I suppose it’s incumbent upon me to state clearly that I do understand that a lazy and fearful person like me is unlikely to plunge into newness and adventure, no matter how alluring the topic or event. Not that you didn’t already know this about me from any number of previous confessions and revelations in a related vein. Yet while my lack of courage and spirit will undoubtedly hound me for the rest of my days, I’m happy to report that I still manage to grow and change over time, if perhaps more slowly and accidentally than others do so.
The ancient adage that ‘you can’t teach an old dog new tricks’ is ridiculously pessimistic, if you ask me. I’ve known plenty of senior citizens to avidly pursue and conquer all sorts of new skills and knowledge, and I’m working my way toward being a bit of a Grandma Moses myself, being ever hopeful that at least by the time I hit my eighties I might also hit my stride in whatever turns out to be my life’s calling. But beyond vocation or avocation, that tired and cynical aphorism also assumes that we can’t just continue to better ourselves once we hit a mythical age barrier. What an unpleasant and unproductive idea!
I much prefer the concept of discovering what we are capable of learning, accomplishing and enjoying for the first time (or anew) and embracing it at whatever pace suits us. While others are busy jumping through hoops of flame and running obstacle courses and playing catch with other dogged devotees of the disc, if all I can do is learn to Sit Up and Beg, then at least I’ll get some handouts from wiser, more talented and skilled beings. Could be downright fun, and I’ll lap it right up I’m sure. It certainly beats sticking forever to the one trick I’ve known best since my youth, Rolling Over and Playing Dead.
Tag Archives: hound
A-Hunting We *All* Go
The Blue Lacy
He’s of a faithful breed, my dog, a hunting hound, a clever beast,
a lean and hungry Cassius, but faithful all the same–
He races me to the rotting log and runs to ground the boar at feast
who’ll soon be ours–Alas for us, the boar knows his Wild Game!
He lunges up in fear and rage: his tusks are aiming for my throat,
and I have tripped into my grave on roots as strong as sin–
But Blue has taken center stage, leaps on the boar’s mad, bristly coat,
gives me the breath my knife to save, hangs on as it plunges in–
The boar falls back with a bloody scream but turns on me his fiery glare,
and then, in an instant, strikes once more, for he means my dog to die–
I yank the roots, trip him into the stream! and Blue and I tear away from there–
and we relish our supper of beans–no boar–my faithful hound and I.