Lessons From Lucy: The Simple Joys of an Old, Happy Dog

by Dave Barry

That’s what Lucy does: she makes the best of things. She’s way better at this than I am. I know much more than she does, but she knows something I don’t: how to be happy.

Whatever the reason, my operating assumption, when confronted with people I don’t know, is that I’m probably not going to like them.

Sometimes I think the main purpose of professional sports is to give guys something to talk about that does not involve them personally.

Make New Friends. (And Keep the Ones You Have.)

Don’t Stop Having Fun. (And If You Have Stopped, Start Having Fun Again.)

“You know, you put more value on every minute . . . I mean, I always thought I kind of did that. I really always enjoyed myself. But it’s more valuable now. You’re reminded to enjoy every sandwich, and every minute of playing with the guys, and being with the kids and everything.”

“Don’t get any better, or you’ll just be another lousy garage band.”

Pay Attention to the People You Love. (Not Later. Right Now.)

In the end, all that really matters—all you really have—is the people you love. Not your job, not your career, not your awards, not your money, not your stuff. Just your people.

Let Go of Your Anger, Unless It’s About Something Really Important, Which It Almost Never Is.

Try Not to Judge People by Their Looks, and Don’t Obsess Over Your Own.

Don’t Let Your Happiness Depend on Things; They Don’t Make You Truly Happy, and You’ll Never Have Enough Anyway.

If there were a criminal-justice system consisting entirely of dogs, this is how it would work: JUDGE DOG: How does the defendant plead? DEFENDANT DOG: Guilty, Your Honor. DEFENSE ATTORNEY DOG: I also plead guilty. JUDGE DOG: Guilty of what? DEFENSE ATTORNEY DOG: I don’t know. PROSECUTOR AND JURY DOGS: We are also guilty, Your Honor. JUDGE DOG: Me too!

Also, if a person asks you if you think he or she is an idiot, it’s best to answer no, even if you do, in fact, think the person is an idiot.

Don’t Lie Unless You Have a Really Good Reason, Which You Probably Don’t.

Lucy’s almost eleven; she doesn’t have many years left. When she goes, she’ll go gracefully, the way dogs do—without complaint, self-pity or regret. Which is another lesson I can learn from her, though I’m not ready for it yet.

When your child is suffering, you’re in a different world entirely, Hospital World, a constricting, bleak, isolated place. Normal World concerns don’t matter to you at all. You don’t care about the news, what the president said, what his critics said, what the news people thought about it. You don’t care if your car needs servicing or your roof has a leak. You don’t make plans. You don’t want to see anybody. You don’t care what you’re wearing, or if you’ve slept, or when you last ate. All you care about is your child.

Hospital World is a strange, unsettling place. You mark the passage of time not by hours and minutes, or even day and night, but by procedures—the next shot, the next blood draw, the next round of plasmapheresis, the next X-ray, the dreaded spinal tap—which can happen seemingly at any time, nobody is ever sure exactly when. You wait. It is mainly what you do.

Be grateful for what you have. (It’s probably more than you think.)

I’m not saying you should ignore your problems, or the problems of the wider world; I’m saying keep them in perspective. Don’t let your happiness depend on the news, or the stock market, or office politics, or traffic. Don’t let people who don’t know you tell you how you should feel. Don’t believe that the world is terrible, or wallow in outrage or victimhood, just because some politician or radio-talk-show host or college professor tells you to. Decide for yourself how your life is going, and when you make that calculation, start with the fundamentals: Are you walking around? Do you have people you love? Do they love you? Do you have enough to eat? A place to live? If you have those things, you have a lot to be grateful for. If you also have laughter in your life, and music, maybe a nice sunset once in a while, you’re blessed. Try to remember that the next time you’re feeling stressed or unhappy. Things could be a lot worse.