Becoming Ready

Posted By Nicholas R. Jeelvy On In North American New Right | Comments Disabled
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Fascist Dogs, photo credit G. F. A. Jeelvy

1,372 words

Folks, I have a tale to tell you. It’s one of those slice-of-life things, but one from which we can learn as a movement and as individuals. Last weekend, while taking a walk by the riverside, I came across a two-month-old stray puppy. Overwhelmed by concern for his well-being, I took him with me, fed him, cared for him, played with him, took him on walks, named him, and kept him until I could find a permanent home in the countryside for him two days later. It was the first time I had done anything like that. It was the first time in my life that I had a dog of my own, if even for a little while, and it was an experience which I find has profoundly transformed me.

My little furry friend required round-the-clock attention. He was too young to be toilet trained, so he might have bolted at any second to a corner to relieve himself (both number one and two were on the table). He had been on the streets for some time and so had worms, which made cleaning up his messes imperative. Probably because he was so young, he followed me everywhere and insisted on sitting with me in my armchair and sleeping with me in my bed. I did not sleep well, as he had a habit of snuggling up right next to my head on the pillow even though he was not allowed on the bed. He was also fond of peeing and pooing in the middle of the night, so I had to be on guard for his every move, lest he dropped his smelly payload in the middle of my apartment.

My little friend was stubborn and very clever. I tried walking him on a leash, but he would often refuse to move. More experienced dog owners advised me to be stricter and not afraid to tug at the leash in order to demonstrate my dominance, but others advised me not to walk this little puppy too much. Now, I take long walks — very long walks –, so whenever the puppy would get tired, I’d just carry him in my arms. When it was clear to me that he was merely disobedient, however, I would tug at his leash and inform him in no uncertain terms that it was my will that was to be obeyed. He’d often maneuver in such a way to trip me up with the leash or get me otherwise tangled up.

Now, this is probably old news to experienced dog owners, especially those who’ve kept small puppies, but for me it was an ordeal which was joy and stress at the same moment. On one hand, I cherished my very first dog. Every time he’d snuggle up next to me or fall asleep in my lap, my heart would be set aflutter. On the other, the constant scooping up of dog poop, worms included, from my fine carpets was not a pleasant experience. I confess to feeling a bit relieved when I finally found a home for my puppy. Oh, sure, it is best for him; I live in an apartment, my building has no yard to speak of, and my terraces aren’t that big. A dog needs open space [2] and green meadows to run in. But there was a measure of relief. I’d sleep that night without the fear that poop would materialize in my bedroom.

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Why did the puppy have to sleep in my bedroom? Well, it was simple. He would whine and yap whenever I was not in the room. By picking him up on the quay, I’d become, whether I realized it or not, his primary caregiver, the alpha of his pack. I’m used to being friendly with dogs — petting them, feeding them, and playing with them — but this was the first time I had found myself in the position of being a dog’s master. I had to be strict and employ discipline. Consequently, the little creature bonded with me strongly.

I’m relating all of this because I want to prepare you for a contrasting image of myself. See, when people who know me well met me after I took in the dog, they commented that I had changed somehow. It was only after I gave him away that I realized that they were right and that the change was profound, almost magical. Mrs. Jeelvy commented that whereas I usually walk with my chest puffed out, my nose pointed upwards, and taking large steps that would make Plautus’ boastful soldier proud, after two days with the puppy, I was apparently walking small and was described as “a recently divorced Czech,” which is apparently also a riff on my penchant for wearing long coats in earthen colors (this is apparently a Czech trait).

Part of the change was probably due to fatigue and sleep deprivation, but the more important one was that which I noticed in myself — again, only after I’d given the puppy away. Normally, I’m a lazy, finicky, neurotic, and selfish person. I’m not proud of these traits, but it is who I am and have been for my 30 years. While I was caring for my four-legged friend, however, I worked tirelessly to keep him warm, entertained, fed, and clean. I picked up dog shit full of worms and scrubbed pee-stains out of carpets. I calmly and coolly disciplined him when he was misbehaving, never once losing my temper, no matter how many times he growled at me or tried to bite me. I sacrificed money, time, and my precious beauty sleep so that he’d be taken care of. And the funny thing was, there was no process of overcoming, no period of adjustment. I picked the puppy up by the riverside, and from that moment on, I was no longer a lazy, finicky, neurotic, and selfish person, but a hard-working, calm, and selfless caregiver for an animal in need. The change was so seamless I didn’t even notice it until after I’d given the puppy away to a better home. It just . . . happened.

I was reminded of a time when the electricity went out in my whole city. It was still daytime when it happened, so I picked up a book to keep myself entertained while waiting for the power to come back on. Normally, I have trouble concentrating on books, because I’m distracted by the Internet. With that temptation removed, I achieved the kind of immersion I used to have back before ubiquitous Internet access. Of course, when the power came back on, I was back to staring at screens — but all it took was that brief interruption.

We like to complain about the effects of modernity, and we’re right to do so, because they are evil, but let me advance a bold opinion: Modernity’s behavioral modification pressures are weaker than our ancient instincts. I noticed that when I was caring for my puppy, I didn’t even think about looking at my phone. It was like that damned infernal device wasn’t even there, even as it rudely vibrated in order to catch my attention.

Furthermore, I didn’t go through a long period of preparation so that I’d be “ready for a dog.” I just picked one up off the street and transformed into a person “ready for a dog” in that very instant. I imagine something very similar would happen if I were to suddenly become a father. It wouldn’t be a question of whether I’m “ready,” but my parental instincts would be activated the second it happened. Fatherhood is not something you learn from a book, but a position informed by our ancient genetics.

That’s the moral I will leave you with. When the time comes, you will be ready, because the key to these things is already within you. If I have it in me to pick up poop and be strict with a two-month year old puppy (just look at him), you have it in you to be a dad or a mom. It’s not a test you can cram for, but a transformation which must be undergone; a kind of initiation.

You’re ready for it. Take the leap.

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