Dog Life Span Quotes

Anyone questioning whether god exists need only consider the brevity of a dog’s life span. If there was a god, let alone a benevolent one, dogs would have life spans similar to parrots.

I liked the idea of adopting a dog that was beyond the puppy stage, a dog with an unknown span of life under his belt. It seemed only fair; he didn't know what he was getting into with me either.

The fact is, all gangsters live in dog years. We come up fast in terms of making a name for ourselves, but, once our names have been established on the streets, we are on our way out.

The river of his youth had been diverted and poured out broadly across the land to seep through dirt to the roots of crops instead of running in its bed. The river was no longer a river, and the desert was no longer a desert. Nothing was as it had been. He knew what had happened to the sagelands. He himself had helped burn them. Then men like his father had seized the river without a trace of evil in their hearts, sure of themselves but ignorant, and children of their time entirely, with no other bearings to rely on. Irrigators and fruit-tree growers, they believed the river to be theirs. His own life spanned that time and this, and so he believed in the old fast river as much as he believed in apple orchards, and yet he saw that the two were at odds, the river defeated that apples might grow as far as Royal Slope. It made no more sense to love the river and at the same time kill it growing apples than it made sense to love small birds on the wing and shoot them over pointing dogs. But he'd come into the world in another time, a time immune to these contradictions and in the end he couldn't shake old ways any more than he could shake his name.

On average, animals that eat 30 percent fewer calories live 30 percent longer. This has been amply demonstrated with yeast cells, worms, insects, mice and rats, dogs and cats, and now primates. In fact, it is the only method that is universally accepted by scientists to alter the life span of all animals that have been tested so far.

They would grow old together measuring time by the life spans of a succession of speckled bird dogs.

Anyone questioning whether god exists need only consider the brevity of a dog’s life span. If there was a god, let alone a benevolent one, dogs would have life spans similar to parrots. We’d have to provide arrangements for them in our wills. We wouldn’t have to see their muzzles fill with gray at age four. We’d never have to find them in the morning, turned to stone.

They agreed they neither gave two hoots now as to how marriages were normally conducted. They would do as they pleased and run their lives by the roll of the seasons. In autumn the apple trees would be bright and heavy with apples and they would hunt birds together, since Ada had proved so successful with the turkeys. They would not hunt with the gaudy Italian piece of Monroe's but with fine simple shotguns they would order from England. In summer they would catch trout with tackle from the same sporting country. They would grow old together measuring time by the life spans of a succession of speckled bird dogs. At some point, well past midlife, they might take up painting and get little tin fieldboxes of watercolors, likewise from England. Go on country walks, and when they saw a scene that pleased them, stop and dip cups of water from a creek and form the lines and tints on paper for future reference.

You have to love not one dog, but all dogs," he would explain to Ceres. "You only have them for a short time, you see. To them it's a lifetime, while for you it's never long enough. So you love each of them for what they are, because no two are ever the same. But you also love dogness, the fact of them in your life and the world, so they become individual chapters in a book that spans your days, and you name that book Dog.

Do you hear that dog barking in the distance? Or that car passing by? Listen carefully. Can you feel the presence of the Unmanifested in that? You can’t? Look for it in the silence out of which the sounds come and into which they return. Pay more attention to the silence than to the sounds. Paying attention to outer silence creates inner silence: the mind becomes still. A portal is opening up. Every sound is born out of silence, dies back into silence, and during its life span is surrounded by silence. Silence enables the sound to be.

The only proven way in which to lengthen the life span of an animal is through caloric restriction. In other words, if you eat 30 percent fewer calories, you can live roughly 30 percent longer, depending on the animal being studied. This general rule has been tested across a vast array of species, from insects, mice, dogs and cats, even to apes. Animals eating fewer calories live longer than their counterparts that gorged themselves. They have fewer diseases and suffer less frequently from the problems of old age, such as cancer and hardening of the arteries.

Animals at the high end of heartbeat longevity, such as mice, cats, dogs, horses, elephants, and whales, have the capacity for as many as a billion heartbeats within their life spans. Human hearts, on the other hand, can sustain nearly three billion beats in a lifetime. This significant difference in humans’ capacity for longevity demands explanation. The human body’s characteristics allowing for such extended activity on all levels (physical, mental, and spiritual) suggests uniqueness of design and purpose. It argues for a qualitative rather than mere quantitative difference between humans and the rest of Earth’s creatures.

This forest was immense. It stretched away uninterruptedly to the north, till stopped by having got to the shores of the Baltic. We had it all to ourselves. Unnoticed, except by what Johann called finches, we passed along its vistas, and no human eye beheld the capes, the coronets and the cockades. In that past which seemed to me at my age remote, these things had all been new and spick and span, because of the glory which for a time was the portion of the family; and when, having risen and blazed, the glory at last faded out, it left a litter behind it, in every stage of decomposition, for the ultimate use, so it appeared, of one small foreign girl and one small indigenous dachshund.

It was a glorious night. The moon had sunk, and left the quiet earth alone with the stars. It seemed as if, in the silence and the hush, while we her children slept, they were talking with her, their sister—conversing of mighty mysteries in voices too vast and deep for childish human ears to catch the sound. They awe us, these strange stars, so cold, so clear. We are as children whose small feet have strayed into some dim-lit temple of the god they have been taught to worship but know not; and, standing where the echoing dome spans the long vista of the shadowy light, glance up, half hoping, half afraid to see some awful vision hovering there. And yet it seems so full of comfort and of strength, the night. In its great presence, our small sorrows creep away, ashamed. The day has been so full of fret and care, and our hearts have been so full of evil and of bitter thoughts, and the world has seemed so hard and wrong to us. Then Night, like some great loving mother, gently lays her hand upon our fevered head, and turns our little tear-stained faces up to hers, and smiles; and, though she does not speak, we know what she would say, and lay our hot flushed cheek against her bosom, and the pain is gone. Sometimes, our pain is very deep and real, and we stand before her very silent, because there is no language for our pain, only a moan. Night’s heart is full of pity for us: she cannot ease our aching; she takes our hand in hers, and the little world grows very small and very far away beneath us, and, borne on her dark wings, we pass for a moment into a mightier Presence than her own, and in the wondrous light of that great Presence, all human life lies like a book before us, and we know that Pain and Sorrow are but the angels of God. Only those who have worn the crown of suffering can look upon that wondrous light; and they, when they return, may not speak of it, or tell the mystery they know.

Have you ever owned a dog?” I smile. “Sure, when I was young. He was a beagle. We called him Ajax.” “Was he happy?” I have to think about that. “Yes, I think so. He was a dog. What’s not to be happy about?” She nods. “Did it bother him to know that he would live only a few years, that his whole life would barely span your childhood? Did it bother him to know that your father would have him put to sleep as soon as he became inconvenient to keep?” I shake my head. “That’s not what happened. But even if it were, no, it wouldn’t have bothered him. He was a dog. He didn’t know anything about that.” “No,” she says. “He did not. He knew that his belly was full, or that it was not. He knew that his ears were being scratched, or that they were not. This was enough for him. Is this not so?” I shrug. “I suppose so.” “A dog knows nothing of time, and a dog knows nothing of death. He lives in an eternal present, with no concern for what occurred yesterday, or for what will come tomorrow. This is the source of his happiness. If you could have told Ajax what the future had in store for him, would you have done so?” I give her a long look. I have no idea where she’s going with this. “I didn’t know what the future had in store for him,” I say finally. “He got hit by a car when I was twelve.” Aaliyah sighs loudly. “But if you had known, and could have told him, would you have done so?” “No,” I say. “Why would I do that?” She nods again, as if I’ve just made her point. “This is why Tariq asked me not to speak to you of the faith.” It takes a minute for that to sink in. “So in this scenario, I am the dog?” “Yes, Elise. You are the dog.

You have to love not one dog, but all dogs,” he would explain to Ceres. “You only have them for a short time, you see. To them it’s a lifetime, while for you it’s never long enough. So you love each of them for what they are, because no two are ever the same. But you also love dogness, the fact of them in your life and the world, so they become individual chapters in a book that spans your days, and you name that book Dog.

My parents asked me once if I wanted a puppy, and I told them in no uncertain terms that I did not. It’s not because I hate animals. I just always thought they were too much work for too little reward. I didn’t understand why someone would bring a dog or cat into their home, treat it like their child, and love it for years when they knew that animal’s life span was so much shorter than their own. It was like they were asking for their heart to be broken. Now, I understand. It’s because the time they spent together was worth the heartbreak.

The enthralling elegance of mathematics defines the circular motion of the stars, the angles of observation, the tallies of our economics, the shapes of our tools, the counting of our assets, and the creation of delicious food, compelling art, and captivating music. The span of our evolution provides a humbling realization that the brain has been mathematically evolving for thousands of years before any evidence we may currently have. Concepts and ideas have continually built upon previous mathematical truths, which humans have frequently proved, tested, and retested to establish new foundational truths. These scientific truths linger in the mathematical cognizance of the birds that count their hatchlings, the bees that geometrically shape their homes, the dogs that count their treats, and the seals that understand the flow of the oceans currents.

For people like us, the life span of dogs is the world’s dirtiest trick.

In less than three human life spans, we went from a world in which a single expensive, blurry, black-and-white photograph astonished people to one in which cheap color video made instantly available all over the planet does not. For the advance of humanity, this is a wondrous thing. For the promise it offers each individual to learn and grow, it is magnificent. And yet. And yet the humans living amid this deluge of information have brains that believe, somewhere in their deepest recesses, that an image of our children is our children, that a piece of fudge shaped like dog poo is dog poo, and that a daydream about winning the lottery makes it more likely we will win the lottery. We have brains that, in line with the Anchoring Rule, use the first available number as the basis for making an estimate about something that has absolutely nothing to do with the number. This is not helpful at a time when we are pelted with numbers like raindrops in a monsoon.

We could talk about it.” “Talk about what?” “Why you look like someone shot your dog. Shelby, I assume.” “Nah,” Luke said, taking a drink. “That’s not serious.” “I guess that has nothing to do with your sleeplessness or your mood then. Trouble with the cabins? The town? Your tenant/helper?” “Aiden, there’s nothing bothering me, except maybe that I’ve been working my ass off for three months getting a house and six cabins rebuilt and furnished.” Aiden took a sip of his drink. “Twenty-five, so Sean and Mom say. And gorgeous.” “Sean’s an idiot who can’t mind his own business. She’s just a girl.” “She’s just a girl who has you looking a little uptight.” “Thanks,” he said, standing. “You don’t look that great yourself—I’m going to bed.” He threw back the rest of his drink. “Nah, don’t,” Aiden said. “Fix another one. Give me ten minutes, huh? I can just ask a couple of questions, right? I’m not like Sean, I’m not going to get up your ass about this. But you haven’t talked about it much and I’m a little curious.” Luke thought about that for a second and against his better judgment, he went into the kitchen and poured himself a short shot. He went back and sat down, leaning his elbows on his knees. “What?” he asked abruptly. Aiden chuckled. “Okay. Relax. Just a girl? Not serious?” “That’s right. A town girl, sort of. She’s visiting her family and she’ll be leaving pretty soon.” “Ah—I didn’t know that. I guess I thought she lived there.” “Long visit,” Luke said. “Her mother died last spring. She’s spending a few months with her uncle until she gets on with things—like where she wants to live. College and travel and stuff. This is temporary, that’s all.” “But—if you felt serious, there isn’t any reason you wouldn’t let it…you know…evolve…?” “I don’t feel serious,” he said, his mouth in a firm line. “Okay, I get that. Does she? Feel serious?” “She has plans. I didn’t trap her, Aiden. I made sure she knew—I’m not interested in being a family man. I told her she could do better, I’m just not built that way. But when I’m with a woman, I know how to treat her right. If she needed something permanent, she was in the wrong place. That’s how it is.” “Never?” “What do you mean, never? No one in this family is interested in that.” “Bullshit. I am. Sean says he’s having too much fun, but the truth is he has the attention span of a cabbage. But me? I’d like a wife, a family.” “Didn’t you already try that once?” Luke asked, sitting back in his chair, relaxing a little bit since the attention had shifted to Aiden’s life. “Oh, yeah—I tried hard. Next time I try, I’m going to see if I can find a woman who’s not certifiable and off her meds.” He grinned. “Really, that’s what happens when you ignore all the symptoms because she’s such a friggin’ miracle in bed, it causes brain damage.” He shrugged. “I’m on the lookout for that.” Luke grinned. “She was hot.” “Oh, yeah.” “She was worse than nuts.” “Nightmare nuts,” Aiden agreed.

lowering the calories we eat by 30 percent or more) increases the life span by 30 percent. Every organism studied so far—from yeast cells, spiders, and insects to rabbits, dogs, and now monkeys—exhibits this strange phenomenon.

When viewed in terms of its discipline, Rinzai Zen is distinguished from Soto Zen by its requirement of the realization of the True Self that transcends this five-foot body and fifty-year life span through integration with koan. For instance, there is the koan of mu which derives from Master Joshu’s question about the Buddha nature of a dog.

By the time a dog reaches twelve, its physical condition is similar to that of a person approaching seventy — one nearing the end of his or her normal life span. But while the life of another animal might seem short to us, it is surely complete and fulfilling within its own frame of reckoning. It moves along at its own proper gait.

Over the thousands of years, it seems things have not really changed much when you take out the things and think only of the people.... I deeply regret wasted time--for it was never mine alone to waste. I would rather be nothing in the eyes of the world, if something, anything of value in the eyes of God. Too often, myself guilty in the past, when I read poetry the "I" is prominent. I have come to a point in life where I would rather less to stand-out, be a dominant personality, and more to be part of the blended solutions. Too often we let the world measure our worth by what we have become referencing their values, excluding the far greater--all of them we have avoided becoming. On old age: if you keep your sense of humor, you have kept your best sense. The expression of love gives the soul wings, and a never-ending span of light.... Nothing is truly alive, if living outside of love. May that truth be fact, fiction or falsehood: what is memorable, the thing we can't reach and fully touch, but recognize as art, is always truth. Having lived with a cat for the past six years--I am thoroughly convinced that both Pavlov and his dog were conditioned by Pavlov's Cat.... We see and feel far less with our senses...and more with our predilections. Truth be told, no one sees truth clearly as God sees it. After speaking with a much younger man than myself today, I discovered, that reaching 70 years old has some unintended consequences--Intelligence. Though he or she may think so, no writer knows entirely what is being said (as for truth--a figment of intellectual imagination); but, to create a tingle in the reader (a living word...ah!) That is nearer Divine! Love needs no affirmation but its presence. If I could only keep from getting in my own way! When forgetting we are co-creators with God, our behavior is that of independent destroyers. Art! It is like human love--controlling and all consuming when living with it…death without it! If I have learned anything from life, it is that I know nothing; and the mystery of my journey is to douse the lesser-ego with incendiary making ready for Divine spark.... The all-seeing eye of the heart if allowed to open will always see love first.... Love is patient...quietly awaiting to show despite our rejection—abiding in silence as ordered until our cloaking lifted for release and full expression. What joy that moment of uncovering—the heart purely exposed, our greatest lamp. While looking at a picture of a magnificent wasps' nest I thought: 'Amazing how creatures so small seem to have capacity for thought so large....' Children do have a way of bringing us back into focus, usually throwing a slow curve that ends up being a strike to the heart of the matter. Some large lessons of love have come to me from much smaller sizes than myself.

spans of our pets cause us a lot of grief, but they also ground us in a natural cycle of life and death and, if we can accept it, renewal. The spirit of our relationship with one pet lives on in and shapes the spirit of our relationship with another pet, even years later.

Being a guy with an imposing presence and a lot of tattoos, I face more prejudice than most white people. I realize that I'm a bit of an eyesore. But beyond the surprised first glances, my appearance tends to evoke vibes of fear, disgust, disdain. People have corralled their young children at the sight of me, as if I'm likely to eat them. The other day an old man stood glaring at me and shaking his head as if I were a mangy stray dog who had just shit on the floor of the grocery store. Even though all of my skinhead ink has been well covered, there are those who still pre-judge me as being a racist. Within a span of seconds, many people make up their minds that the world would be a better place if I weren't in it. But I volunteered for my tattoos. You don't volunteer for a skin color. I'll never truly understand what it's like to be anyone but a white man in the United States. For all of my self-imposed distance from the status quo, I'll never be able to get my head around being the product of generations of hardship. The most brutal chattel slavery in human history. I'll never comprehend being penned up in an impoverished reservation on land that was once sovereign domain. I'll never know how it feels to be denied because of the color of your skin or because of where you came from. To have to watch your children suffer the same fate. But I still try to understand-by studying the history that the victors didn't write, and interacting with my fellow human beings. Finding out what their favorite color is. Asking what they daydreamed about as a child. Sharing laughs. Discovering the person.

Life can be understood, says the Hindu, only on the assumption that each existence is bearing the penalty or enjoying the fruits of vice or virtue in some antecedent life. No deed small or great, good or bad, can be without effect; everything will out. This is the Law of Karma—the Law of the Deed —the law of causality in the spiritual world; and it is the highest and most terrible law of all. If a man does justice and kindness without sin his reward cannot come in one mortal span; it is stretched over other lives in which, if his virtue persists, he will be reborn into loftier place and larger good fortune; but if he lives evilly he will be reborn as an Outcaste, or a weasel, or a dog. This law of Karma, like the Greek Moira or Fate, is above both gods and men; even the gods do not change its absolute operation; or, as the theologians put it, Karma and the will or action of the gods are one. But Karma is not Fate; Fate implies the helplessness of man to determine his own lot; Karma makes him (taking all his lives as a whole) the creator of his own destiny. Nor do heaven and hell end the work of Karma, or the chain of births and deaths; the soul, after the death of the body, may go to hell for special punishment, or to heaven for quick and special reward; but no soul stays in hell, and few souls stay in heaven, forever; nearly every soul that enters them must sooner or later return to earth, and live out its Karma in new incarnations.

You have to love not one dog, but all dogs,” he would explain to Ceres. “You only have them for a short time, you see. To them it’s a lifetime, while for you it’s never long enough. So you love each of them for what they are, because no two are ever the same. But you also love dogness, the fact of them in your life and the world, so they become individual chapters in a book that spans your days, and you name that book Dog.” Dogs, too, were a story to him, one to be recorded and recalled, even as he was required to watch them grow old too fast.