On sticks and the endless chase for more
Dogs love to fetch. You throw a stick, and your dog runs after it with uncontainable excitement—tail wagging, eyes gleaming, heart alive. He would do it a hundred times, each return as enthusiastic as the first. For him, the very act of running is the reward.
But does this make us humans the throwers and dogs the fetchers? Not quite. In truth, humans are the greater fetchers. Our drill is far more elaborate, far more exhausting. Once the primal chase for food, shelter, and safety is over, we invent new sticks to pursue: wealth, power, fame, happiness, fulfilment, enlightenment. The game never ends. Unlike the dog, we are rarely satisfied with what we have fetched. The stick we hold quickly loses its charm, and we hurl ourselves toward the next one.
The dog finds happiness instantaneously. He does not fetch for tomorrow, nor does he hoard sticks. He fetches because fetching is the game of life he enjoys. Nothing else matters. We, on the other hand, fetch for accumulation, for security, for distant promises—always far-fetching. Our sticks vary, and our satisfaction is fleeting. And so, we continue in an endless chase of things—both material and illusory.
Shouldn’t we envy the carefree dog chewing his twig, content in the moment, while we run endlessly, fetching and far-fetching? The dog seems to know what we forget: that happiness is not in the stick itself, but in the chase lived fully, in the joy of play rather than the burden of possession.
The humble dog seems to understand timeless wisdom better than we do. The Buddhist doctrine reminds us that desire is the root of suffering, and craving is always about the next stick. The Bhagavad Gita teaches us to act without clinging to results—to fetch without attachment. The Bible, too, urges us to become like little children, living without calculation or expectation. In his simplicity, the dog is already closer to these teachings than the restless human.
Perhaps the so‑called “dog’s life” is a misnomer. It is not the dog who is miserable; it is man who lives the dog’s life more than the dog. The dog embodies peace, simplicity, and joy. We embody striving, dissatisfaction, and endless pursuit. To live like a dog, in truth, would be liberation: to fetch without burden, to play without purpose, to rest without regret.
The lesson is simple yet elusive: stop far-fetching. Fetch what is necessary, chew on it, savour it. Life, like the dog’s game, is meant to be lived in joy—not in weary pursuit of endless goals.
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