The Art of Canine Nothingness

I’ve been spending way too much time thinking about my earlier post  on the act of doing nothing.  Because I managed to almost repeat myself today for about 90 minutes.  With my three dogs this time.  Out in the back yard once more.  They lounged in the grass and I sprawled in a lawn chair.

Just another Pleasant Vally Sunday.  Except that it’s Saturday.

This time,  my period of nothingness came immediately after rather a productive writing spurt.  Got a book review up on Healing Rescue Dogs this morning and just put a second post up over on Mrs BizWhizConnects.  In-between writing posts,  I sketched out the themes for what looks like will be a children’s series of dog books.

Looking out my study window as I wrote that second blog post,  I was sorely tempted to quit as I spied Jasper snoozing in his favorite spot in the entire world:  the rather large hole that remained after we had a 40 foot tall fir tree taken down several years ago.   If  I lean forward toward the computer screen and look over my right shoulder out the window,  I can see part of that hole.  And, on days like today, when the weather-siren whispers in your eye,  beckoning you outside,  you can bet that Jasper’s already heard and figured out how to have someone let him out into the yard.

Here he is at the edge of the hole,  not doing much of anything other than soaking up the sun.  He’s good for a 40 minute nap as long as there are no distractions.

Let’s see.  What would REALLY distract him?

My husband is up on the second floor of the garage as the dogs and I lounge around the yard.  If he should come down the stairs, step through the garage side door into the yard and head for the house,  Jasper will simultaneously get up and follow him inside.

If Tessa decides to boing over to the fence because she’s heard the sounds of people and/or their dog/s  walking down the sidewalk,  If she barks (and she will),  Jasper will get up and mosey over to the fence to check things out.

If Jasper decides that he wants to play with his ball,  and he’s quite happy to entertain himself in this way for a while,  he may rise up from his hole and head over to the corner of the house where he’s buried one of his balls underneath the rain spout.

Furious digging ensues plus some general banging noises before he noses out a very yucky-looking ball which me might offer to me.  Or not.

It’s not too long before the lure of warm sun and the shallow nature of his hole call to him before he meanders over to his hole and settles in.

And then comes a period of time when we are all doing nothing again.

You THINK we are doing nothing.  Three dog noses are analyzing all kinds of scents.  With their eyes closed.

I am mentally sorting through possible titles for future blog posts and  coming up with ideas for writing projects.  With MY eyes closed.

It occurs to me that there truly is an Art To Doing Nothing while you are really Doing  Something – which in my case is thinking and which for my dogs is … well, sniffing.  But probably mostly snoozing. Which,  if you are an 8 year old Great Dane,  is as valid an excuse as any.

The Art of Doing Nothing is really all about getting into your zen.  Zen being that place where you can let all of your loose thoughts go.  Zen being that place where you can tap your inner self and wait to see what reveals itself.

In my case,  it’s keeping the writing muse working.   In Jasper’s case,  it’s simply snoozing.   He’s happy and I’m happy too.  [gplus count=”true” size=”Medium” ]


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