Because Dogs Live in the Present

　　“Do you want water? You can drink mine.” I indicate the glass of water I always keep on the nightstand.

　　Lily shakes her head no.

　　“I'm so sorry,” I say. “For all those other nights.”

　　“Wh-y-y-y-y?” The panting continues.

　　And this makes me cry even harder. All those nights she had no idea that I went to bed angry at her. Or if she had known, she has forgotten. Because dogs live in the present. Because dogs don’t hold grudges. Because dogs let go of all of their anger daily, hourly, and never let it fester. They absolve and forgive with each passing minute. Every turn of a corner is the opportunity for a clean slate. Every bounce of a ball brings joy and the promise of a fresh chase.

　　She wants to know why I'm sorry. I don't want to tell her about my anger. I don't want to tarnish my image in her eyes. Not now. Not with the octopus listening.

　　So when I respond, I lie.

　　“Because I'm going to have to give you a bath.”

Lily and the Octopus, P133-134
Steven Rowley
ISBN 978-1-5011-2622-2

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All of the Anger is Gone

　　I think of all the nights when Lily failed to pee on our bedtime walks. How much stress this would cause me. How difficult it was on those nights to fall asleep, to stay asleep, frustrated that I might have to take her to the yard in the darkness of predawn. So many arguments this caused between us. I always thought I knew better when it came to her needing to pee, but until this night she had never once actually wet the bed. And now that she has, we just lie there in the accident and the minutes on the clock keep changing and the love I have for her keeps growing and we both keep drawing breath.

　　What was so horrible about it?

　　Why had I always had been so angry?

　　What was with my need to be right? To win every argument with her? To outstubborn a dog?

　　And just like that, all of the anger is gone. Released, like the empty of a bladder, into soft cotton sheets as we lie in the wetness.

Lily and the Octopus, P133
Steven Rowley
ISBN 978-1-5011-2622-2

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Enclosed World Syndrome

　　As Lily aged and her reactions slowed and her eyesight became less crispy, Doogie's predecessor warned me that she might develop something he called Enclosed World Syndrome. I told him I hadn't heard of Enclosed World Syndrome, only New World Syndrome (the introduction of a modern, sedentary lifestyle to indigenous people, along with obesity, diabetes, and heart disease —— you're welcome, Native Americans.) I don't know if Enclosed World Syndrome is an official syndrome or something this vet made up, or who is even in charge of anointing syndromes officially. But Lily did rather quickly come to find comfort only in smaller and smaller concentric circles with our house at the center and, coincidentally, so did I. Or maybe Lily's aging coincide with the end of my relationship with Jeffrey and the stalling of my writing career. "How's Jeffrey?" "How's the writing going?" These were the questions that had irritated me to my core. Not because of their illegitimacy, but because I had no response. How was Jeffrey? We can't go two days without fighting. How was the writing? I haven't written anything in months. It became easier to avoid people than to have to explain that I was struggling. My Enclosed World Syndrome got a little better, partly out of necessity, when I became single again. Lily's never did.

Lily and the Octopus, P127-128
Steven Rowley
ISBN 978-1-5011-2622-2

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Stitch Together all the Gaps in Our Lives

　　To focus, I think of how dogs are witness. How they are present for our most private moments, how they are there when we think of ourselves as alone. They witness our quarrels, our tears, our struggles, our fears, and all of our secret behaviors that we have to hide from our fellow humans. They witness without judgment. There was a book once about a man who tried to teach his dog to speak a human language to help him solve his wife's murder. It said that if dogs could tell us all they have seen, it would magically stitch together all the gaps in our lives. I try to witness this moment how a dog would witness it. To take it all in. For the rest of my family, this wedding will be a gap in their lives, and I need to do my best to fill it.

Lily and the Octopus, P80
Steven Rowley
ISBN 978-1-5011-2622-2

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For I am a God

　　Someone once said give a dog food and shelter and treats and they think you are a god, but give a cat the same they think they are god.

　　We shared the rest of that ice-cream cone, for I am a god.

Lily and the Octopus, P36
Steven Rowley
ISBN 978-1-5011-2622-2

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There were no Limits

　　In my twenties, I had another terrible therapist (therapists!) who concluded that since my mother never says “I love you” (at least not in the same way that other mothers do), there was going to be a limit to my ability to feel love. Love for someone, loved by someone. I was limited. And then on the very last night of my twenties, when I held my new puppy in my arms. I broke down in tears. Because I had fallen in love. Not in a limited amount. I fell fully in love with the creature I had known for all of nine hours.

　　I remember Lily licking the tears from my face.

　　THIS! EYE! RAIN! YOU! MAKE! IS! FANTASTIC! I! LOVE! THE! SALTY! TASTE! YOU! SHOULD! MAKE! THIS! EVERY! DAY!

　　The realization was overwhelming —— there was nothing wrong with me! There were no limits to what I could feel!

Lily and the Octopus, P22
Steven Rowley
ISBN 978-1-5011-2622-2

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