This is Juno’s world — We just live in it

My son sent the above photograph with caption to Kathie and me while we vacationed in Nova Scotia recently. He was caring for our house and for Juno in our absence. He always enjoys Juno’s company and looks forward to the day when he can have his own dog. That day will come, but not yet.

As an almost five year-old Labradoodle Juno has a lot of poodle in her breeding. Poodles are well known for lying on their back with legs extended outward and upward. It must feel good on their back and they can cool down. The pose does look rather intimate, with private parts exposed though not celebrated. Juno exhibits no embarrassment whatsoever.

It’s how she views the world (and the ceiling) in a posture of absolute pleasure and total relaxation. We laugh and smile, not because we want to do something similar—Out of curiosity I have tried it; my arms and legs tired quickly—What we covet is the feeling of comfort, satisfaction, and delight. All is well with Juno’s world; how we might wish the same for ourselves.

It is true that Juno picked the right house to join once leaving her Kamloops breeder. (Sadly, the breeder has now closed up shop which is too bad as they produced lovely Labradoodles.) Now retired, Kathie and I have the time and the ability to shape our lives around Juno’s needs and delights. She is our primary entertainment—If others travel the globe, the world comes to us in Juno here in Summerland. Some might suggest that we are slaves to our dog’s demands. While there might be some truth in such a claim, it is not an onerous vocation, and the benefits come to us in spades, morning noon, and night.

So if Juno does enjoy the good life, let’s try an experiment. Juno has her routines. Let’s transpose these onto a fictional human, say a woman named Julie, non-Indigenous, Caucasian, around thirty years old, an educated middle-class Canadian whose pronouns are she/her.

Julie rises daily, very, very slowly. No one is pushing her out of bed. She has no immediate responsibilities—no job to attend; no projects to manage; no gardening or home repairs assigned or it must be said, welcomed. If lots of people do things, she simply is.

She moves slowly upstairs to the living room around 7:15 though she will often nap on the upstairs couch a while longer. Eyes open; eyes shut, alternatum. No food or drink yet.

She next travels to the local park where she meets her friends, a half dozen or so close acquaintances and others who might drop in. She loves looking at the water and the chance to practice catching, just like the Toronto Blue Jays (Canada’s heartbreak, just like the Maple Leafs—Way to go Toronto). After a half hour or so it’s back home for breakfast. Her morning meal never changes; a tasty mix of dry and wet delicacies. Than it’s time for a nap.

Between naps she listens to radio broadcasts of local and national news and features. What will the Mayor of Kamloops do next? Summer wildfires? So very sad and concerning; Who would want to miss Eleanor Wachtel (who lives on in re-broadcast reality with Stuart McLean and Sheilagh Rogers). Occasionally, her peaceful world is interrupted by Amazon deliveries or clothes-washer repair technician visits. She greets  everyone with equal enthusiasm—and it must be said, a bit of anxious suspicion.

Lunch slides into early afternoon and her social impulses return, de rigeur. Its time for another meetup with friends at a different park, or go for a swim at a local beach. She can never get enough socializing, which is odd given her otherwise monkish lifestyle. Then it’s time for another meal, identical to the morning offering. Julie is surprised that other people demand variety in their diet. She knows what she likes, and sticks to the routine.

Next she likes to work out inside. While others might use an exercise bike or a stair climber—she has her own stairs to climb in her condo—she prefers resistance jaw crunches—you know how people use hand squeezers for arthritis and other ailments; jaw crunches do the same for the face, a remedy for amongst other conditions, facial palsies.

Then its time for reflection, where, yes, you guessed it, she might lay down and roll on to her back, kind of like sun bathing indoors on a dark day. She dreams—of running and jumping, just like the Olympic Games. From her sleep she sometimes call out, like a dog barking from a dream.

Finally, in the early evening, it’s time for television, mostly British crime dramas, shows about hunky English clergy with erratic (sp?) sex lives, or documentaries about train journeys. Around 9:30 she catches some outdoor air before jumping into bed with whoever is willing and available.

So here’s the question. Would you wish such a life for yourself? Do comment, and if you dare, share your own daily routines.