I WON’T HAVE TO HURRY ANYMORE

My thoughts on slowly stepping away from the “race” of the dog world.

This year marks thirty-seven years since Schnauzers first became indispensable members of our family, and twenty-two years since I became actively involved in the world of dogs.

Today, I can hardly imagine my life without a Schnauzer. They are my family, my friends, my companions wherever I go — and, at the same time, those relentless little taskmasters who refuse to let me sit still for too long. Perhaps I have them to thank for still being in reasonably good physical shape.

And just so there is no misunderstanding: there are plenty of days when I have absolutely no desire to put my walking shoes on yet again and go outside. But dogs do not ask whether I feel like it. They simply need exercise, fresh air, smells, activity, and the world beyond the front door.

And in the end, I always come home in a better mood.

Looking back now, it seems almost surprising that in all those thirty-seven years I have actually had only six Schnauzers; before them, there were two other dogs. Nesika, Vento, Tobi, Bruce, Pip and Chuck. Six completely different personalities, six stories, six great chapters in our family life.

Some of them, of course, now live only in memory. Two are still beside me. I have been fortunate that our dogs have generally lived long lives — and, I like to believe, good and happy ones.

Perhaps that is why dogs have never simply come and gone in our home, one after another. Each of them had enough time to become a genuine part of our family history.

Before I “fell into the dog world”, my life was divided quite simply between home, children and work. Dogs were always there, but simply as members of the family. Convinced they were all born extraordinarily intelligent, I didn't even take them to dog training classes. At the time we had only Miniature Schnauzers, and I thought I managed them perfectly well.

Then the children grew up, and our first “serious dog” entered our home — a Standard Schnauzer. Among many other things, he was given one particularly important task: helping my husband fill the void left by retirement from a profession that had dictated an almost twenty-four-hour-a-day rhythm of life for many years. He succeeded beyond all expectations.

With him, I also began serious dog training for the first time. Even today, one of the things I love most about living with a dog is that journey from a slightly crazy, unpredictable puppy to a mature, calm and manageable companion. It is a journey full of challenges, mistakes, small victories, surprises and adventures. And although I do many things differently today than I did twenty or more years ago, the process still fascinates me.

That first Standard Schnauzer also brought me into the organised world of dogs and into our national breed club. In those early days, I mostly kept my eyes and ears open. I listened to people who knew more than I did, asked questions, learned, and was grateful for every new piece of knowledge — particularly when it came from people who had devoted their lives to our breeds.

Over the years, my work for the club grew. At first slowly and almost imperceptibly, and then until it became an integral part of my life. For the past seven or eight years, it would hardly be an exaggeration to call it my unpaid job. There has been a great deal that was wonderful. Many good people, interesting encounters, new knowledge, travelling, and the satisfaction of feeling that you could do something worthwhile for a breed that had given you so much. There were bitter moments too. But that is probably true wherever things cease to be only about dogs and become, above all, about people.

Today I am probably rather more mature in my understanding of the dog world than I once was. Less impulsive, a little more cautious and, at times, perhaps even slightly resigned.  

With time, you learn that you can offer knowledge, experience and help, but you cannot force anyone to accept them. In an age when answers are always at our fingertips and everyone seems to know everything already, genuine knowledge and experience are sometimes valued surprisingly little.

I feel that the time is approaching when I will step away from leading the club. Not because I no longer care about it or about our breeds, but precisely because I do. No organisation should depend on the same people for too long. New people must come — younger people, with more energy, different ideas and, above all, the willingness to take responsibility. I can still help whenever my help is useful. But I no longer need to be the person holding all the threads in my hands.

That, too, is part of growing older and wiser: knowing when the time has come to move slightly to one side.

After so many years, my carefully constructed dog-related schedule is slowly beginning to loosen its grip. For a very long time, my two greatest supporters — my husband and my son Rok — patiently and selflessly adjusted their own lives to it. A considerable part of their lives, and especially my husband’s, followed my schedule. And my schedule, in turn, was so often organised around the dogs: training, shows, travelling, grooming, matings, veterinary examinations and everything else that seemed both urgent and perfectly natural at the time — as well as around the club. I am deeply grateful to them both for their support.

Looking back today, I see countless hours spent on training grounds, countless dog shows all over Europe, thousands of kilometres on the road, complicated logistical plans, holidays rearranged, family commitments adjusted and, not least, family finances adapted to it all.

I see the hours devoted to caring for the dogs — and I do not mean only their coats and appearance. There was their health, fitness, nutrition, training, socialisation, preparation for journeys and shows, and helping them cope with situations that were not always easy for them.

Anyone who travels — or has travelled — a similar road, and not only in Slovenia, knows how much invisible work lies behind a dog who appears simply beautiful and relaxed in a photograph or in the show ring.

And then there is breeding. For me, it was never simply a matter of mating two dogs. It was always a question, and a responsibility: what would my dog pass on? And, above all, where would the puppies go, who would live with them, and what sort of lives would await them?

For me, at least, the responsibility of the owner of a stud dog does not end with the mating.

Now I am slowly easing my grip. I look back on the road I have travelled with enormous satisfaction and, yes, with pride as well. But after giving it serious thought, I feel that the time is coming when I can slowly draw a line beneath the account.

After many years of living with several dogs, the most natural law of beginnings and endings has left me with only two. Until very recently, Bruce was here too. His death, although expected, hurt me more deeply than I can say and left an emptiness that no other dog can fill — even though his son Chuck is still beside me. Bruce had a place that was entirely and uniquely his own, just as others had before him. Each of them was part of our everyday life for so many years that, long after they are gone, the habits remain, along with memories and tiny moments you still find yourself unconsciously expecting.

Life with two dogs is strangely simple. Organisation is easier. On a walk, I hold only two leads in my hand. And suddenly there seems to be so much space in the car.

The years are passing too. There is no point pretending otherwise. And this is where I still have something to learn and accept. I will have to learn how to live with this idea of “less”.  

If the years were not passing quite so relentlessly, I would probably still be planning all sorts of things. Another journey. Another dog show. Some new challenge in the dog world. And almost certainly, one day, another puppy would come into our home. The mere thought of that small, unpredictable, mischievous little creature slowly growing into a real dog still makes me smile.

But wishes are one thing. Reality is another.

A puppy is not just a few months of joy, mischief and toys scattered all over the house. A puppy is a promise made for many years to come. It is the responsibility of knowing that you will be able to keep up with that dog when it is grown, and that you will still be there for it when it becomes old.

And so today I have to ask myself a somewhat different question from the one I would have asked ten or twenty years ago. Not only: What do I still want? But also: What is fair to the dog? I do not always like the answer. And that is why I will stay with what I have.

Beside me are two wonderful pepper-and-salt Schnauzers, each with his own personality, rhythm and demands. They still make me go outside when I would rather stay at home. They still make me laugh, and sometimes they comfort me. And because of them, I am still learning and remain active.

I am not really leaving the dog world. And I am certainly not moving away from dogs. I simply want to step a little aside from the race I have been running for so many years.

Fewer schedules. Less need to prove anything. Fewer kilometres driven because “we have to”. More journeys simply because we enjoy them. More forests, meadows and unhurried days. More time when a dog is not a project, a competitor, a stud dog or a title in front of a name, but simply — my dog.

This “less” will be something new for me.

I will probably have to stop myself consciously many times when I feel the urge to plan something again, organise something, or set myself yet another goal. After so many years of living at a completely different pace, the change certainly will not happen overnight, nor will it necessarily come easily to me.

But “less” does not necessarily mean less life. Perhaps it simply means having more time for what remains. And what I truly wish for is actually very little. That my two boys stay healthy.

That they are happy. That we can keep walking our familiar paths together for as long as possible. And that they, just like me, may have the joy of watching my grandson grow up for many years to come.