Humans spend a lot of time tapping their fingers on little keys or moving their hands across lit screens. Lots. Of. Time. I guess they like doing that or they have to do it, or they just can’t help themselves. At times I think they need a break.
Like the other day in our office. (I mean Steve’s office.) He had been hammering on those keys for a long time, and I think it got to him. We were by ourselves. At first, I heard him say a few words quietly to himself. Then a few more—with more volume. He seemed to be banging on the keys faster and harder. And speaking louder. Like he was woofing at himself. I could sense that he was agitated. At other times when he seemed a bit stressed, I stood beside his chair and placed my head on his leg. He stops banging on those little keys, looks down at me, and smiles. I can see and sense that he has taken a breath.
Who could resist these big brown eyes? IMHCO: In My Humble Canine Opinion.
But on this particular day, I felt he needed more. I sat next to him and extended my paw to rest on his leg. That must’ve worked like a belly rub does for me. He stopped, turned, and gave me a hug. And then we went for a walk.
Extending a paw. Sometimes that’s all it takes to help someone through a trying time. No woofing required.
Who can you give comfort to today?
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Previously posted on The Growth and Resilience Network® on November 11, 2020
WOOF!
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I invested 33-fulfilling years of my life as a classroom teacher. Starting with 7th-grade students and ending with college students. Along the way, I have written thirteen (published) books, written and recorded two music CDs, have written an upbeat blog since May of 2010, produced a monthly podcast channel (for five years), and created original videos for my YouTube channel (for more than a decade). I have had the pleasure and honor to deliver keynote talks and workshop facilitations in every region of the United States. I recently completed the manuscript for my first novel and am currently seeking representation for that work.
One of my community service activities sees me working with the Baptist Medical Center Beaches Pet Therapy Program. This worthwhile service brings smiles and comfort to staff, patients, and family members.
Why do I do what I do? Conversation (true dialogue) has become a lost art. Collective monologues have taken center stage. Authentic questions about the person in front of us have given way to either diatribes or inarticulate silence. I believe to build community we must have meaningful, at times difficult, and yet respectful conversations about people, places, and purpose. Before we can do that, we must see the person in front of us.
