Life lessons from a stressed-out Schnauzer
This is not my dog. Well, it is my dog, but I only know it’s my dog because he doesn’t listen to a dog-damn thing that I say. Selective hearing aside, the countryside has changed him, as it has me. And I think I prefer us both.
What about the simple life makes life so simple, and if city dwellers were to move, would we regret it?
The countryside has changed Bodhi, as it has me. And I think I prefer us both.
Meet Bodhi. A 12-inch-tall Miniature Schnauzer who makes up in character what he lacks in body mass. He was adopted from a pet shop in Guangzhou where he grew up until one fateful evening on which I’d had enough wine to think taking him home was a good idea. Bodhi now lives downtown in Shanghai, where he barks at neighbors, growls at street cats and terrorizes Meituan riders. He’s a homeboy, who finds the outside world very stressful. He communicates through a total disregard for its rules. Riddled with anxiety, Bodhi doesn’t enjoy going for walks and rarely cares for the company of other dogs. Bodhi is my spirit animal. He’s my shadow. And he’s a lovable little jerk.
But not in the countryside.
Our family spent Christmas in Moganshan, nestled in a cozy hotel. Because he doesn’t like the outdoors, I was certain Bodhi would hate it. A sadistic part of me was looking forward to that likely fact. On arrival at the hotel, we were greeted by the faultless manager, Zoe, and a friendly couple with their two Labradors who were also on vacation. Bodhi was his predictable self; uptight, unsure and working hard to solidify his authority.
We checked in, unpacked and headed for the hills. Filled with fresh air, embraced by a bamboo forest and bathed in silence, the change in him was quick. Before long, Bodhi was trotting through snow and leading the way on our walk. He was part Schnauzer, part mountain goat. I’ve never seen him so full of himself. He was really, really happy. And so was I.
We talk about dogs in dog years. Our furry friends age seven times faster than we do. An 8-year-old dog is 56 by the standards of its human counterpart. Let’s say Bodhi lives to be 100 years old. Let’s also say that every year between now and then has a box. He has six boxes left. I have 62. That’s not that many boxes.
Which begs the question: We get a handful of boxes and one life; how do we choose where to live it?
To find out, I did what any sensible person would do and took an online quiz. Answering questions about my favorite animal, bedroom decor, outfit and song. Turns out, I’m a country bumpkin who should “definitely live in the countryside! You love adventure and being around nature and animals.” That’s true but I also love coffee shops, wine bars and concert halls.
Sometimes as a columnist you feel obliged to have answers to the questions you pose. But here I don’t. Because I’m torn. And as easy as Instagram makes it look, any major shift in life comes with consequences.
If I leave the city, I’ll likely lose my job. And I don’t know how to light a fire or kill a chicken. Rural living offers serenity and a closer connection to nature, but it also presents practical challenges.
But to stay in the city means living in a shoebox apartment, with my vitamin D deficiency. Still, I enjoy the gym, art exhibitions and socializing with friends. Delightful.
You might argue we can have it all. I’d argue back that we can’t. Not unless we’re blessed with fortunes and few responsibilities. I used to think anything and anywhere were possible. Life and age steal that. We collect jobs, kids, mortgages. They can’t go unconsidered. You can pick where to place those things but picking one means letting go of another. And either way comes at a cost.
I’ll continue to live in Shanghai until the countryside calls. In the meantime, there are an array of beautiful scenic spots I plan to make use of. In that sense we can have the best of both.
As for Bodhi, he’s back to his usual self, yapping at anything that moves and sleeping on my bed rather than his. He’s quite content. Like us all, there are two sides to this little man. We are multifaceted creatures with many needs to be met. When we are here, we are not there. It’s an inescapable circumstance of life.
In the end, the question of where to live is a common yet profound one. It’s a puzzle with pieces made of dreams, responsibilities and the ever-elusive pursuit of happiness. Each place has its unique allure, and the decision isn’t clear-cut. Maybe it’s not about where we are, but how we embrace each moment within it.
Work out your number of boxes. Where will you spend them? Be it on Nanchang Road or a countryside lane, I hope to bump into you and for us both to be entirely happy where we are.
