The Appropriate Role of People in One's Life

Rasputin is a great teacher. He has reinforced lessons I thought I had learned long ago, but were in need of relearning. For example, he loved Canada, absolutely loved walking without a leash and romping in the woods. But he is equally happy here in the city, sleeping the day away, playing with his toys, and going for walks on a leash. The lesson: Be happy wherever you are and whatever you're doing.

Rasputin is also helping me put people in perspective. I confess I am and have always been a romantic, with fantasies not just of being swept off my feet by a wonderful guy but also of adventures with a lifelong friend, a woman with whom I would share my feelings and she, hers; a comrade who would travel with me and be like the sister I never had. In other words, I have always wanted from friends and lovers an intimacy that either very, very few people are capable of or the people I have known are not willing to or able to provide. This has so often been a huge disappointment for me. But this has been my problem, not the fault of others. It has been my mistake for expecting from others what they are unable or unwilling to give.

Since adopting Rasputin, my expectations of people have greatly diminished. If people are insensitive, I have Rasputin's unconditional love and acceptance to go home to. If friends don't have time to get together, Rasputin is always ready for a walk or a belly rub. If there is no person to talk with, Rasputin is the best listener I've ever known, looking at me with 100 percent of his attention focused on my every gesture and word.

Rasputin is helping me put people in perspective. They are busy with other things and with other people. If they don't have time or energy for me, that's OK. It truly is.

As my friend Araia, the nature spirit who dwells in the woods of northeastern Washington, told me many times, "Heidi, if you get a dog, you'll forget about a man." She's absolutely right. I had been thinking a great deal about one particular man, fantasizing about him and being frustrated by not having him. Now I hardly think of him at all, and when I do, there is no urgency to it, no desperation.

And I must admit that my relationship with Rasputin is far better than any I've ever had with a man. He's more loving, affectionate, trusting, and playful than any man I've ever known. He's got a great sense of humor. He's filled with joy. He never complains or criticizes. He doesn't offer advice. And he doesn't psychoanalyze me. And he does not have breasts and he is not "pregnant," like most men. He's trim and good-looking.

So, thank you, Rasputin, for helping me to see people as they are meant to be seen. They can be wonderful in small doses, provided I have no expectations for them and do not think about them when they're not around.