Mom’s dog, Jake, died yesterday, and it occurred to me that when a good farm dog passes on, he ought to get the tribute he’s due. Here’s mine.

Jake has been on this farm since puppyhood, about eight or nine years—we’re not entirely sure of the date, but he lived here a good long while. The thing that stood out the most to me about him was his soulful eyes. Although quite large, even for a lab, he tended to be a gentle giant. He had quite an appetite and was not one to miss a meal, or a snack, or anything else you might want to give him, like a pat on the head. He was particularly sensitive to Mom crying, coming to her side to comfort her.

He had a deep bark for strangers when they approached, and he took his role as Mom and Dad’s protector seriously. And then just Mom’s. He’d felt Dad’s absence, too, since January, sleeping many nights beside her bed.

I remember taking care of Jake and his sister Honey about five years ago when Mom and Dad took a ten-day vacation to see my brother. I felt sorry for them because they didn’t understand where their masters had gone, and they were out of sorts. Jake took to spending his days outside my house, needing that connection. Days later, when Mom and Dad pulled into their driveway and Mom called him, he bounded over the field, finding the shortcut through the holes in the fence to get to her side. Pure joy. Made me smile.

Jake had many human friends. Brian the postman, various UPS drivers who tolerated Jake jumping on to their trucks in anticipation of a treat, family friend Bobby who has helped my parents immeasurably since Dad’s decline. Jake also never fussed when my nieces and nephews hopped on his back to ride him like a horse.

Admittedly, Jake had a habit I wasn’t so crazy about. In the summer time, he’d sort of sneak up on me and lick my toes whenever I wore my sandals. I’m going to miss that.

His absence is already felt, particularly when Honey stopped by today, alone, wandering but not staying. Something not quite right. She feels it, too.

Mom texted me last night, saying that Jake was up with Dad now. A picture came to me, then. Dad on a dirt road walking, Jake bounding toward him for that pat on the head. Dad bends over to oblige, saying, “What are you doing here, boy?”

Rest in peace, my canine friend. You were a good and faithful dog.

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Ever been told you needed to come out of your shell? Accused of being a hermit? Admonished for not having a good time? I feel your pain.

It’s not easy being an introvert in a noisy world, but we’ve got gifts. Dare I say superpowers? Okay, maybe it’s a little premature to get out the tights and cape, but there are advantages to being introverted. I recommend snagging a copy of Susan Cain’s book Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking. While some of her heroes wouldn’t necessarily be mine, I found most of what she had to say on the topic of introverts enlightening as well as empowering.

Maybe you’ve compared yourself to extroverts so long you have a difficult time finding any of your characteristics as gifts. Let me help you out. Here is my short list:

Good listener. So maybe we don’t have bubbly personalities. (Who wants to be bubbly, anyway?) Those who like to talk a lot also like to be heard, which makes the one who corners you at the party happy. Introverts tend to remember the little things from a conversation, such as birthdays or the name of the boss’s grandson and how he spells it with a “k” instead of a “c.” These details make people feel heard and appreciated, especially when brought out in future conversations. It’s the introvert’s edge in human relations, which demonstrates a warm and caring nature.

Detailed thinker. It’s the little things I mentioned above. We see what others overlook in their haste to finish a task. Often we process slower, but much deeper, taking those details and giving fresh insight and a different perspective that others completely miss. The challenge for us, though, is to speak up and share these insights.

Independent worker. We’re self-starters, and we don’t require handholding to finish a project. As a matter of fact, looking over our shoulder is likely to annoy us. And, by all means, do not put us in group settings. We thrive best when we work alone.

Creative type. Artists, writers, inventors–creative types are often introverts. Maybe it’s that fresh, detailed perspective that makes us see the world differently and gives us an artistic bent. Whatever it is that causes introverts to be creative, we bring that trait to the table and value to our work.

Loyal friend. I have precisely a dozen contacts on my cell phone–eight family members, three friends, and one acquaintance. Not exactly what you’d call Miss Popularity, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. We introverts are a selective bunch. We don’t give our hearts away to everyone, but when we do, the lucky recipient has a loyal friend.

While my list is certainly not exhaustive, I hope to inspire my fellow introverts to see their great potential and value.  Be who you are and be proud of it.

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Hands

 

Calloused hands

built the fires—and kept them burning

steadied a shotgun

Smoothed curls and swung axes

Fashioned dresses from flour sacks

rocked cradles

sewed buttons

baked bread

Boiled laundry in hot tubs

and scrubbed

and scrubbed

Grew tomatoes and preserved them

Quilted

Played pat-a-cake

tied ribbons

wiped tears

embraced life

 

Beautiful hands

__________________________

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