Mediation ... and Zena

Today Dad said I was particularly fiendish. He kept trying to get me to settle and nap. He tried all the usual things, but nothing worked. We had a walk, and I peed. I didn’t poo: I didn’t need to (I didn’t need #2). Dad says a commonly overlooked reason puppies my age get on human’s nerves (they consider us possessed even), is that we need to poo but don’t know how to communicate that to people.

Dad is so dumb. I know how to communicate. But we’re just getting to know each other. We’ve been together for five days. I don’t want to talk to him about my poo! It’s embarrassing. It’s bad enough that he watches me when I go (not to mention what he does with those bags).

But that wasn’t the case this time, anyways. I tried to tell him so, but he thought I was full of crap. Nope, I was empty of crap.

He tried getting me to nap in my pen. I nap well in that pen now, but not today, that wasn’t it. I settled in the pen, but just pouted. When dad finally got me out I sicked every one of my razor sharp puppy teeth on him Repeatedly. He deserved it.

So he took me outside again. I stopped right away and stared at my friend’s house. My friend’s name is Zena, dad misspelled it “Xena” when texting Zena’s mom. He hasn’t apologized yet … he says he second-guessed the spelling while typing it: both spellings are used, he says. Dad can be an idiot sometimes, mostly when talking to other humans.

Anyhow, I just sat there in the yard and stared at Zena’s house. No matter how much I stared, she just didn’t come out. Dad was getting impatient. It was hot out. But he thought sitting calmly in the grass was better than being gnawed on.

We had planned to sit out in the grass together today, but he called that off after he kept stopping me from eating the grass… and the dirt, and some rocks, a piece of mulch, a worm, and some other things dad couldn’t identify for me. I think he’s jealous: he’s too tall to eat all this stuff.

Anyhow, dad was happy I was calm. So he waited. He noted how I listened to the dog barking in the distance and the birds, and how I watched the clouds, and soaked in the sun. I don’t think he’s jealous. Even if you’re tall, you can enjoy these bits.

So we both sat and relaxed. Well I sat — dad stood. He should have brought his chair and book. He brought them out the time I was trying to teach him about eating the grass. Dads never learn.

Dad noted that puppies can be like I was earlier when they are “over-stimulated.” What a dumb word. We need stimulation; just different kinds. It’s all about where the focus is.

Dad says humans talk about people being too inwardly focused as being “in their heads.” Yet, you humans also think it’s bad to be “out of your mind” … you can be so picky.

But here we both were, calm, pondering, and reflective while we focused on the birds, and the clouds, and the dog in the distance. Were we too in our heads, or our of our minds? We were deep in thought while our focus was in the distance. I was not deep in thought when my focus was on the toys and the food bowl and the water dish, and everything else inside.

I was not deep in thought, I had only one thought: KILL! KILL! KILL!* I am Rascal, The Wire-Haired Terror!

Inside I was focused on what was near and my thoughts were shallow. Outside I focused on what was distant and my thoughts were deep. Maybe that’s just how brains work: The more distant our perspective, the more deep our thoughts.

Most of this was dad’s idea though. He went to some fancy school to study brains or something like that. He described this idea to me of depth of thought being inversely correlated with proximity of focus.

Yeah, those were the words he used “inversely correlated” and “proximity of focus.” Dad is such a nerd.

He should just say meditation is really far out.