Monthly Archives: October 2015

Dogs Can Teach Us How to Live

Miss Dot, half-awake on Amy's lap.

I can’t remember a time when I didn’t love dogs. My current dog, pictured here half-awake in my lap, is a very small Boston Terrier named Miss Dot, who serves as my writing companion when she isn’t busy telling me what to do.To me, a house does not feel like a home without a dog. When I was born I was brought home from the hospital to a household already inhabited by three older siblings – two brothers and a sister – as well as a dog named Heidi.

Heidi, a Standard Schnauzer, pre-dated all of the children. My dad had given her to my mom as a Christmas present the first year they were married.

By the time I came along, Heidi was edging toward senior citizen status. When I was three or four, I would throw my arms around her and hug her with all my might. Poor Heidi would groan loudly, get up, and move away from me, and my mom would call to me from the kitchen: “Amy, are you loving Heidi too hard?”

And so I learned the importance of being gentle and kind.

The notorious Gretchen a.k.a. Grinch, beloved dog of Amy Hill Hearth (with blond hair at right).

After Heidi, we got another Standard Schnauzer, but she wasn’t at all like sweet old Heidi. Her name was Gretchen and she had the heart of a mountain lion. (In this photo of Gretchen, I’m at right.) She got into all sorts of trouble of the skunk, dead-fish, and porcupine variety, but of course we loved her anyway. As it turned out, Gretchen (we mostly called her Grinch) was the perfect dog when we moved to Columbia, South Carolina when I was six. I was a tomboy, always outdoors, which was where Gretchen a.k.a. Grinch preferred to spend her time, too. Wherever I went, she was nearby, although she was nearly impossible to catch if she didn’t feel like being caught. From Grinch, I learned that some beings are simply untamable. No matter how much you love them, and even if they love you back, they are meant to be free.After Grinch, there was a long (sad) canine-free hiatus in my life. I wanted my own dog when I was in college and starting my career, but I didn’t have the time, space, or money. Even after I got married, it was a while before we had a house with a yard, and money to spare for a veterinarian and the other expenses which come with owning a dog.

By the mid-1990s, my husband and I finally had our act together and began researching what type of dog we wanted to get. We settled on a Boston Terrier, and at Christmas 1996, my husband gave me the most wonderful present: a Bostie puppy we named Wilma. She was an absolute delight – hilarious, as that breed tends to be, sweet-natured, playful, and very affectionate. She approached every day and every person with delight. From Wilma, I learned a lesson about unfettered joy.

Amy with her puppy, Wilma, Christmas 1996.



After we lost Wilma, we decided, in her memory, that we would adopt a Boston Terrier that needed a home. We found Dot, a seven-pound (very tiny) Bostie who had medical issues that would require devoted parenting. Dot (or Miss Dot, as we often call her) was a year and a half old when we brought her home from A Forever Home Rescue Foundation in Chantilly, Virginia. She has blossomed from a shy critter who hid her food to a foot-stomping mini-canine nicknamed Miss Bossypants, due to her desire to run our lives and household.

Miss Dot with her pink ball.

From Miss Dot, I received a lesson in the value of second chances.

This, I believe, is why we love dogs. They aren’t just a part of our lives. They teach us to be better humans.

(Photos copyright Amy Hill Hearth)

 

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The Upside (and Downside) of a Protected Childhood

Leave It To Beaver, TV show We came home from church and were still in our Sunday best. My two older brothers raced upstairs to change. Mom headed for the kitchen. My sister and I were in the living room with Dad when he turned on the TV to check the news – not a habit in our family, but then again, the previous few days had been unlike any others.

As we stared at the black and white screen, what looked like a fistfight broke out between a group of men, with lots of shouting and a sound like “pop!”

Without saying a word, Dad strolled quickly to the TV set and switched it off. We had just seen Lee Harvey Oswald – the man believed to have killed President Kennedy – himself shot and killed on live television.

My sister and I were not even sure what we had just seen. When we asked Dad, he said, “Just a couple of men fighting. Nothing you need to see.”

And that was that.

We accepted Dad’s vague explanation, although we suspected there was more to it than that. The message was this: Something had happened in the world of adults. It was too scary to be put on our young shoulders.

It had been a singularly horrible week. You might not think the assassination of the President would have an impact on a five-year-old, but I remember every minute of that day. My kindergarten teacher was called into the hallway by the principal, and returned weeping uncontrollably. We were told to collect our things and were sent home early. Most jarring of all was the sight of our normally-grumpy school bus driver silently driving us home, tears spilling down his cheeks.

The well-defined line between reality and “what children should know” had been breached.

Where is that line now? I often wonder.

My life was completely protected. Mine was perhaps the last generation of American kids who lived in a bubble.

I know that my parents wanted us “to be children as long as possible,” which was the generally-accepted parenting methodology of the time. This was the hope and dream of their generation, which experienced childhood during the Great Depression of the 1930s, followed by the most destructive war which had ever occurred, and led directly into the Atomic Age. I can’t say I blame the “Greatest Generation” for wanting to protect their children from the realities of life, as long as possible.

My dad served overseas in the Army during World War Two, but the only stories that ever reached my ears were the goofy stunts and mishaps, and the friendships and camaraderie, that sound right out of a Bing Crosby-Bob Hope road trip movie. When I was old enough to actually read a book about that war, I was shocked.

The whole culture participated in the charade that the world was a better, simpler place than we wanted to admit. Shows like “Leave It To Beaver” and “Father Knows Best” assisted in our cheerful worldview.

The downside? I suspect it made my teenage years more difficult. I was unprepared for the real world. And I am still shocked – shocked! – at the cruelty of human beings. No one told me!

On the other hand, I did have a lovely childhood. I knew who was in charge – my parents. I had structure but also kindness. I really was living in a “Leave It to Beaver” kind of world.

I could write volumes about how that has changed. Children today know more about the world at seven than I did at seventeen. I suppose that being exposed to some of the realities of life has made them stronger, and more prepared to adapt as they grow up.

And yet, I cringe at the level of violence to which children are increasingly, and thoughtlessly, exposed. The coarsening of our culture – the decline of civility, and the acceptance of vulgarity – makes me wonder if we are raising increasingly desensitized children.

What is your opinion? How were you raised compared to the way children are brought up today?

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