It has become exceptionally clear over the years that as much as we give of ourselves to Cookie in terms of time, love, and care, she will always out-give us. It's the nature of her dog-ness, the core of her being.

When a dog feels secure and locked into a regular, dependable, and quite pleasant routine, there is more opportunity to expand and grow past the basic animal concerns for food, shelter, and safety. A dog who spends her days without fear is a dog that will instinctively want more playtime. A dog who is rarely left alone will always want to hang with her humans. A dog who knows she is loved will give love back in every possible way.

But the life lessons that can be gleaned from a long-lasting, deep devotion between dog and human are even more varied and subtle.

Patience is something that comes naturally to dogs and something many of us struggle with. Our days are jammed with inputs. Our attention spans are brief, our distractions many. The demands of work, family, community, and friends, along with the day-to-day chores that sustain a hectic life, constantly press upon us. Our inner voices relentlessly demand that we do more, do it faster, do it better.

Meanwhile, the dog waits patiently for the next round of attention. Cookie knows that she'll get her back scratched and her belly rubbed in the morning while we sit and have coffee. Once we hit the computers, she settles in under a desk and simply waits for a break in the action. While patiently waiting, she is not berating herself for her lack of productivity. She embodies the Zen-like practice of doing nothing attentively.

It's a kind of meditation. No pressure, no stress, no timeline. And yet keenly aware.

Such attention to detail is another lesson we can learn from our dogs. Cookie is tuned in to seemingly trivial sights and sounds that she has connected to specific opportunities for food, play, and exercise. Early in the morning when she hears me open the kitchen drawer where Mr. B has spent the night, she'll come flying in from the next room, knowing that he's about to be sprung loose. When I pull out the trash bag-another audio cue-she quickly concludes that I'm heading outside and begs to join me. When the final bell rings, signaling the end of a session on my stationary bike, Cookie magically appears, ball in mouth, ready for play or-even better-lunch!

Her powers of observation are astonishing, even at her somewhat advanced age. Her hearing seems to be able to determine whether a passing vehicle is known or unknown, worthy of a greeting or a warning bark. Her vision is equally acute. From her favorite spot atop the sofa, she can track a squirrel on a wire halfway down the block. And the abilities of her remarkable nose, explored in detail in chapters 10 and 11, seemingly allow her to detect a trespassing cat way out in the yard from inside our living room while lying on the floor by the fire.

The fact that we lack such fine-tuned senses is no excuse for failing to push our own abilities past any self-imposed limitations. Human attention is most often captured by images, with sounds playing a supporting role. But the full experience of any natural environment requires that equal attention be given to our other senses as well. Scents, flavors, and tactile input are equally valuable if you are attuned to it. You are missing much of the joy of a garden if you don't smell as well as admire the flowers if you don't listen to the birds, if you don't savor the tactile delights of the soil.

'Chop wood carry water' is a Zen koan (phrase) that communicates a mode of being by its very simplicity. The full koan is "Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water." What's the point? You may wonder. The meaning, as I take it is that the activities remain the same; it's the attitude of the do-er than is transformed. Doing mundane things mindfully, with full attention, is the Zen path toward enlightenment.

Put another way, do what you are doing while you are doing it. Don't do what you're not doing while you're not doing it!

Dogs are the perfect embodiment of such Zen-like attention to the moment. Whatever activity they're engaged in, they will exhibit patience, attention, and keen observation. They will remain anchored in the moment. This is the art and the wisdom of dog-ness.

In the next (and final) chapter-the most important lesson of all.