My Dog, a Rabbit, and the Stranger
Hi All,
It’s been a tough week. How are you?
I am one of the many across America (and the world) who is brokenhearted by the election results. The line I’ve most regularly used is that while I’m not surprised by the results, I am in a state of shock. So, I don’t have too much to offer right now as I give myself the time I need to process, but I did have something happen to me recently while with my dog that keeps replaying in my mind and I want to share. It’s a small moment, but for me symbolic.
You see, I have one of the best dogs in the world (says every dog owner ever). Her name is Shiva (like the Hindu god) and she is a potcake, which is a mutt breed from down in the Bahamas. She’s my little Hanukkah puppy that came to me on Christmas Eve in 2020. She’s my companion, my best friend, and my helper. I suffer with quite a bit of PTSD from my husband dying suddenly all those years ago and Shiva has come into my life as a source of calm and perspective.
But, she also has her quirks. She is incredibly friendly, but picky about her interactions and sensitive to her introductions. She can’t be off leash because she has little-to-no food motivation and excels at the game “you can’t catch me.” And she loves a critter. Squirrels are her daily entertainment, but really it’s a rabbit that makes her little doggie brain go insane.
Every night before bed, I take her outside to the bathroom. We walk through the parking lot we share with our neighbors to a little slice of grass we share with the local fire station. And sometimes, just sometimes, there is a rabbit on that grass. Shiva’s eyesight is wild. In the dark, amongst the dried leaves many dozens of feet away, she’ll spot one. She’ll run towards it shrieking and yanking the leash. And when I say shriek, I mean shriek. It’s not a bark, but rather a high-pitched cry that stretches over many seconds and lingers in the air.
And every night, when I take her out, I do the thing that many women who live in an urban area do; I scan the area and make sure there are no shadowy figures lurking for me in the dark. I check in with my fears and hope that tonight isn’t the night I get attacked. I know I’m not alone in having these morbid thoughts.
A few weeks ago, I took Shiva out and she spotted a rabbit and began her shrieking, which made it run away and escape her gaze. As she sniffed the ground furiously trying to find it, a man on a bike rode up and asked if everything was okay. He wore a helmet with a flashing light and had a vibe that suggested he had a pant leg tucked into his sock: harmless. But, my brain quickly went into protective mode. My female instincts to fear the stranger in the dark kicked in. I dismissed his question with a tone of suspicion; his presence was a perceived threat. I said things were fine. He said okay and rode off.
After getting back inside, it took a few minutes to realize that this kind person heard a dramatic yelp from my direction and came to help. My feelings of suspicion collapsed into a deep embarrassment and worry for my own response to the world around me. This man, whose face I couldn’t see, is the neighbor we all want and need. He rerouted because he heard the cry of a stranger (or in this case, a dog) in distress.
I don’t know what America will look like under Trump. But, I’ve spent enough time in post-communist countries to know that when governments censor and threaten you, neighbors tend to distrust one another; they go inward. Individuals question what others believe in order to calculate their own safety. I’m already doing that and I know that many of you are too. So I share this story for two reasons:
The first is because it’s a reminder that most people are good (including those who vote differently than us). As soon as we’ve abandoned that belief, we’ve lost an important part of our shared humanity. We become prisoners of our own minds. And the political ads and practices of today (from all sides) incite this type of division. We, the citizens, have power over that and I hope we choose to use it, myself included.
The second reason I share this story is this: it is so damn important that we keep helping those within our reach and checking in on each other even if the response doesn’t feel satisfying. I am riddled with guilt for not saying thank you to that man; I want to give him a thousand affirmations for caring. But, I don’t even know who he was. And that’s the thing with good deeds, we don’t usually get to know the results of them and we have to be okay with that. Good deeds don’t need a witness, and even the recipient may not recognize the act of kindness until the moment has passed.
Treat each other well. It’s a practice, not a given.
Rachael (& Shiva)
For those who have listened to or read We Share The Same Sky, you know that my grandmother’s survival story is a teaching and a beautiful example of the power that strangers have in saving lives. My grandmother would become the only Holocaust survivor in her family because of unsung heroes in Denmark and Sweden. She would often say that her reason for telling her story over and over again was to remind people that collective communities don’t only have the ability to do wrong, but also the power to do things right.
I always have a message for the kids… [about] what difference people can make… I want to put in their head that you treat [people] the same… I don’t know whether I am hitting my head against the wall, talking about this, telling mostly about the Danish people, how helpful they were and how it had a domino effect… whether I am effective [with that message], I have no idea, but I do it. - Hana Dubová in her 1998 USC Shoah Foundation testimony
Love this, Shiva is so sweet. I spent the last couple of months muting all political ads. That helped. This Election was so depressing. But I am always hopeful that the pendulum will come back❤️