My dog may have saved me from a bad situation recently.
As anyone with a pair of lungs can tell you, the fires on the west coast have been filling great swaths of the US with clouds of smoke recently. Here in southwest Wyoming, you can hardly see the mountains some days, which is a rarity here. Being an asthmatic, that isn’t exactly a fun-filled time for me.
Yes, there is a writing lesson behind this story, bear with me.
Still, I’m not bothered by it every day, and now that the weather is cooling off enough for it I’ve been trying to start walking the dog more regularly. So a couple weeks ago, I dutifully got out Andy’s harness to take him for our morning stroll.
Andy and I have a system where, after I take the harness and leash off their hook, he scampers around in a butt jiggly manner and then runs to the couch where I don’t have to bend as much to get it on him.
That particular day, though, after I took the harness and leash down, Andy ran to the living room but refused to get on the couch. As in, he flat out wouldn’t even go near the thing. My patting the cushions and encouraging him to jump up earned me a whine and a backing away.
Several minutes of approaching with the harness and gentle encouragement got the message across.
“Uh-uh. No walk. Not today, dad. No way, no how.”
Not being in the habit of forcing my dog to do things he doesn’t want to do unless those things are necessities like grooming or vet visits, I acquiesced and he took his morning exercise in the form of a vigorous game of indoor fetch. Soon after I headed off to work.
I almost didn’t make it there.
Having not yet been outside that day, I didn’t realize how thick the smoke was. I started hacking within minutes of being on the road. Uncontrollable, deep-chested coughs, each leaving me more breathless than the last.
Despite that, I made it to work and got inside. I used my inhaler, took some tea, and eventually managed to get the attack under control. As a precaution, I asked my parents to go check on Andy that day so I wouldn’t have to leave the building for lunch.
I couldn’t help thinking what might have happened if Andy had agreed to go walk with me that morning. Would I have realized the smoke was too thick and gone back in right away? Or would the symptoms have taken longer to come on, as they sometimes do in certain types of smoke, and I may have been at the park far from any help when the attack hit? Either way, I owe my little guy a debt of gratitude for putting his foot down that morning.
You’re likely wondering how the promised writing lesson fits into all this. The reason this story occurred to me when I sat down to blog is that I’ve been known to beat my head against the wall when writing.
Not literally, but in the form of continuing to work well past the point when I should stop.
I’m sure you’re all familiar with this phenomenon. You’ve gotten so much done that day you’ve exhausted the creative well, but can’t help but want to keep pushing and produce even more. Though your brain screams at you to stop and let it rest, you keep plowing ahead, heedless of the coming burnout you’re setting yourself up for if you don’t rein yourself in. I don’t know about you, but when I do this it invariably leads to a bunch of writing I have to delete and/or replace later on.
Unfortunately, brains don’t always have the same kind of signals that lungs, and skin, and stomachs and other body parts do of letting us know that we need to stop what we’re doing and change course. Lungs can make you cough and hack to say, “Go inside and get us out of this smoke!” Brains’ signals aren’t always that obvious.
Still, I’ve found myself listening to my brain’s signals more closely of late thanks to Andy. I think it will be good self-care, and good for my writing as well.
Canine Writing Lesson #7: He who walks in the smoke is a silly person. Stay inside until the smoke has cleared.
Human Translation: When your brain or body (or dog) sends you signals that its time to stop, or change directions, listen. It’s for your own good.
