Life Lessons We Can Learn From Dogs

I was never a dog person,
but that all changed when an eight-week-old
bundle of German Shepherd was placed in my arms.

To be honest, it actually took me a couple of weeks to become comfortable with her, but she rested her little puppy head on my feet, and there was no going back. I fell in love. That was almost nine years ago, and she has given our family great joy.

So, here are some lessons we can learn from these most devoted of creatures…

© Lisa Shambrook

Truth. The most unconditional love I have ever experienced has been puppy love, the love of a dog knows no bounds and is pretty much infinite. A dog loves unconditionally and that’s a quality we should emulate as much as we can. I’m not sure we can ever love with as much purity as a dog, but we can try!

© Lisa Shambrook

This matches their ability to love. Dogs can’t hide their emotions, they don’t lie. When my dog greets me, leaping up at me with excitement, I know she really is happy to see me. When she’s stolen a packet of biscuits and eaten them all, and left the wrapping torn up on the floor, the look of guilt is right there for all to see. The trust in her eyes gives you everything. There’s an honesty in dogs that many humans don’t ever show.

© Caitlin Shambrook

Once dogs have given you their heart – it’s yours forever. Treat their love with respect and you will never want for affection. Let’s try and show this kind of love to all those who mean much to us. This trait revolves around love, joy, trust and forgiveness.

© Lisa Shambrook

Oh, yes, dogs know how to have fun! They don’t waste time when adventure is on the menu, just watch your pup race across a sandy beach, splash in the ocean or rivers, and lope through shady woodland. They emit pure joy! Watching my Roxy leaping into the air to catch bubbles was a true delight, and I often think I should mirror her abandon and spontaneity and embrace life for all it offers!

© Bekah Shambrook

Did you ever know how a dog would fill that void you never knew existed? I had no idea how rewarding owning a dog is until I had my own. We can be that for those around us. We can be there, filling empty hearts with friendship, love, and company.

© Lisa Shambrook

This quote means a huge amount to me. My favourite poem is Beddgelert by William Robert Spencer and is a poem that makes me weep (and I dare you not to cry when you read it), but if you want pure devotion those words are where you’ll find it, within Gelert’s pure hound heart.
My Roxy sits at the window most of the day, my own personal guard dog, she saves me from the postman, delivery people, neighbours, cats that prowl the neighbourhood, and anything that might attempt entry into the house. She makes me feel safe. Outside, I know if anyone attacked me while she was there, they would have to get through her first. Devotion, loyalty, and trust are huge parts of a dog’s life, and you truly are your dog’s life, you are what they live for. Be worthy.

If we could only emulate a few of dogs’ qualities, we would be better people. We would love unconditionally, trust, guard, and care for each other, with honesty, loyalty, and pure devotion.

A dog’s life is a good life.

Five Sentence Fiction: Grief

© Lisa Shambrook

“Pillarbox red…you know, red like that sexy scarlet lipstick I could never quite pull off…” Aggie’s laugh tinkled in the crisp morning air and she squeezed Harold’s arm. “Orange, well that speaks for itself, then there’s yellow, the kind that we all wore in the sixties or that they make those rubber ducks out of. Green…” she sighed, “the kind of green that spreads across the English countryside…fields and trees and hedges, that kind of green. Summer sky blue, and indigo, like a summer storm, a storm bearing down, broiling and threatening…and violet,” Aggie’s voice broke,  just for a moment, “like the stone in my ring, amethyst, like my engagement ring…that’s what it looks like…remember?”

Harold’s foggy eyes crinkled at the edges as he smiled and clasped Aggie’s hands tight within his own; he couldn’t see the tears, that rested like dewdrops on her wrinkled cheeks, any more than he could see the rainbow arcing across the sky, but he didn’t need his sight as long as he still had her.

My Five Sentence Fiction for the prompt word ‘grief’ over at Lillie McFerrin’s.

Five Sentence Fiction: Delicate Strength

I adore my dragons and two other pieces connect with this piece: Devotion and To Protect…

The Dragon’s Egg by Amanda Makepeace www.redbubble.com

(Please do not use without permission from the artist)

Gwawr’s eyes swam with unshed tears; after hours of waiting she desperately wanted to hear the shell crack, to see tiny dragon claws tearing at the sticky amniotic sac, and her baby emerging exhausted, but safe and she yearned to lick her offspring clean, tickling soft scales, watching baby dragon reflexes, anxious to see its tummy curling inwards as she roughly licked its sensitive newborn skin. The opaque shell shivered and a resounding crack echoed through the cave; a long, thin crack ran down the side of the shell, it widened then clamped shut as the pressure from within collapsed – Gwawr uttered another frustrated cry and the fracture began to open again. The unborn creature struggled and the egg rocked violently before coming to yet another standstill; the soft tapping restarted, and with each tap the thin cracks grew until suddenly a tiny horn protruded through the shell. The horn retreated into the egg then drove through, shell fragments splintered and littered the floor beneath the nest, and the baby dragon exerted every last bit of energy rupturing the thick sac surrounding it inside the confines of the egg. A spout of water gushed and claws tore wildly at the shell, until thick pieces collapsed under the strain and a bedraggled, scrawny baby dragon fell out, as his lungs heaved and he struggled for breath, Gwawr snapped out of her trance and curled her tail protectively around her newborn, she licked and rubbed him, and sighed in relief as the tiny creature let out a cough and splutter, then she giggled almost uncontrollably and allowed her tears to drop, helping to wash the dragon clean.

I’ve wanted to write this piece for a bit, and I really wanted it to fit with this week’s word: Delicate at Five Sentence Fiction from Lillie McFerrin. Take a look at all the entries… I also want to thank artist Amanda Makepeace for giving me permission to use her digital painting The Dragon’s Egg, it was the beautiful picture I had in my mind for this piece. You can find more of her amazing art available for sale on her site at www.redbubble.com/people/amandamakepeace. And if anyone’s wondering how to pronounce the Welsh name Gwawr it is: Gwour and means ‘Dawn’.

Five Sentence Fiction: Devotion

Photograph by Lisa Shambrook (Please do not use without permission)

A pale, yellow moon rose over the mountain crags and their necks entwined as they basked in buttermilk moonlight. Her wings shone, sparkling iridescent, as she nuzzled her mate, and he nipped playfully as he stretched his turquoise wings. They soared beneath the blanket of night, spiralling down to the outcrop and landing at the mouth of their cave.
Deep within the rocks, deep inside, safely ensconced amongst jewels and a nest of gems, rested their treasure.
Rays of pale moonlight swam through the cavern and Gwawr’s lavender mist filled the hollow; as her smoke cleared, Dynevor blew a fierce, golden flame at his companion’s feet and warmed their cherished, marbled egg.

Written for the wonderful Lilliemcferrin’s Five Sentence Fiction 

See more great entries here:

Five Sentence Fiction: Devotion

Photograph by Lisa Shambrook (please do not use without permission)

As the hunt over Snowdon’s craggy chaos roamed, Llewellyn pondered why his hound, Gelert, had not shown at the bugle call.

With a sigh and empty hands the hunt homeward hied, and Llewellyn stared in horror as Gelert bounded to greet him with blood dripping from his lips and fangs, and as Gelert crouched to lick his master’s feet, Llewellyn raced wildly beyond the bewildered dog to his babe’s crib found blood-stained and torn.

With fear surging he frantically sought his son, but found him not, and crazed with grief slid his vengeful sword deep into Gelert’s side.

As Gelert released a dying yelp, an infant’s cry was heard from beneath the couch; Llewellyn desperately lifted the chaise and seized his son in abounding joy… and then his blood ran cold and his heart stood still, as on the floor behind the couch he spied a tremendous wolf, bloodied in death.

Llewellyn fell to his knees in anguish as he discerned his faithful hound’s actions in saving his heir, and sorrow overcame the man who would be forever haunted by Gelert’s dying yell.

Lillie McFerrin’s Five Sentence Fiction: Devotion

I cheated a bit with this one…I was stumped and couldn’t decide what to write then I came across a photograph of Gelert’s grave from our visit a few years ago to Beddgelert, North Wales. Gelert was the epitome of devotion and I decided to rewrite William Robert Spencer’s famous poem ‘Beth Gelert’ as five sentence prose…

I truly hope I’ve done it justice as it’s by a long, long way my most favourite poem.

Just in case you haven’t read it or come across it before…please, please, take a minute or two to read it through…(I wanted to post a link to the poem, but thought I’d post it myself as I love it so much! Note: I always cry when I read it…)

BETH GELERT

The spearman heard the bugle sound,

And cheerily smiled the morn;

And many a brach, and many a hound,

Attend Llewellyn’s horn:

And still he blew a louder blast,

And gave a louder cheer:

“Come, Gelert! Why art thou the last

Llewellyn’s horn to hear?

“Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam?

The flower of all his race!

So true, so brave, a lamb at home,

A lion in the chase!”

In sooth, he was a peerless hound,

The gift of royal John,

But now no Gelert could be found,

And all the chase rode on.

And now, as over rocks and dells,

The gallant chidings rise,

All Snowdon’s craggy chaos yells

With many mingled cries.

That day Llewellyn little loved

The chase of hart or hare,

And small and scant the booty proved,

For Gelert was not there.

Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied,

When near the portal-seat,

His truant Gelert he espied,

Bounding his lord to meet.

But when he gained the castle door,

Aghast the chieftain stood;

The hound was smeared with gouts of gore,

His lips and fangs ran blood.

Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise,

Unused such looks to meet;

His favorite checked his joyful guise,

And crouched and licked his feet.

Onward in haste Llewellyn passed,

And on went Gelert, too,

And still, where’er his eyes were cast,

Fresh blood-gouts shocked his view.

O’erturned his infant’s bed he found,

The blood-stained covert rent;

And all around, the walls and ground,

With recent blood besprent.

He called the child–no voice replied;

He searched, with terror wild;

Blood! Blood! He found on every side,

But nowhere found the child!

“Hell-hound! By thee my child’s devoured!”

The frantic father cried;

And to the hilt his vengeful sword

He plunged in Gelert’s side.

His suppliant, as to earth he fell,

No pity could impart,

But still his Gelert’s dying yell

Passed heavy o’er his heart.

Aroused by Gelert’s dying yell,

Some slumberer wakened nigh;

What words the parent’s joy can tell

To hear his infant cry!

Concealed beneath a mangled heap

His hurried search had missed,

All glowing from his rosy sleep,

His cherub-boy he kissed.

Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread,

But, the same couch beneath,

Lay a great wolf, all torn and dead–

Tremendous still in death.

Ah! What was then Llewellyn’s pain!

For now the truth was clear:

The gallant hound the wolf had slain

To save Llewellyn’s heir.

Vain, vain was all Llewellyn’s woe;

“Best of thy kind, adieu!

The frantic deed which laid thee low

This heart shall ever rue!”

And now a gallant tomb they raise,

With costly sculpture decked,

And marbles, storied with his praise,

Poor Gelert’s bones protect.

Here never could the spearman pass,

Or forester, unmoved!

Here oft the tear-besprinkled grass

Llewellyn’s sorrow proved.

And here he hung his horn and spear,

And oft, as evening fell,

In fancy’s piercing sounds would hear

Poor Gelert’s dying yell.

And, till great Snowdon’s rocks grow old,

And cease the storm to brave,

The consecrated spot shall hold,

The name of ‘Gelert’s’ grave.

WILLIAM ROBERT SPENCER

1769-1834

Photograph of Gelert’s Grave in Beddgelert by Lisa Shambrook (please do not use without permission)