What Can British Dogs Teach Us About Hardships?

A fluffing lot.

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There are instances in life when one must plant one’s feet and bear the brunt of whatever hardship is coming. Icebergs, rogue waves, a band of wolves: These are hazards from which one cannot run, because their sighting alone spells out a formidable T-O-O-L-A-T-E. And so, like a soldier or boulder, it’s necessary to brace for impact, knowing that to flee would be futile and furthermore undignified, and if injury is oncoming, one can at least sidestep insult, no? This attitude is how much of the working world deals with Mondays.

Take example from this paragon of stoicism, grit and forbearance: a British dog. On June 25, 1935, London and surrounds experienced an unprecedented tempest that became known as the Great Storm. Feet of rain fell in hours, roads were flooded and three people were killed by lightning, one of whom was a gentleman golfing with driver aloft. In another blow for upper-crusty sports, the 14 storm systems circulating interrupted several matches at Wimbledon. Somewhere in the city, amid the chaos, was one small, black dog. Its fur, incredulously fluffy and pristine, was about to become a soggy mat. Still, it stood. Brave, unperturbed, unblinking: a beacon of acceptance and courage. We should all be such small, black dogs.