The moment I met Wynton, I knew my fate was intertwined with his. I can’t explain the feeling, exactly. He sat next to me, strangely attached to a human he’d only just met, and when I looked into his eyes, I felt understood. I didn’t realize how hard I would need to work to understand him, to earn the relationship he so willingly gave me. I didn’t know how much of myself I would need to release to accept him into my life. He might be a manifestation of the drive within me, the perpetual energy that pushes me to write, to run, to study, and to think, all in an attempt to squeeze every ounce I can from life. Or he may be the manifestation of that which I fear: someone I love, for whom I am completely responsible, and yet whose fate always remains utterly beyond my control. Perhaps both. In any case, the moment we met, I felt that whatever came of his life would provide a microscopic view of my own.
Today, I believe more firmly than ever that our fates remain inextricably linked.
Around five months of age, Wynton developed a recurring limp. It wasn’t constant, but it appeared after longer walks or a vigorous play session. I didn’t want to overreact, but it gnawed at me. Fortunately, his veterinarian had experience with his condition and took my concerns seriously. She took excellent images and diagnosed him with a genetic condition that required bilateral shoulder surgery, a procedure eerily similar to my own.
As I helped my little guy heal, I watched him go through some of what I’d experienced. Initially, he was in pain. Then, he felt good enough to play, but I had to restrict his movements. His puppy mind wanted to express itself, but veterinary medicine demanded he be contained. I knew exactly how he felt. Although my body had physically recovered well before Wynton’s ordeal, I found myself healing emotionally through him. His experience required my patience, a patience I hadn’t afforded myself but couldn’t afford not to give him.
When he turned the corner and the restrictions on his mobility were removed, his joy was contagious. Watching my pup return to freedom, a return I hadn’t fully allowed myself, reminded me of one of life’s simplest truths: we are what we do. Despite my fears and concerns, nobody tells a puppy to slow down, not in any meaningful way. Medically cleared to live life to the fullest, Wynton taught me the most viable definition of health: feeling good, better, or best.
Caring for others is serious business, perhaps the only business worth taking too seriously.
We all travel this world together, whether on four paws or two, and it’s impossible to know right from wrong without being in relationship with others and privileging those relationships above ourselves. Our relationships define us, often in ways we didn’t expect or struggle to define. I hope you all enjoy relationships at least as meaningful as the one Wynton has given me.
Sincerely,
Well Worth Reading
Being Singular Plural is one of the most profound treatises on the reality of being in relationship. In order to be, we must relate. Only through our connection to others do we have a recognizable existence. I’ve found this to be true. Whether to my family, my pets, my friends, my books, the craft of writing, music, art, film, or nature, my relationships make me who I am, and it is through these relationships that I realize myself.
This book made me think more deeply about how I’m touched by the things I touch.
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