by Gene B.

Oddly enough, some of the most meaningful lessons I’ve learned about life haven’t come from books, podcasts, or long conversations with wise friends. They’ve come from my dog, Ronin.

Ronin is a rescue, and what an incredible blessing he has been to my family. His intent, of course, is not to teach profound life lessons, he’s not setting out each day with a philosophical agenda. And yet, somehow, he is remarkably good at it.

The other day we were out for a walk in our neighborhood. It was one of those simple, perfect moments, crisp air, quiet streets, nothing urgent to do and nowhere pressing to be. Ronin was fully in his element. You could see it in the way he moved, tail wagging, nose working overtime, soaking in every scent and sound. He was just having a grand old time being alive.

As we walked along, we noticed a man and his young daughter ahead of us. They were struggling to make their way up the icy slope of their lawn toward their front door. With them was their dog, a fairly large one, noticeably bigger than Ronin. The ice made everything harder. You could see the tension in the leash as the man tried to steady himself while guiding both his daughter and the dog up the incline.

We were still some distance away when things suddenly shifted.

Their dog seemed to become aggressive, directly toward Ronin. The leash tightened. The dog locked in, focused, pulling hard despite the slippery ground beneath him.

At first, Ronin, true to his nature, thought everything was great. To him, every dog is a potential friend, every moment an opportunity for play. He began happily pulling forward, tail wagging, eager to say hello.

But then, in an instant, his entire demeanor changed.

He went into protection mode.

Without hesitation, Ronin positioned himself directly between me and the other dog. It was deliberate and unmistakable, he was protecting me. His bark deepened, more serious, more focused. His body tensed, muscles tight, stance firm. He wasn’t lunging wildly, he was grounded, alert, ready if he needed to be.

And then, just as quickly as the tension had risen, it dissolved.

The man regained his footing. He was able to pull his dog back and up the slope. The threat was over.

What happened next is the part that stayed with me.

Ronin turned around and looked up at me, right in the eyes, his tail wagging again, wearing that goofy, almost human smile he has. In a split second, he went from full protection mode to “Hey dude, all good, let’s play.”

No lingering aggression.
No anxiety.
No replaying the moment.
No carrying it forward.

Just back to being present. Back to joy.

And that’s when it hit me.

The long-winded moral of the story, the lesson Ronin taught me without ever trying is this:

He was completely in the moment the entire walk.

He was present in the joy of the fresh air.
Present in the excitement of a new dog.
Present in the instinct to protect.
And when the moment passed, he let it go instantly.

No judgment.
No resentment.
No stress hanging on.

Just a return to peace.

How different is that from us?

We relive tense moments long after they’re over.
We hold onto fear, embarrassment, anger.
We analyze what we should’ve done or said.
We carry negativity forward, sometimes for hours, days, even years.

But Ronin doesn’t.

He reacts when needed.
He protects when necessary.
He feels fully in real time.

And then he releases it, completely, the second it’s no longer required.

There’s something deeply inspiring in that simplicity.

What if we could be more like that?

What if we allowed ourselves to live fully in the present moment, to enjoy the walk, the air, the quiet joy of being alive, without constantly scanning for what might go wrong?

What if, when challenges did arise, we met them with clarity and strength, but didn’t carry them any longer than necessary?

What if we could accept what’s right in front of us without judgment, and then let go of the bad stuff as soon as possible?

How much lighter would we feel?
How much more peace would we experience?
How much more present could we be for the people we love?

Dogs have a beautiful way of modeling emotional honesty. They don’t suppress what they feel, but they also don’t cling to it. They move through emotions the way weather moves through the sky: fully expressed, then gone.

Ronin reminded me that presence isn’t about pretending life is always calm.

Sometimes you need to bark.
Sometimes you need to stand your ground.
Sometimes you need to protect what matters.

But when the moment passes, let it pass.

Return to joy.
Return to calm.
Return to the walk.

So today, I’m holding onto that lesson from my rescue dog, my unexpected teacher.

Be present.
Accept what is.
Protect what matters.
And let go of the rest.

Have an incredible day, and be kind to yourself (and your dog) 😊

#spca