By way of an excuse for not writing more in an email I was sending him, I told my friend in Kansas that I’d added a new task to my early-morning lineup: walking the dog of a new friend. It wasn’t yet seven a.m., and I had the next three hours tightly scheduled. My Kansas friend is always complimenting me, and he did so again in his reply later that day: Oh, how good you are!
I do try to be good—I’m certainly not going to try to be bad, am I?—and doing others a kind turn is an easy way. This isn’t empty talk. There are harder ways of being good, like resisting temptation, or being charitable in my thoughts. Also giving everyone that third chance they deserve.
So I’m glad for opportunities to do small favors. In the case of my new friend, a British woman with a baby she’s raising alone—no partner, no in-laws, and no family of her own close at hand—any help is much appreciated.
She’s got a lot going on. Her job, of course, plus her dog, her baby, and then the usual appointments and errands we all have—more now than ever. To cover her work hours, there’s daycare; those may well be the easiest hours of her day. The ones that require strategic planning are all the others. Including how to get a good night’s sleep.
I couldn’t help with the night feedings, but I do have half an hour in the morning between my own dog walk and my run, so why not use it walking her dog? I volunteered four days a week, enough to be helpful without the favor becoming “ownerous”—pun intended.
Dog walking is often a good way to get your brain moving. That pun occurred to me while out with Jasper. Other thoughts, too. For example, I recalled the old saying What goes around, comes around. I raised my sons on that bit of folk wisdom and still repeat it to them occasionally. I don’t care how grown they are. When they roll their eyes, I say, “It’s true! It does!” That morning, I got more confirmation. When I went to pick up Jasper, I briefly saw my friend and the baby, also preparing to head out in a different direction. I had business on my mind—Which of the two keys was for the back door? Where should I leave them afterward?—and she gave me instructions as she put the baby in his front-pouch carrier. A movement at her chest drew my attention. There, of course, was that beautiful baby being tucked into his carrier. Five months old, a strapping little fellow, twisting his head one way and then the other to keep me in sight. He looked open and pleasant—until he caught my eye. And then he broke into the loveliest smile I can remember. A second later, he did it again, the most beautiful smile ever. How can a baby keep getting better, second by second?
I had my own two babies once; I know they can’t continue forever on that course of dazzling perfection. But while they’re making those incredible inroads into your awareness and heart, what can you do but stare in wonder?
So for five minutes before and after a calm, wet-morning walk with a happy little dog, I enjoyed a real return on the favor. The mother can nuzzle his chubby cheeks and bury her face in his neck and rub his sweet tuft of hair all she wants—give him loud smacking kisses that make him roll back his head and laugh. I know the delight she feels. As my father-in-law used to say, “When they’re small, you want to eat them up, they’re so wonderful.”
After a chuckle, he’d deliver the second half: “When they’re older, you’ll wish you had.”
But that’s nothing my friend is going to believe yet. As I look at this lovely baby, it’s clear to me the real reward for doing good is seeing good—and if you’re lucky, every once in a while getting close enough to bury your face in its sweetness.
I got a second little boost out of the morning, as well: I got to report on the baby to my Kansas friend. Two for one.
As for what goes around, it sometimes feels less like a natural law and more like a treaty: you be nice to me, and I’ll be nice back. The only tricky part is deciding who starts. Someone should, because the sooner we do, the sooner I get my dividend.
