My Vipassana meditation practice has taught me the importance of living in the now, the
only place where life happens. When I’m living in the now, there’s no mistaking it – life
comes alive, and I watch with a peaceful, equanimous mind to see what will happen next.

I believe that dogs, like all animals, reside permanently in the now and can help bring
us there too. Miles was the first dog to show me this. My ex-boyfriend and I met Miles,
a large American Staffordshire Terrier, at a pit bull rescue facility outside Washington,
DC. Then 3 years old and already abandoned several times by different families, Miles
was very much in need of a permanent, loving home. With his shiny black coat and
white paws and chest, big football-like head, and perky little ears, he was easily one
of the most beautiful, impressive dogs we had ever seen –– not to mention one of the
sweetest and gentlest! It was love at first site: Miles would be coming home with us.

The incident in this story took place a couple of years later. My ex and I were living with
Miles in beautiful condo along the Elizabeth River in Norfolk, Va., at the time. Despite
all the positives in my life – great friends, a great job, great boyfriend, great place to live,
etc. – I was living a pretty stressed-out existence. My meditation practice was almost
nonexistent, which left me self-absorbed (although I would have disagreed about this at
the time!) and thus unhappy.

While doing the dishes one peaceful, sunny Sunday morning, I glanced over at Miles,
who was sitting about 6 feet from me, and found him looking particularly worried, even
scared, with his little ears pressed down and his head hunched low. I say “particularly”
because Miles almost always looked a bit worrisome. “Maybe he was abused,” we’d say.
Or maybe his sensitive state was due to his being abandoned multiple times. Or maybe
American Staffordshire Terriers are just a sensitive breed. We filled Miles’ life with
as many walks, treats, games of “get the ball,” and belly scratches as possible to create
happy moments for him.

But back to that morning and the dishes and Miles’ looking anything but happy. That
morning, my response to Miles’ unhappiness was different: I looked for my role in all of
it …

There is a Zen saying: “When walking, walk. When eating, eat.” My interpretation is
that when we are doing something, our minds shouldn’t be all over the place – we can
quiet our minds by focusing solely on what we are doing. Rather than doing the dishes
that morning, I was living out some drama or another in my mind, and it was surely
reflected in the manner in which I was approaching the dishes. I wasn’t aware that
my mind had become agitated as I ruminated about who knows what, maybe a small
disagreement with a coworker or my boyfriend, or a minor health concern – it could have
been any small thing blown out of proportion. But Miles was aware of it; as soon as I
saw his worrisome expression, I instantly felt the tension in my fingers and hands as I
gripped the plate and sponge a little harder than necessary, the strain in my shoulders as I
hunched over the sink, the clenched muscles of my forehead and brow … and I dropped
my frustration. My mind became calm, my body relaxed, and I felt great compassion.

Although my meditation practice was weak at the time, its lessons and benefits were
intrinsically with me, including the ability to become aware in the moment, the now. Of
all these lessons, one of the most important is compassion, one definition of which is “to
suffer with.” So when I realized that it was my agitation that was likely causing or adding
to Miles’ unhappiness, how could my agitation not stop? It melted away in an instant. I
couldn’t go on harming him, or myself. I went back to doing the dishes, but this time, I
did the dishes. And when I was done, feeling equanimous and peaceful, I turned to my
friend whom I had just moments ago paid no mind to and caused to worry and found him
napping in the sunlight that was streaming in through the living room window. My heart
was filled with gratitude and love for him.

Another Lesson From Miles

Although I have never physically abused anyone, this “doing the dishes” moment years
ago also taught me that it wasn’t some potential former abuser who had caused Miles
all his misery and fear – it was these emotions themselves. The same worry, fear, etc.,
that exist in me exist in the one who abuses an animal (or who abuses anyone), just in
differing amounts. Pain-producing emotions have to “fester” and grow to very high levels
before a person can physically abuse another – so just how much suffering is that person
experiencing himself or herself in order to do so? My heart is filled with compassion for
these people too.

I wish I could say that, through my experience with Miles that sunny Sunday morning, I
became enlightened and never harmed another living being ever again. (Oh, the road is
long!) But I have rededicated myself to my path, and that’s a great place to start again.

Remain aware. Remain alert. Our teachers are everywhere – maybe even covered in hair,
feathers, or fur.

Rebecca Fischer is a nanny, a Vipassana meditator, and the founder of
the Kansas City Health Guide (www.KCHG.org). She is grateful for Miles, Goenkaji, and all of her teachers.