Story 10: Zen and the Art of Not-Begging

I was mentally conflicted about which story to post today, but it kind of just came to me in a moment of...um...zen. As the previous nine stories have clearly introduced wonderful (and maybe not-so-wonderful) qualities of my dearly departed companion, I think the tenth story should address nothing. I am not trying to make this like an episode of Seinfeld, but I am talking about a higher level of nothing...where Laika just sat and existed...and waited for treats!

I was a child who had a desire for many things, and certainly did my fair share of nagging. This is probably similar behavior to many furry friends that vocally express interest and or actively beg for treats from their caretakers. As a former shelter volunteer, many dogs I would walk or play with would immediately ask for treats that they knew I had. Their body-language and vocalization would make it completely obvious. Laika, obviously, was not normal in this way.

As already illustrated in my stories and letter to her, she was quite active in trying to get food for herself, whether creating her own buffet on the table or howling when she was hungry for a full meal. Treats and trying to get "people food," as I have heard others call it, was a completely different game for Laika. She would rarely actively ask for treats. I think she might have been some sort of yogi (as evidenced by her role of teacher and meditation buddy), because she had somehow perfected the Art of Not-Begging.

I will now explain what I mean. When Laika was told that she was getting a treat, she would, of course, get really excited and wag her tail; pretty much running full-speed, body wiggling and wide smile to get it. However, if she heard the rustling of a bag, opening of any food container or the sound of crunchy food being eaten, she would sort of appear quietly near my feet. She would then sit perfectly still, looking at the ground about a foot in front of her. This would continue when I would try to make eye contact, but once in a while, she would steal a peak at her targeted treat. If I were sitting at the table eating, she would slyly position herself sitting next to my chair, back turned toward me, eyes fixed on the ground. It were as if she was waiting in a trance.

Although she obviously desired the treat, she never actually begged for it. Even if it was something she loved, like an apple, she would pretty much do the same thing, but it might involve a little more staring and maybe some actual mouth-watering. Still, she would just simply present herself as a possibility of a treat recipient. Given Laika's endless energy and drive to fulfill her needs/wants, I found this practice very zen-like in that she was being empty and still at a time when she was obviously very excited. Obviously, she would usually get part of what was being eaten, but it never affected her non-action of not-begging.

My friends and previous roommates marveled at this ability. Laika managed to turn her existence into a means of begging. But, at the same time, it was pretty much as anti-begging as it gets with hungrier-than-thou pups. In fact, given her insane reaction at mealtimes (as I will get to in a later story), it made her approach to treats all the more puzzling. Honetly, though, I think Laika's Art of Not-Begging probably made all of us give her even more treats. Because, while we knew she wanted to try what we were eating, she somehow presented herself devoid of that desire. I think this approach has worked at various points in my life, but, unfortunately, I am not a perfected being in this art. Laika was a true master, operating, again, on a higher plane.