How do you step into a brand-new life after doing what you loved for so long? I joined the Army between my junior and senior year of high school. I knew what I wanted to do from a very young age. Staying in farm country didn’t appeal to me. I needed more than what my area was offering. So, for the next 21 years I traveled the world, fought in three wars, spent two years on the Korean Demilitarized Zone, fought forest fires in Montana, and was selected to be an instructor at West Point. Not bad for a kid from the middle of nowhere, Pennsylvania.
Only it couldn’t last. Time, fatigue from so many deployments, and a host of body breakdowns slowed me. It was time to retire. Like most in my position, I thought I had it all figured out. I was going into the civilian world with the bluster and confidence instilled through years of military training. How wrong I was.
The real world turns out to be nothing like the military. I came from a hyper-aggressive world where every other word started with F, we said exactly what we wanted and when, the mission came first, and there was a sense of camaraderie. (Understandable when you consider what our jobs were.) The real world offered none of that to me. I quickly realized I would get arrested if I spoke to civilians the way I did to my soldiers, I couldn’t destroy anything, and there were no tight-knit bonds forged from years of serving together. I was alone. Stranded in a world I didn’t understand and wasn’t prepared for.
Feeling lost is the worst. I didn’t fit in. Didn’t belong anywhere. Sure, I had the love and support of my wife and our families, but that did little to fill the sudden emptiness in my soul. I was angry, probably had more symptoms of PTSD than I was admitting to, and completely out of my element. Then I realized something….
We got our first Bernese Mountain Dog six months before I was set to retire. Otto and I were alone at West Point while my family was here in North Carolina. He and I bonded like nothing I have ever felt. It was all fun and games while he was growing up. Now, a decade later, we are both older, greyer, and not as fast as we once were. He has been my best friend all these years. The one being on this planet I confided all my fears, worries, and frustrations to. While he learned from me, I also learned much about myself from him.
Otto taught me patience. I learned how to quiet the ghosts in my mind and focus on the now. Anytime I felt angry or hyped-up for some nonsensical issue, he sidled next to me and placed his rather large head on my leg. It was that quiet reassurance that allowed me to calm down. I managed to focus on myself for the first time since I could remember.
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one were the pressures of being in charge of one hundred soldiers, worrying about how to keep them all alive, etc. I could finally put myself first, even if the idea still felt at odds with my core principles. Otto pushed my buttons at times as well, forcing me to look deeper.
We spent countless hours walking the greenways, shuffling through the forests and swamps of Holly Springs. No matter where I went, Otto needed to be by my side. He has been my boon companion through almost twenty-five novels now, never once complaining as I explained my plotlines to him.
I truly don’t know where I’d be without him. It was his lack of judgment that allowed me to transition into a functioning civilian. I slowed down and enjoyed the world. His excitement for what we do transcends words. Every time he sees me grab a cigar from the humidor, he gets excited. Not because he’s getting one, but because he knows we are either going for a long walk or about to sit outside for an hour or so.
A few years back, we thought we were going to lose him. He was having trouble breathing. I called the vet and went in that Sunday. Otto sat between the two of us. His head shifted to whoever was speaking. My vet said he had a tumor on his spleen that needed to be removed. We got down to cost and when it would happen. I looked at Otto and asked him if he was ready and he immediately placed a paw on my leg.
Now I might be getting sentimental, but if that didn’t signify some higher power working through the dog, I don’t know what does. With the fear of losing him gone for the time being, we settled into an easy lifestyle where I was able to continue letting my emotions loose and learning how to calm down and enjoy every little detail.
Otto gets his share out of it as well. I’m sure of that. After all, he enjoys his little bits of pizza, the occasional M&M or chocolate-covered raisin (I know, all of that is bad for dogs, but when you get to be almost 11 and 110 pounds, one M&M won’t hurt you). He doesn’t chase the squirrels anymore but will stare them down as if remembering his youth.
This isn’t one of those stories where the dog dies at the end. He’s still kicking, and so are our other two Berners. I’m sure many of you have seen us walking up and down Sunset Lake Road or around the area. I know I can’t fight Father Time, but every day spent with these magnificent creatures is a gift and a subtle reminder that life is finite. We all have the power to choose how we spend it. If I have learned one thing from Otto it is not to sweat the small stuff. Trials come and go; it is how we deal with them that determines our quality.
Ultimately, I think I finally understand. If I can live my life half as well as Otto does, it will all have been worth it.
