Walking with George — by Sofía Vélez-CalderónI had never been good at practicing mindfulness, or being mindful—period—until I got a dog. Observing your breath, extolled as the surefire way to become present, left me in such a deep state of hyperventilation I quickly wanted a break from taking a break. I was in constant, anxious movement, starting projects but never finishing them, leaving things halfway done, forgetting items, moving from one thing to the next, constantly apprehensive.
But then I got George Lucas: a miniature schnauzer that was the doppelgänger of the Star Wars director, down to the salt-and-pepper beard and pensive dark eyes. On our first walks I wanted to rush, but this was anathema to him. Every object needed to be smelled, taken in, mulled over, considered. Some needed to be thoroughly investigated for long stretches at a time, as if he were taking notes for a PhD thesis. I was forced to slow down for the sake of my dog; otherwise he wouldn’t enjoy his walks, and I didn’t want to spoil them for him.
So two whole new worlds opened up before me, worlds I didn’t know existed because my anxiety had prevented me from discovering them. During those walks, I had to completely focus my attention and energy on Lucas’s methodical walking mode and on what he found curious. I became aware of what the Japanese haiku poet Basho called the “cricket musician” and the coquís, the tiny tree frogs that are native to Puerto Rico and croak a high-pitched “coh-kee” sound to attract mates. I would quietly observe Lucas investigating fire hydrants and helechos (ferns) for the perfect place to leave a peemail. These investigations took time, and they would make me focus even more on our surroundings: I noticed the snail gliding peacefully toward a leaf, the lonely ant dutifully carrying a breadcrumb back to his people; the scary buzzing of an escarabajo (scarab) flying slowly and clumsily towards an uncertain destination, which often turned out to be my hair; the zorzal pardo (pearly-eyed thrasher) singing his questioning song; the quiquiriquí anthem of the neighbor’s rooster; the fire truck’s siren which Lucas would join in enthusiastic harmony.
As a result of these walks I became aware and fully present to the worlds of Nature and the City, very attuned to my surroundings, particularly sights and sounds. I would view the world from Lucas’s perspective, discovering flowers that he found interesting and sounds that made his ears twitch independently of each other as he zeroed in like a radar on their source.
https://parabola.org/2020/06/08/walking-with-george/
