Last week, our family got a puppy. Not for Christmas – I’m too respectful of the Dogs Trust for that – but, in some ways, because of it. I work from home, and the December slowdown is the perfect time to do what puppies demand of you, which is to spend half your waking moments paying attention to their every twitch and snuffle, in case you miss some developmental milestone that condemns you to six more weeks of accidents on the floor.
In case you have never potty-trained a small dog, here is how it (roughly) works. After they snooze, eat or play, you watch them, hawklike, for any indication that they might be about to unburden themselves. Indicator eventually noted, you hustle them outside to a specially prepared area, where you eye them, not too obviously, in the hope that they will let nature take its course. While they are in the act, you repeat whatever mini-mantra you are hoping to associate with the deed – in our case, a cheery “let’s go!” – then once they are done, you give them a cuddle and shower them with praise. Then you repeat that, five or 12 times a day, until they get the hang of it.
In some ways, it is more stressful than having a baby. Babies, after all, keep everything on the premises: you don’t want to leave them carrying it around for too long, but if you miss the big moment, everything is basically fine. Babies also grow up to be a lot smarter than dogs, so you know that there will come a day when you can explain how a toilet works and leave them to it. With a puppy, it is different: they learn by association, so every misstep feels as if it could be the beginning of a lifetime’s little problems. It demands constant vigilance, with little downtime for life’s usual time-wasting activities. Here’s the thing, though: I think it may be doing me good.
I’ll explain. Mindfulness, as you are probably aware, is the practice of being fully present and engaged in the moment – noticing the taste and texture of your food, the feel of the ground under your feet, or even the sensations in your body, all without worry or judgment. I am terrible at it, obviously: I could blame my job or the tech industry or dopamine addiction, but I spend most of my life beset by distractions, never focusing on what is happening around me because there is too much other stuff to worry about. When I do the washing-up, I listen to podcasts; when I’m on my way back from the school run, I respond to emails from editors. When I wake up in the morning, it’s all I can do to not blast myself in the face with a firehose of news, taking it in as fast as I can alongside my first dose of caffeine.
Not, however, with a small dog. Now, at 6 every morning, I can be found with a coffee in one hand and a flimsy compostable bag in the other, perfectly attuned to every shudder of the little fellow’s furry derriere. There is no time for the news, no question of a quick flick through Bluesky, nothing beyond the chill of the morning air, the rootling of my new best pal and the faint scent of the earth (occasionally, yes, tinged by something less pleasant). I am like a monk meditating on a candle flame or a blade of grass, my focus narrowed to one point.
Maybe it is possible that this is how I’ll finally “get” mindfulness and meditation – not from a beatific love of the universe, but from a genuine concern about the state of my carpet. For now, I’m just enjoying the stillness and tranquillity that my pup provides, even if his little forays always end the same way.
Incidentally, I should make it clear that I am not saying any of this is a good reason to get a puppy. I may be very zen about these things now, but I don’t want the Dogs Trust to be mad at me.
• Adrian Chiles is away
