Adrian Barich: How do you want to live your life? The answer for me is simple, and it has a wagging tail

How do you want to live your life? It’s a question I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. Not in a big, philosophical sense. More in the little everyday moments that become your life before you know it.

And oddly enough, I think for some of us the answer is partly related to the word dog.

Call me Perth’s Ricky Gervais if you like, but I absolutely love dogs.

St. Francis of Assisi called animals our brothers and sisters. Ricky Gervais says dogs are magical. I’m not sure who’s right, but I do know this: Whenever Frank, my Cavalier cross French bulldog, greets me at the front door, his tail bangs against the wall as if I’ve been away for years rather than half a day, it sounds like they’re both up to something.

Gervais also said that he would rather have a dog than a sports car, a mansion or a fortune, and I think I can agree with that comment. If someone asked me to list the most amazing creations, dogs would be at the top.

Their only flaw? They don’t live long enough. As Gervais famously put it, one dog gives you a hundred wonderful days, followed by one heartbreaking day.

Every dog ​​lover reading this knows exactly what I mean. My Frank has completely memorized the sound of my car, and before I even turn the key, I can see him waiting with his nose pressed against the stained glass panel of our front door.

I hope not. I know he somehow recognized my footsteps before I even reached the porch. Sometimes I wonder if dogs not only hear us, but also feel us.

I watch Frank closely and he seems quieter on days when I’m tired. On the days when I’m happy, he somehow shares it. When life gets a little stressful, he sits a little closer.

And guess what, he never asks what the problem is. It’s just there.

I’ve always thought one of the greatest lessons dogs teach us is how to live in the present moment. Every hike is the greatest adventure they’ve ever had.

It doesn’t matter if it’s the same street you’ve walked down every morning for the last five years. There are new scents. New messages left by other dogs.

A different breeze. A different bird. And most importantly, they walk (is that the right word?) next to the person they love.

Imagine approaching each day with this excitement. Imagine finding true joy in ordinary things.

A walk, a sunrise, a familiar face, a game in the backyard. While dogs remind us that life is mostly about the little things, we are forever chasing the next big thing. Let’s follow Frank’s lead.

Measuring love in moments, not years. One day he won’t be waiting behind that front door anymore. The stains on the stained glass will disappear.

That’s the price of loving a dog, and I guess that’s the price of loving anyone.

Yet the memories remain, and I truly believe that when another dog comes into your life in some way, you find something of the old dog in the new dog. You just need to look closely.

People often say they worry that another dog will never replace the dog they lost. They are right. It’s not like that, but I believe something truly beautiful is being conveyed.

Not the same personality or the same habits, but a feeling. Just a reminder. It’s almost as if every dog ​​leaves a piece of themselves behind that will help you bond with the next one.

So hug them a little longer, scratch them behind their ears for another minute. Throw the tennis ball one more time, walk a little slower. Put your phone away, Barra!

Be there, because you are everything to them. You are their routine, their safe place, their family, their entire world.

For many people, dogs are much more than a friend, they are a reason to get out of bed.

A reason to go for a walk, someone to come home to. Isn’t it great that dogs aren’t prejudiced? They don’t care how much money you make, who you voted for, what car you drive, or whether you had the worst day of your life. They don’t ask you to explain yourself (even though you often do). They don’t tell you to “Go Boomer.” They sit with you until you are ready.

Anyone who has laid their hand on the head of a faithful dog during a difficult time knows that there is something deeply calming about their presence.

Maybe that’s why so many rescue dogs save people. We like to think we saved them, but sometimes I think they saved us.

So when people ask me how I want to live my life, the answer isn’t that complicated. I want my family to be around me. Friends. Aim. Swimming in the ocean. A little laughter. And somewhere in the house, a dog waiting at the front door believed I was gone for good when I only went out to check the mail. It’s a pretty good life if you ask me.

Next week I want to explore another little philosophy that has become one of my favorites. It starts with six simple words: You will never regret swimming.