that plagues us is so deep that it lives in the very pulp within our roots?  What happens when that vulnerable pulp is who we are?  We can't extract it, and move on.  We can't seal it off, and continue to chew on life's lessons.  Close that off, and we cease to function.

And let's face it - everyone needs a little anesthetic once in a while.  People choose different ways to fill their voids, to shut out the noise, to numb the sensations when they get to be too much.  No one has infallible roots; no one gets by without a little self-protection.  And when do we fall into the trap?  When does self-protection become too isolating?  When does protection start extracting the pulp, and sealing us off?  When do these anesthetizing habits become debilitating, and force us into a life of going through the motions?  Chew, chew, chew.....

And the truth is, it's a fine line.  And it's a blurry line.  I'm not sure we recognize the point when self-love turns to numbing out, to avoidance, to negating the self.  I think we have the best intentions.  We're just trying to be soldiers, rooted and honorable and true to ourselves.  We're just trying to do the best we can.  And I think there comes a point when we recognize that we aren't going about things the right way - that the defense mechanisms we've built for ourselves are closing in around us.  I think we're befuddled when our choices seem to backfire, when our coping agents turn around and attack us.  We're disarmed, and we don't quite know how to fight back.

We lean back on our roots.  We hope they're strong enough and capable enough to withstand the pressure.  So, I went to Dr. Stevens today, proud of my roots, and ready to be crowned.  I went, anxious to shed the temporary casing - grateful for the perfectly molded fortress coming my way.  In 30 minutes, the temp was gone, the future was in place, and I felt like me again - whole and safe and protected - roots and pulp still intact.

And as I bit down on some gauze, cementing the crown, Doc Stevens gave me some solid advice:  Don't eat for an hour.  Rinse with salt water.  Gradually reintroduce chewing.  Don't eat caramel, taffy or anything tacky.  When you floss, pull through - not up and down.  In essence, go easy on the crown.  It's permanent, it's solid, it's built for protection.  The crown will do it's job - but don't make that job harder.  Leave room for a little weakness.  Don't invite unrest.  When rehabilitation is working it's magic, sit back and watch it take shape.  Don't question the illusion, don't poke holes in the beauty, don't break it down.  When you're healing, dentally and mentally, go easy on yourself.  Don't move too fast.  Don't bite off more than you can chew.  Don't test yourself.  Trust the process.  Trust your roots.  They're stronger than you think, and they'll fight for you.

- L.