“I’m suspicious of people who don’t like dogs, but I trust a dog when it doesn’t like a person.”
– Bill Murray
When Mrs. Wilson and I moved to the country, I knew we needed a sheepdog.
I wanted to keep The Yorkies safe from birds of prey and myself safe from Labor Contractors with an ax to grind.
So I called Kentucky and shipped in a Kangal.
Without Mrs. Wilson’s permission.
If buying a giant sheepdog without my wife’s permission taught me anything about the institution of marriage, it’s that this is what is known in certain military circles as a ‘tactical error.’
In a feeble attempt to mend the rift, I encouraged Mrs. Wilson to name the pup.
She decided on “Grey” ala Meredith Grey from Grey’s Anatomy.
For the first year of Grey’s life, Mrs. Wilson remained miffed at me for buying the animal and lovingly referred to the sheepdog as our “step-child.”
It wasn’t until Grey saved Remi, the smallest yorkie, from a circling vulture that plotted Remi’s three-pound demise that Mrs. Wilson fully accepted Grey as family.
3 years later, Grey has become a hundred pounds of goofball.
We nicknamed her “The Donkey” because her personality is so off the wall and shall I say, “Communicative” that she reminds us of Eddie Murphy’s “Donkey” character from Shrek.
Grey is super gentle with kids, loves air conditioning and does this weird thing where she bares her fangs when happy.
The grin terrifies children, but is hysterical to watch if you know her. The only way she could hurt a child is by accidental tail wag.
Grey remembers and is kind all my loved ones.
On the flip side of the coin, Grey has issued a permanent fatwah against anyone I’m unsure of, don’t trust or have the slightest inkling of skepticism about.
She wages an eternal jihad on anyone who makes me or Mrs. Wilson even a little nervous.
For any unwelcome person or thing that enters her territory swift country justice awaits.
Grey picks up on changes of mood, eye contact, breathing patterns or posture and goes from 0 to 100 without either of us saying a word.
She is like Luca Brasi.
Not even the Godfather can call her off.
Anytime we have guests over, I preemptively lock Grey up because who she deems worthy of trust is unpredictable at best.
People have told me it’s unsafe, dangerous and irresponsible to have a pet like this.
Maybe.
But she’s working dog. A sheepdog. Not a pet.
People tell me to train her, but no matter how much I try, instructing a sheepdog has limits.
When I bought Grey, the breeder tried to talk me out of it because Kangal’s are so difficult to manage. If you think about it, Kangal’s are descended from dogs whose instincts were developed protecting flocks from Wolves, Bears and Lions alone in the Anatolian hills.
They were bred to make decisions independent of their owners, which I imagine, explains Grey’s mule like stubbornness.
I guess the ‘The Donkey’ nickname is fitting…
“Those who give light must endure the burning.”-Viktor Frankl
If upper management (or being managed by my uppers as my Starbucks bill tells me), has taught me anything it’s that some people have a certain capacities and other people don’t.
I know what you’re thinking.
Duh.
But hear me out.
Pop culture schools us into believing you can be whatever you want to be.
You can’t.
Spud Webb, Rudy and Mugsey Bogues were exceptions that proved the rule.
Those short kings filled the 7-year-old me with the same “false hope” Christian McCaffery is currently peddling to millions of unathletic whites across the lower forty-eight today.
What I am trying to say is that my desires have limitations.
Unless a trampoline is involved, you’ll never see me taking off from the foul line and dunking.
No matter how much I want to be Rivermaid Führer, throwdown a tomahawk jam in traffic or be a mercenary in the Walnut Grove arm of the Wagner Group, my calling is to be an anteambulo.
When you’re a kid, the tendency is to fight against this theory, but I think the definition of adulthood is understanding that the more you go against your true nature, the more unhappy you’ll be.
True birthright differs for everyone, but in my ecosphere:
Louie has diesel in his veins. He is a born trucker.
Dal Porto was meant to farm.
The Spence’s have a genius for training people how to fight and making it fun.
Mrs. Wilson’s purpose is to create a family.
And our Kangal, Grey was destined to protect that family.
“Those who give light endure the burning.” -Viktor Frankl
Conversely, I believe that those who ignore their instincts(purpose) are doomed.
Take my mom for example.
I know she loved us, but she wasn’t meant to be a mother. She was pressured into it. Marian should’ve/could’ve been a professional artist, but lacked the emotional capacity to get there.
Marian was a concert pianist, registered nurse, held 2 master’s degrees, spoke 7 languages fluently (mostly self-taught) and so widely loved within her community that over a thousand people showed up to her funeral.
Sadly, her kids were deprived of a mother because she never learned to control her demons and succumbed to a whole host of vices (fear) before self-actualization.
To quote Pressfield again, “She never turned pro.”
But who am I to judge.
Neither have I….
“It is similar to one brother asking another, “Why did you grow up to be a drunk?” The answer is “Because Dad was a drunk.” The second brother then asks, “Why didn’t you grow up to be a drunk?” The answer is “Because Dad was a drunk.”
-Gavin De Becker, The Gift of Fear
When my son was born, I needed an escape from hospital induced claustrophobia.
I decided to take to the streets of Downtown Sacramento.
On foot.
Now, I’m jealous person and at times envy gets the best of me.
As I cruised the midnight streets, I walked past a sign with the name of a frenemy on it.
Over the years, with increasing severity, he has been particularly douchey to me.
But nonetheless, I envy him.
Normally, I’d see his name on a building and feel simultaneously envious at this guy’s success and disappointed in myself.
This time was different.
High off the successful delivery of my son, the feeling reframed itself to me.
Envy became the square root of inspiration, as it were, and I thought to myself,
“Oh, he just he loves Real Estate more than I do. Just like I like trying to strangle people on a daily basis more than he does. My frenemy is just doing what he was born to do and I lack his instinct (love) for the corporate world.”
A massive weight fell off my shoulders.
My ego dissolved.
What I am trying to say is that the correlation between love, fear and instincts are the only reliable magnetic compass that can point you to toward your true north.
My Dad is a serial entrepreneur, who built multiple million-dollar companies through instinct, love and chasing fear.
Do I need to compete with that?
No.
I need to embody that.
Does the world needs ditch diggers?
Yes.
But the world needs people who love to dig ditches even more.
Focus on the latter, not the former.
This begs the question, “What was I born to be? What is the meaning of my life?”
Legendary psychotherapist and Holocaust survivor, Viktor Frankl reframed the question.
Frankl said,
“We’ve been asked this by life and we must answer with our actions.”