Max was my Oogway that morning.
He stopped dead in his tracks mid walk and put me in my place with a single look.
One morning, while we were walking, Max stopped dead in his tracks.
Very serious, he slowly turned to look at me, as if saying:
“Woman, what’s going on? Will you let me smell in peace? What’s the rush? What’s so urgent?”
It was an awkward, embarrassing moment for me with him.
I felt that look scolding me. In a loving, gentle way, he put me in my place. It was so deep and so honest that I instantly froze, and realized my impatience.
Let me tell you how we got there.
We usually walk together in the mornings. That day, from the moment we headed out, I was already thinking about everything I had to do. My day hadn’t even really started and I already felt overwhelmed because a bunch of tasks had piled up. Was it truly essential to get them all done that same day? No. But my mind and body felt like yes, every one of them was life or death. That’s what the mind believes, and the body reacts on high alert. Energy leaking everywhere.
So while we walked, I was thinking about all the chores and where I’d start. Max, meanwhile, was smelling the flowers, the grass, marking his territory. He was catching up on how his neighbors were doing, what they’d eaten, how they were feeling, gathering all the data he needed for a full morning report. Normally, I give him his space and let him enjoy his morning walk.
But that day “I had so much on top of me” that I was rushing him. I wasn’t letting him smell in peace. Every time he lingered in one spot, I pulled him along. I did it a couple of times (I don’t know how many, because I was lost in my head), and that’s when Max stopped.
And looked at me like that.
Impatience, first, with myself. For not being kind to myself, for punishing myself with everything I had to do that day, even blaming myself for already being behind. And that impatience, which was mine and not Max’s, was landing on his routine.
The day was barely starting and I was already feeling guilt, frustration, stress, impatience… you name every negative emotion. It was shaping up to be a promising day, don’t you think?
I apologized to him right there. For rushing him. For my attitude on such a beautiful morning.
All of that happened in seconds.
Max wasn’t interrupting me. He was bringing me back.
Sometimes, in the middle of so many daily tasks, we forget the basics. The things that actually matter.
We believe that everything we do for our projects, our work, our home, our family is more important, even more important than our health, than our own wellbeing.
And yes, those things carry weight, of course. We live from our work, we keep our homes in order, we hold our families together.
But we’re so on autopilot that there are simple things we forget. Like being present. We even breathe on autopilot. Our body already knows how, but we never stop to ask ourselves if we’re breathing well, if we’re really oxygenating the body properly.
How is it that we leave our body for later, when it’s our own body? The vehicle we move through this life with, the one that takes us everywhere. The sacred temple that holds our organs.
What would happen if we gave it 5, 10, 20 minutes, or an hour of rest every now and then, or at least once a day when we haven’t stopped in hours? I don’t think anything would happen, beyond it feeling grateful that we finally thought of it and let it rest.
That moment with Max brought me back to the present.
Back to enjoying that day, that morning, that minute and second with him. Back to hearing the birds sing, feeling the fresh breeze, feeling the sun on my skin. Back to being fully present in my body and in that walk with him.
He does it with a gesture, an invitation, a look, a bark, his simple presence. Just seeing him fills me with joy and makes me feel that everything is okay, that nothing is as urgent as I’m making it out to be. I don’t know how he does it, but it’s a gift he has.
Sometimes we take life so seriously that we forget to play. We forget to notice what really matters. We forget to enjoy the moments, to enjoy our present.
We prefer to stay in the mind and disconnect from the body so we don’t feel. Just do, do, and do. And I’m not saying doing is wrong. If we don’t take action, we don’t manifest what we want. But my question is: how much time do we spend in that state? How much time are we really inhabiting our body in presence? How much time do we take to feel it, to listen to it? How much time do we take to care for ourselves?
For a long time I was there, and it didn’t feel good at all to be disconnected. I was doing so much, but I felt empty.
I want to share this well-known line from Master Oogway in Kung Fu Panda, which I came across a few days ago and knew I had to share with you:
“Yesterday is history.
Tomorrow is a mystery.
Today is a gift, that’s why it’s called the present.”
– Oogway
Max was my Oogway that morning.
And he still is, every day, when he sees me getting lost in my head and, with a single look, brings me back.
That’s the practice. Letting myself be brought back.
It’s not about never having hectic days or never having a full mind. It’s about learning to listen when our dog, with his simple presence, is telling us: “here, now, with me”.
Dogs bring us back to the present when our mind has us hostage. We only need to learn to listen to them.
Tell me in the comments: when was the last time your dog brought you back to the present?
You can share where you are in your journey with your dog, which part of your bond is teaching you the most right now, or what awareness came to you while reading. Whatever you feel like sharing is perfect. Max and I will be so happy to read you.
Thank you for making it here. For giving yourself this space to read, feel and connect.
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With love, Mafer AP.