Adrian Barich: How do you want to live your life? The answer for me is simple, and it has a wagging tail

How do you want to live your life? It’s a question I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. Not in the grand, philosophical sense. More in the little everyday moments that end up becoming your life before you realise it.

And strangely enough, I think for some of us, the answer is partly associated with the word dog.

Call me the Ricky Gervais of Perth if you like but I absolutely love dogs.

St Francis of Assisi called animals our brothers and sisters. Ricky Gervais calls dogs magical. I’m not sure who’s right, but I know this: every time my Cavalier cross French bulldog Frank greets me at the front door, tail thumping against the wall as if I’ve been away for years instead of half a day, it feels like both of them were onto something.

Gervais also said he’d rather have a dog than a sports car, a mansion or a fortune and I think I can relate to that comment. If someone asked me to list the greatest creations, dogs would be right near the top.

Their only flaw? They simply don’t live long enough. As Gervais famously put it, a dog gives you hundreds and hundreds of wonderful days, and then one heartbreaking one.

Every dog lover reading this, knows exactly what I mean. My Frank, has completely memorised the sound of my car and before I’ve even turned the key off, I can see his nose pressed against the stained-glass panel in our front door, waiting.

Not hoping. Knowing he somehow recognises my footsteps before I even reach the porch. Sometimes I wonder if dogs don’t just hear us, they feel us.

I’ve been watching Frank closely and on the days that I’m tired, he seems quieter. On the days I’m happy, he somehow shares in it. When life gets a bit stressful, he sits a little closer.

And guess what, he never asks what’s wrong. He’s just there.

I’ve always thought one of the greatest lessons dogs teach us is how to live in the present. Every walk is the greatest adventure they’ve ever had.

It doesn’t matter if it’s the same street you’ve walked together every morning for the last five years. There are new smells. New messages left by other dogs.

A different breeze. A different bird. And, most importantly, they’re walking beside the person they love (is that the right word?).

Imagine approaching every day with that sort of enthusiasm. Imagine finding genuine joy in ordinary things.

A walk, a sunrise, a familiar face, a game in the backyard. We’re forever chasing the next big thing while dogs remind us that life is mostly made up of small things. Let’s follow Frank’s lead.

To measure love not in years, but in moments. One day he won’t be waiting behind that front door anymore. The smudges on the stained glass will be gone.

That’s the price of loving a dog, and that’s the price of loving anyone I suppose.

The memories remain though and I truly believe somehow, when another dog eventually wanders into your life, you find something of the old dog in the new one. You just have to look closely.

People often say they’re worried another dog could never replace the one they’ve lost. They’re right. It doesn’t but I honestly believe something beautiful gets passed on.

Not the same personality or the same habits but a feeling. A reminder. Almost as though every dog leaves behind a little piece of itself that helps you bond with the next one.

So hug them for a little longer, scratch behind their ears for another minute. Throw the tennis ball one more time, walk a little slower. Put your phone away Barra!

Be present, because to them, you are everything. You are their routine, their safe place, their family, their whole world.

For many people, dogs are much more than companions, they are a reason to get out of bed.

A reason to go for a walk, someone to come home to. And isn’t it wonderful that dogs aren’t judgmental. They don’t care how much money you make, who you vote for, what car you drive or whether you’ve had the worst day of your life. They don’t ask you to explain yourself (even though you often do). They don’t tell you to “move on Boomer”. They simply sit beside you until you’re ready.

Anyone who’s ever rested a hand on the head of a faithful dog during a difficult time knows there’s something deeply calming about their presence.

Perhaps that’s why so many rescue dogs end up rescuing people. We like to think we saved them but I reckon sometimes they saved us.

So when people ask me how I want to live my life, the answer isn’t terribly complicated. I want family around me. Friends. Purpose. A swim in the ocean. A bit of laughter. And somewhere in the house, a dog waiting at the front door, convinced I’ve been gone forever when I’ve only popped out to check the mail. That’s a pretty good life, if you ask me.

Next week, I want to explore another little philosophy that’s becoming another one of my favourites. It starts with six simple words: You will never regret a swim.