Barking Dogs

I live in the country. I have lived in the country before, but not for many years now. And never in Appalachia. I’m sure there are houses in these mountains where you can mostly not hear barking dogs – and I threaten sometimes that, when my one-year lease is up, I’m going to find me one. But meanwhile I’ve got these dogs. People leave their dogs out all night, and they are likely to bark at any time during the night or day. And, when one starts, they tend to croon to each other.


They don’t bark all the time. So I focus on these raucous sounds being temporary, and that they will help me appreciate the times of real quiet even more – and some of that actually is happening. Or I practice letting these sounds be just one more organic sound (not cars or trucks) and to simply let them float by, to not judge them – and sometimes that works.


But there are times when none of my various techniques works, when I just can’t seem to let these noises go into background or to stop judging them. Times during the night when they wake me up and/or keep me awake - and even earplugs don’t give me relief. Then I tend to get angry, which really doesn’t support sleep. Or times just sitting out on my front porch when I really, really would like the peace that comes with hearing just the birds, the locusts, the nearby stream and the wind through the trees. But I don’t get what I want.


Somehow, I smell a rat. There’s something fishy about my response. (I realize I’m mixing my smelly animal metaphors, but work with me here.) I know there are lots of other people out there who get frequently annoyed by barking dogs. I only need to mention the topic and often my listener will immediately chime in with their own stories. Sometimes it’s not the neighborhood dogs but the neighborhood dog that drives them around the bend on a regular basis. So it’s easy to get agreement that barking dogs are a bane. But still I think my response is curious.


I have my own barking dogs – not in my yard, but in my mind. I have thoughts, feelings, memories that may not literally bark, but raise their own kind of ruckus. They are upset, complaining, whining – ok, barking. They will not be comforted. And, finally, I run completely out of patience with them. I don’t any more want to comfort them – I want to shoot them. I want to kill then dead.


I honestly think that these external barking dogs somehow remind me of those places in me that just will not settle down. That, maybe like the way that one barking dog sets off this call-and-response all over my hillside, maybe this angry, mournful sound also stirs up the banshee parts of my unconscious.


So what, then, can I do about all this – about the barking dogs out there and in here? I have no illusions that there is a solution. Barking dogs have been with us maybe as long as there have been us –and there is perhaps something essentially disturbing about them. Maybe they are meant to disturb us.


But I have a strategy I am trying for my own personal over-reactions. This strategy will not “work” in the sense of handling all this. But I think it can progressively work on me in some good ways.


It is in some ways a no-brainer that the perennially in-pain parts of my history/memory/ psyche need compassion. So I can practice that. But I can go further. Pema Chodron, the American Buddhist teacher, recommends a practice called “tonglen”. I breathe in the pain I am feeling, feel it fully - then breathe out healing for it. Then I take it to a much bigger level: I breathe in the pain of all my brothers and sisters who are feeling this kind of pain, then breathe out a wish for healing not just for myself, but for all of us.


This is where those barking dogs can come in positively handy. I want them to continually remind me of the primal quality of this kind of irresolvable pain. Pain will always be with us – with us people and with the whole animal kingdom. Or, as the Buddhists say, “all sentient beings”. The Buddhists talk about offering their lives towards the healing of all sentient beings.


I don’t know about offering my life, but I might be able to offer my efforts to respond with compassion rather than anger when I hear a dog bark.

"Can't Complain"

In my various recent “front-line customer service” jobs – including a one-year stint as a cashier at a gas station – I have noticed that simply asking people how they are doing can work as an icebreaker. People don’t necessarily expect to be asked this by the gas station cashier. One woman customer said that this “keeps it human”.

And I’ve been writing a little log of all the different, creative ways that people respond. Obviously, some people give back the rote responses – “fine”, etc. While people aren’t going to really “open up” in this little mini-encounter, I have come to very much enjoy some of the variety in what I do hear back. One of my favorites is a 20ish young woman who usually says, “OK, pretty good, hangin’ in there like a champ.” I think this one says volumes. I’ve been using it occasionally myself.

I’ve become intrigued by one that I hear not just from customers, but also from people in all kinds of social situations: “Can’t complain.” Now what does that actually mean?
· “I don’t know how to”?
· “I’m not allowed to”?
· “I can’t (or won’t) let myself”?
· “I will somehow be punished if I do”?

People often follow this up with,
· “It wouldn’t do me any good” or
· “Nobody would listen.”

Are these the real issues? What if they believed it might do me some good, or that somebody might listen? Sometimes I kind of mess with people when they say these:
· “For me, sometimes it just feels good to complain.”
· “Sometimes I like to complain.”
· “Sometimes I feel better after.”
· Or “I’d listen.” Ok, sometimes I keep this one light by following it with something like, “There’s an extra charge…” But I think the point still has been made that someone might actually listen.

I wonder how these folks who say they can’t complain feel when someone else complains. I imagine that they resent someone else giving him or herself more freedom than they are willing to claim for themselves. Maybe they (internally, at least), accuse these people of being “whiners”. It seems that our society is having a real field day on “whiners” or “whining”. This cultural assault makes it harder, I think, to risk saying anything negative about your internal state. Maybe “I can’t complain” may really mean, “I can’t take the risk of being called (or thought of as) a whiner.”

When we do actually feel like complaining, but resist it, it just sets up a dynamic of tension in which we are fighting ourselves, not letting ourselves do what we really want to do.

What if more of us were to genuinely welcome complaints from others? There are some things we would have to do, in order for this to really work:
· We would have to not personally take on the upset that this person is expressing. I like the image of an aikido move, where we slide in next to the person, out of the way of their energy – and join them in looking out at that about which they are complaining. In that way, we avoid having any of their sadness/anger/resentment/ loss land in our own system.
· We would need to see the other person as bigger than their distress – that their distress is not actually who they are, but just something they are experiencing.
· We would need to see them as trying to release this stuff, to get loose of it, to return to their true form.
· We would need to do unto ourselves as we are trying to do for others – to really get it that sometimes complaining is good for us and to start doing it sometimes ourselves.

There are also some things we can do, when we are actually letting ourselves complain, to increase the chance that taking this risk will work out well:

· We can attempt to keep our focus out there – where this upset came from, where we are trying to go. We are not being hurt in this moment, but rather trying to get over some stuff that happened before – or is happening in some other part of our life.
· We can remember that we are complaining about this stuff to release it, not to rehearse it or to make our case that we are being treated badly.
· We can make a contract for a little moment to complain, rather than just spewing. “Hey, do you have a second for me to actually say how I really am feeling?” This will usually take people off guard, but they will hear that you are respecting their time and are just asking for a moment. It works well if we apply this principle when others want to complain to us. “I’d be glad to listen for a minute or so, then I need to get going.” Or, “This isn’t actually a good time – can I call you back in an hour?” (“Catch you after the meeting”, etc.)

Here’s how that kind of “contracting” might sound:
“I’m mostly pretty good, but you know, there actually is something I really would like to complain about (get off my chest, etc.). Would you be willing to listen to me for a couple of minutes? If this is an ok time for you, all I really need is for you to listen and I think I’ll feel better.”

Or, “I’m actually not feeling very good at all. It’s not anything I want to get into right now, but thanks for asking.” (Even if we are not really sure of the sincerity of their question.)

Or, to someone we know pretty well and feel safe with, but have maybe never been this real,”Oh, you know, I really feel pretty terrible. Could I have a hug?”

Or even, “I think I’m right at the edge of crying. Would you be ok with that? I know I would feel better.”

Or we might say to the other person, when we can tell they actually need to get something off their chest, or maybe have asked if we would be willing to listen:
“I’d really be ok with you letting yourself complain – or vent – with me. I really care about you and would feel honored that you let me get closer to you.”

Or, “I’m pretty good at not letting this kind of stuff get personally to me – and it might help you feel better.”

Or, “Oh, man, I’m on the run right now. Could you call me after 4? Or would you like me to call you?”

If all of this sounds a little strange to you, you might want to just experiment with it. (Or might not want to.) I really mean it when I tell people I am honored then they give me a little extra look at what’s going on inside them. It sometimes shifts the relationship to a whole different level.