It’s Not About the Dog

It’s Not About the Dog

This morning, I went out for a walk. The crisp air and soft flurries touching my face were more invigorating than the two cups of coffee I’d had earlier. As I strolled, I admired the bare trees, their quiet stillness unbothered by the gloom of winter. Birds chirped softly, seemingly indifferent to the chill. Nature, in its endless cycles, simply is—never longing, never comparing. A bare tree in the biting New York winter doesn’t envy the lush palms of the South or the steadfast pines nearby. That is just the human mind projecting its stories and illusions of reality.

As I walked, pondering awareness and the nature of consciousness, a woman passed by with a teacup poodle. I stopped in my tracks. The dog was identical to Dixy, the one my daughter Alexa had when she was young. The same breed, size, color, haircut—even the leash was eerily similar. The dog barked happily and jumped up and down, just as Dixy used to when I came home.

I knelt, holding out my hand. She stopped and looked at me, her small, sparkly black eyes locking with mine. In that moment, something deep stirred within me. My circuits fired, memories rewired, and before I knew it, tears filled my eyes.

I greeted the owner and let her go on her way, but the encounter stayed with me. My circuits continued to buzz, tears streaming down my face. “God, I miss Dixy,” caught in my thought. But then, a deeper question arose: What do I really miss?

It wasn’t Dixy herself—not exactly. A smirk tugged at my lips as I wiped my cheeks. The dog wasn’t the source of my emotions; she was a trigger. It wasn’t about this dog or even Dixy. It was about the feelings, the memories, and the emotions she represented.

The longing wasn’t for the dog but for the emotions I associated with her—the unconditional love she gave, the joy of walking her, the care I showed in buying her coats for winter, the meals I prepared for her. It wasn’t Dixy I missed; it was the experience of those emotions, now absent.

I once read that when a dog stares into your eyes, it’s their way of hugging. In that gaze, I felt a profound reflection of what I truly longed for: connection, love, and care. Yet, beneath that tender moment lay a deeper truth—a universal pattern of human emotion: our shared pursuit of happiness and the yearning for meaningful, loving experiences.

We unconsciously cling to what we’ve lost, not because of the thing itself but because of how it made us feel. It’s the emotions—love, joy, comfort—that we yearn for, believing they’re no longer ours.

But here’s the realization: those emotions never left. They live within us, waiting to be accessed, not through clinging to the past but through opening ourselves to the present.

The dog wasn’t just a dog. She was a reminder, a mirror reflecting the truth of human longing. It’s not about the dog; it’s about the journey within ourselves to find the love and connection we thought we lost—but have always had.