Chip happens.

Yes, it sure does.

My brother-in-law Dave was quite proud of the birthday card, as he should have been. On the outside, a dog sitting on a couch in boxer shorts with a bowl of chips on his lap, some scattered around him. On the inside, the simple saying, “Chip Happens.”

Who would have thought such a card existed that could so perfectly sum up the past several months of my life. Because it’s exactly right, Chip has happened.

And, oh yeah, I did that birthday thing, too. The big 5-0 to be exact.

I knew it was coming, could feel it hitting full throttle in the final week of my 40s.

I felt it at work, a flood of pain surging through me one day as I groaned in agony after standing up from my chair after sitting at my desk a bit too long.

There was the reminder, a few days after Mindfulness group, that I need to be careful how often I’m out in public after I demonstrated the art of mindlessness at Olive Garden, where my graying memory allowed me to walk out without waiting for change, resulting in our wonderful server pocketing a $19 tip on a $30 bill. For anyone who’s not a mather out there, that’s a 63 percent tip. I’m always a generous tipper, and decided after the fact that our server needed it, that it put a pep in her step and made her day a little happier, and I moved on.

But still, I thought, man, so this is going to be 50?

On my 50^th birthday, I went to work, knowing I’d be celebrating later in the week at Halloweekends at Cedar Point with Wende and my friend Doug when we made are annual trek there for October spookiness. What I walked into that day at work was…awesome and amazing!

So, there was a time at the end of my addiction where I was mostly unemployed, felt very unemployable, and my self-esteem and confidence were in the gutter as legal ramifications of my recent past hung over my head like one big, nasty rain cloud.

The fact that I have a job I didn’t mind going into on my birthday, one where I have been able to thrive with my accumulated recovery experience, build and lead wonderful teams, and enjoy the day to day challenges I experience with my peers and fellow leaders, that’s a miracle in itself.

Walking into a slew of balloons and decorations, an Office cake right up my alley, a little good-natured age ribbing, and even a selfie scavenger hunt organized by my boss, was simply beyond words. I felt appreciated, loved and respected, and it was a reminder that I am continuing to do the right thing by working somewhere that I can try to give back even a bit of what I’ve been given to the community.

After this day, complete with way too much cake (yes, there is such a thing) I did the Cedar Point thing and had a blast. And somewhere else in the midst of that week, I did the whole looking back on the 40s thing, reflecting on all that I experienced, beginning with a Chicago Cubs World Series win in 2016 and culminating over the last year and a half with an opportunity to immortalize my best friend in a memoir that has also allowed me to advocate for recovery.

Oh yeah, the end of my 40s included one other very important element. Just as a wise card gifted by a wise man once said, “Chip Happens.” And, yep, he sure did in my life.

Over these last seven months, I’ve put in more steps with this wild dog of mine than I’d put in the past four years. Chip has aged me in reverse. Even as I’ve groaned and moaned more as I’ve stood up after kneeling for simple tasks, he’s kept me young(er). Our walks are meditative. They are filled with multiple strangers paying complements to Chip and often end up petting him, walking away with smiles on their faces.

I’m glad I realized the importance of mindful walking at some point in my journey with Lucy.

The passage of time, though, it’s impossible not to think about it, even when you’re going with the flow of life. But maybe it’s good to look at it for what it is. Maybe that’s what growing old gracefully means. Yet still, I was left thinking this week about how Chip turns seven next March, and that’s 49 in human years. The following year, he’ll surpass me in human years.

To think that time flies in our world, boy, think how fast it blurs by in a dog’s eyes. I guess we’ll need to make the most of these days.

As I reflected on the past month, I also thought about the great things that happened with Lucy’s Way: A Dog, A Drunk, and The Tao in October.

Last weekend, I enjoyed my second appearance at the Marion Public Library annual author fair, where I set up alongside 24 other local authors. It’s always a treat to meet and mingle with other indie authors. And I’ll have a few more events to close out the year. On November 21, I’ll make my second appearance at Kokomo-Howard County Public Library’s Local Author Fair. And on December 3, I’ll be at Converse Historical Society in conjunction with the Christmas in Converse event.

Earlier this month, I did an event for the Indiana Extension Homemakers Association that went quite well. I was able to donate $160 of my sales back to the organization which, in turn, donated that back to local rehabilitation services. Definitely a win.

Instead of reading from a specific chapter at this event, I picked different sections from a few different chapters that reflected the autumn season. One of these selections was the beginning of Chapter 16: “These are Days”, which included an opening where I reflected on turning 45 years old.

It’s wild to think that five years ago I was in the midst of writing this book. It made me think of the original “These are Days” chapter, which was much different from the finished product.

The original was a really fun chapter. But it was 4,000 words. It was repetitive. It struggled to fit into the rhythm of the rewrite as I was restructuring the book. It ended up being pieces of three or four different chapters as I worked to whittle these musings down to something that was actually publishable.

I’m happy with “These are Days” in its final form for a lot of reasons, but it was still fun to look back on the original chapter, which was a slew of old Facebook posts about Lucy, playing in reverse order, with memories surrounding them scattered throughout. I dug it up and am resurrecting it here, minus the lyrics quoted from “These are Days” by 10,000 Maniacs at the beginning and middle of the chapter, because lyric quotes in writing are a big no no as I discovered in this process, unless you have the time, effort and money to spend.

It took me a long time to be able to look back on the ups and downs of life and be able to see them all as equally wonderful chapters of an evolving lifetime in hindsight.

I’m glad Lucy helped teach me that lesson. It’s made me a better person, and definitely a better dog dad today. Because, let’s not forget, Chip has happened. And I think we both plan to make the most of these days ahead.

So I guess this is 50.

22- These are Days

Walking outside this morning, gray skies and gusty winds greet me at the top of the porch as I pull the door shut and make my way down the front steps and toward the river.

Once at the park, standing in my usual spot, I watch a solitary leaf here, another one there, dancing in circles in their floating descent and coming to rest on the water’s surface.

Several leaves have pooled together in the middle of the river, a zig-zagging pattern that floats slowly along.

I walk over to a bench, the same bench where I sat many days with Lucy lying on the ground at my side, always to my right. In front of me is a slide, the steps and supports painted red, the dulled sheen of the silver board shooting down toward me, close enough to nearly catch a child swooping down and launching off the bottom.

Whether it’s truth or my perception, this slide is much smaller, safer than the ones I used to play on here.

All around me, splashes of yellow and red color the trees.

It’s October, and I am 45 today.

This is my first birthday without Lucy in many years. More precisely, she has been part of my last 15 birthdays.

That’s a long time. Mathematically, a third of my life.

Gazing off to different spots of the park, I picture pasts moments, conjuring the specters of Lucy running, pulling me along behind by the leash. Stopping to sniff something directly in front of where I am sitting in this present moment, the same spot she was so many times, the ghostly silhouette lies down to my right. A moment later she lifts her head, eyes close in the sun, breathing it all in.

I look around, realizing the changes of many seasons I have experienced on this bench over many years.

In two days, it will be 10 months since we said our final goodbye.

Who knew this little park, where 5-year old me climbed dangerous metal steps to slide down a steaming sheet of metal, would end up meaning so much to me.

Back at home, I look at the last picture I took of her, how tired she looked after having outgrown her earthly body. The way an animal ages is so much different from humans. She went from a puppy to an old lady in the time that I went from my early ’30s to middle-aged.

I can’t help but wonder why all of these animals age so quickly. Perhaps that’s why they seem to have a better hold and a better understanding of the days as they pass.

In the beauty of fall, all of the trees’ leaves changing color, shedding and falling to the ground, I am again reminded of the beauty of letting things go. But I am also reminded of the intricate art of being present in these moments – in every season, every moment, every day.

*****

April 1, 2020

“Happiest of Happy Birthdays to my best pal Lucy, 14 years young today! Found this fun throwback of us is younger simpler times.”

While social media platforms like Facebook and Twitter have devolved into bully pulpits and propaganda cultivators over the years, one of my main uses of Facebook, aside from innocent stalking, was to wish Lucy Happy Birthday.

The above post was the final social media wish I’d make for Lucy, a little more than eight months before she was gone, right in the thick of the Covid pandemic. The throwback was a selfie from many years ago. We were snout to cheek, me smiling ear to ear, Lucy’s nose the biggest, most pronounced piece of the picture as she inquisitively stared into the phone, curiosity mixed with a tinge of a tough-girl staredown.

I included a medley of pics from over the years with the rest of the post:

“And if you want a break from the pandemic pandemonium, check out this greatest hits collection…because we could all use a little Lou Dog love.”

A lot had changed in that past year as Covid created a negative energy throughout society. My tone was hopeful in the face of the pandemic, yet different from the previous year’s lighthearted offering:

April 1, 2019

“I officially have a teenager! Happy 13^th Birthday Lucy! We spent a busy day visiting Grandma Ann, Grandpa Don and Cousin Julie at the cemetery before grabbing treats at Petsmart, went sunbathing at the park, got some beef jerky from “Aunt Paula” at the Marathon station, had birthday dinner and grabbed a nap with little bro Buddy. Now it’s time to rest in her favorite spot, Mama Wende’s big brown couch.”

This included what had become the usual birthday photo montage, including a pic of her standing in front of my mom’s grave at the cemetery. There was one of her sitting in the car outside of Petsmart with birthday treats laid out in front of her. Other pics showed her at the park, barking in front of her birthday dinner, napping with Buddy, and laying on the infamous big brown couch.

Birthdays were always special days for Lucy.

I don’t know who I’m trying to kid. Lucy’s birthdays were more for me.

To Lucy, every day was special.

*****

While Thanksgiving is the holiday most associated with mass consumption of copious amounts of food, it usually wasn’t the most exciting of days for Lucy.

It was rarely hosted at her house, so she’d usually be stuck at home wiling away the hours while I was at my sister Laurie’s house, laughing and smiling and enjoying the company of family and food.

Sure, there was the “meat sweats” incident, but that was one of the few Thanksgivings that Lucy joined in on the festivities, and it’s probably good she wasn’t around more often as that one time almost did her in.

While she spent a lot of time alone on Thanksgiving, Lucy would always get a Thanksgiving dinner when I’d return home, scarfing down a mix that usually consisted of turkey, stuffing, potatoes and green bean casserole while I smiled at her joy and the sloppy chomping that went with the moment.

Then, she’d usually plop down in an exaggerated heap with a heavy sigh. We’d snuggle up and doze off into the wondrous sleep of a turkey coma together.

When I was on the sports desk, Thanksgiving was often the holiday I’d draw the straw to work, so that added a further wrinkle. But on those nights, I’d return home late to the warmth of a best friend waiting to greet me, tail wagging rapidly, an unconditional love lighting up my life more than the largest gathering could.

Other holidays were similar. There was ham on Easter, and before she grew so sensitive to noises, there were many cookouts on Memorial Day and July 4^th loaded full of hamburgers, hot dogs and outdoor time.

These days forged memories that I’m sure I’ll carry well into my golden years: sitting in the grass rubbing Lucy behind the ears as the sun’s warmth resonated through us; sensing her following behind me after I had scooped a pan of hamburgers and hot dogs off the grill to take inside, eyes wide and salivating over the delectable smells; welcomed home by a pounding tail and cold wet nose, a most-glorious reunion after she’d waited patiently for me to return from a party or get together with friends in recovery.

For Lucy, on these days, it wasn’t about entertaining throngs of guests or being showered with gifts.

But when it came to Christmas, now that was a different story.

*****

April 1, 2017

“Happy 11^th Birthday Lucy! The past 11 years have literally been a walk in the park, along with plenty of car rides to the park, naps in the sun, rolls in the grass, swims in dirty water, chill time with neighborhood cats in the back yard, birthday stare down pics, and inappropriate photo bombs. I’m grateful for her every day, and if she’s cherished our days together even half as much as I have, then she’s truly known joy.”

I’d known these things for a while, but actually reading them after I wrote them brought a new depth to the relationship I’d formed with this dog. I knew these weren’t just words, that they were truths, that this was the way I now saw life, the difference that Lucy was making in my life was really starting to show.

It was like I was seeing everything in a whole new way, and the days just somehow felt, well, different.

My posts were more often than not based on her. My pre-work routine was based on her. Lucy had become the centerpiece of my existence long before my mother had died, but it was more apparent now as we grieved together, seeking solace in one another to fill the void we each felt.

April 1, 2015

“Ahhh, nothin’ like a little April 1^st sunshine for the birthday girl. Hard to believe that Lucy is nine today. What a wonderful world it’s been with you, Lou Dog. Happy Birthday!”

Simple, yet saying it all. What a wonderful world it had become.

I knew many wonderful days before Lucy. And there were many difficult days with her. But the darkness was never that dark with her at my side. Going through some really difficult times didn’t seem quite as difficult. When I lost my mother, the thought of a drink never crossed my mind because I had to keep my head above water to take care of Lucy.

Over time, the realization set in that Lucy was showing me the way to a better path in life, a simpler understanding of the world and its beauty.

Before I even knew what Tao was, it was quite obvious that Lucy was Tao.

But if Lucy was Tao, did that make me Te?

*****

Colorful twinkles, dancing off nearby objects, lighting up the darkness of shorter days as autumn inches closer to winter. Those sights have always had a warming effect on me, even in the most dismal of drunken Christmases past.

With Lucy, I had something else to look forward to, because despite her sometimes less than angelic behavior, Santa Paws always showed up.

While Lucy gladly accepted all of the stuffed toys, rawhides, fluffy puppy pillows and countless treats heaped upon her each Christmas, I think like many of us, it became the build-up that she looked forward to just as much.

Every year, as I moved furniture around to prep a spot for the tree, Lucy would take immediate interest in these new spaces being created, exploring them as if they had just come into existence for the first time, sniffing at newly exposed windows and pawing at uncovered caverns of carpet which she hadn’t nosed in what appeared to be forever by the interest she took.

Then, as soon as the tree went up, she’d set up camp under it, pushing the tree skirt around to her liking and popping down under the tree as if she were going to patiently wait out the season for Santa Paws.

And Santa Paws never failed to deliver. It’s more than slightly embarrassing to mention that I would get Lucy’s stocking stuffers and hide them until late on Christmas eve or early on Christmas morning when I would sneak them into her stocking and then rouse her up to discover these surprises. Then, just like sleepy-eyed child startled to wild-eyed amazement, she’d approach the mysterious gifts, tail starting a slow wag that turned to a thundering thumping by the time she made it to the stocking.

We created quite a routine over the years, one that brought joy to countless Christmas mornings for both of us.

Lucy spent 13 Christmases in pure holiday bliss, caught somewhere between varying states of rawhide, turkey and ham ecstasy. In the early years, there were squeaky toys galore and three-foot long rawhide bones, pig ears and a variety of other doggie-treat delicacies stuffed into her own bone-shaped stocking, personalized with a pic from her very first Christmas.

In later years, the plethora of toys were replaced with even more treats and snacks that lasted into February. Lucy became a focal point of holiday gatherings, whether it was family and friends treating her to a game of fetch or tug of war with one of her new toys, or her going from person to person in an assembly line fashion begging for food and being rewarded every single time despite any objection I might attempt.
While Lucy was more than happy to accept all of the gifts showered upon her during birthdays and holidays, it obviously wasn’t something she was overly concerned with. She wasn’t counting the days to birthdays or Christmas or Thanksgiving. She gladly accepted the meat and the meat sweats that followed, but it wasn’t as if this was something she had been looking forward to. She just went with the flow. Birthdays, holidays, they were all just days to Lucy. And she was living each day to her heart’s content.

*****

“Though Tao gives life to all things,

Te is what cultivates them.

Te is that magic power which

raises and rears them,

completes and prepares them,

comforts and protects them.”

–Jonathan Star translation as seen in Dyer v 51 p. 248

Titling this chapter “These are Te’s” was tempting.

After all, it was Lucy who taught me the concepts of Taoism, allowing it to manifest – or become the Te – during our days together.

Te’s and Days. It’s a dilemma.

As Lucy’s days in this realm grew shorter, she remained at peace, as long as dad didn’t try to force things, like making sure she was a part of the large family Christmas gatherings that had transitioned over to Wende’s in the years following my mother’s passing.

On her 14^th Christmas, Lucy wasn’t happy. She steered clear of the family, seemed nervous and anxious throughout the night, was easily startled and unsettled by all the foot traffic. She ended the evening with quite the offering for Santa Paws, urinating all over the couch in Wende’s front room right after the final family members had stepped out the door.

I guess she was still trying to teach me, right up to the end.

Before those final days and that final Christmas, Lucy exhibited an elation for each new day that slowly started sticking to me.

Although Lucy changed as she grew older, she also changed me through all of the belly rubs, ear scratches, walks, baths, naps, races through the house and on the ball fields – even the destruction of furniture and homes.

On the 15^th Christmas, she was in peace again. Few at the holiday party were even aware of her presence as she looked down serenely from her urn at the top of the mantle, a spiritual Buddha grinning wide.

Aside from these occasional instances like Christmas, in my days with Lucy I began moving away from the idea of accomplishments being measured by their size.

As a functioning – and not-so-functiong – alcoholic, the bigger my dreams and loftier my goals, the smaller I felt.

As Benjamin Hoff offers in “The Te of Piglet,” his underated follow-up to “The Tao of Pooh,” Piglet overcomes this same self-confidence-strangling, constant-fear-inducing, paralyzing low self-esteem to become the essential essence of Te by embracing his true self:

“In many ways, Piglet may appear the least significant of the Pooh characters. Yet he is the only one of them to change, to grow, to become more than what he was in the first place. And in the end, he does this not by denying his smallness, but by applying it, for the good of others. He accomplishes what he does without accumulating a Large Ego; inside, he remains a Very Small Animal—but a different kind of Very Small Animal from what he was before.” (p. 50)

Though it didn’t happen overnight, my goals in life changed from writing novels and working for a magazine in a big city – and dwelling on the perceived failures of not accomplishing these tasks – to living a life of recovery, taking care of my dog and keeping a roof over our heads.

And for the first time in my life, I began to know bliss, or Te, just as Hoff refers to it later on page 50, as “a quality of special character, spiritual strength, or hidden potential unique to the individual—something that comes from the Inner Nature of things. And something, we might add, that the individual who possesses it may be quite unaware of—as is the case with Piglet through most of the Pooh stories.”

I still don’t know the answer to the whole who is Tao, who is Te, who’s on first base dilemma. But I do know that as our days together crept closer to an end, the realization of the change I had undergone with her – which I’d been glimpsing and feeling but not fully realizing for some time – made me want to hang on a little longer.

But I knew, more than ever, that it was time to let go.

In those final months, deep down, I knew we’d had our last Thanksgiving. That maybe we’d already had our last Christmas. We’d certainly had our last birthdays together.

We were closing in on what I believed would be our final months together.

As November crept into December and I started looking for gifts, Lucy wasn’t on my list. That’s how close I knew we were.

Slowly but surely you could see it. Slower and slower to rise. Less and less excitable. The life fading out of her eyes.

I had been preparing so long for a moment that was now upon us.

And it felt strange, that of the hundreds upon hundreds of walks stretched across thousands of days, that we were eventually going to take our final walk.

Our last holiday.

Our last car ride.

*****

April 1, 2011

“Happy Birthday Lucy! Five years old. You’ve come a long way from the days of defecating on the carpet every 20 seconds, chewing holes in the walls and dislocating my arm in your attempt to eradicate the world’s squirrel population. Well, the squirrel thing was just yesterday but I’ll take two out of three.”

A little over a month before my dad passed, this was my birthday post for Lucy. You never would have guessed by the sound of things that my life was in chaos. And it wasn’t because I was faking it. It’s because this dog was walking me through it, literally as well as emotionally.

She waited patiently for me when I was stuck in the insanity and blur of hospitals and nursing homes, ready to show me the Way through it.

I often wonder whether Lucy was the essence of Tao or Te. Because while Tao is the way, Te is virtue and courage. Did her Tao bring me to Te? Or was it the other way around?

In Diane Dreher’s The Tao of Inner Peace, she notes that Te is seeing clearly. It means not trying but doing. It means self-acceptance and detachment. “Te is this mixture of compassion and detachment,” and “Te means living with commitment, realizing that life is continuous change, that even failures bring us closer to the truth” (18-19).

Te means faith in life, Dreher continues. Te means living here and now. “Tao people aren’t haunted by ghosts of the past or phantoms of the future. They accept the gift of today and make the best use of it” (20).

Te means embracing life joyously.

Te is all of these things. All of these things had become a part of my life as I grew in sobriety, handling deaths of loved ones, knowing that I was walking through it.

And when I wasn’t listening to Lucy, that’s when I’d get myself in trouble.

I may never know the answer to whether Lucy was Tao or Te or both, but I know she brought Te to my life.

April 1, 2010

“Would like to wish Lucy a Happy Birthday. The world’s biggest beagle turns four today. I think we’ll celebrate with a long walk. And I think she’ll attempt to chase down a squirrel to use as a new chew toy. And I think she’ll fail yet again. ‘And I think I think too much.’”

This was my first ever birthday wish to Lucy on social media.

I started my Facebook account in August 2009, just over a year sober and still trying to get my social footing back.

My first mention of Lucy on Facebook was a small photo album I posted on September 3, 2009.

I didn’t have children or a significant other, so it seemed like the thing to do to post some pictures of my dog.

Around three weeks later, I took a photo with her, a selfie dated September 25, 2009 at 2:28 p.m.

We were snout to cheek in the picture, me smiling ear to ear, Lucy’s nose the biggest, most pronounced piece of the picture as she inquisitively stared into the phone, curiosity mixed with a tinge of tough-girl staredown.

Yes, that same picture.

You could see it in both of us. With me, it was my eyes. The genuine smile. I was happy in a way I hadn’t been in too long to remember.

I was a little over a year sober. One year, five months and 13 days to be exact, one day at a time, learning in that short time what a best friend truly was. Long before I knew it, I was learning the most basic as well as profound teachings of both recovery and Taoism.

Letting go.

Surrendering ego.

Living an unhurried life, one day at a time.

Going with the flow.

Living calmly.

Doing by not doing.

All of these things that I’d not known for so long, if ever. I had my life back. I had this dog, sometimes difficult and yet always wonderful.

And at this point, I had not even begun to uncover all the joy that life had in store for us in the days that lay ahead.