Elvis Series 1/3: 10 Things I hate about her dog , Elvis Series 2/3: The Fire Swamps, Elvis Series 3/3: The end of the Dog-inning
You CAN teach an old dog new tricks!
I was witnessing a miracle! Every step was a God-send.
Here’s how it went down:
Feelings update: Elvis and I had to get out. We were stuck home. Alone. Together. And sad-mad.
I caught him with american cheese to put his harness on. BOOM. Carried all 16lb of resistance to my car. There’s no way he can just walk with me around our ‘hood. Like a normal canine. After all, that was the last place he saw his mommy before she left. The scene of the crime. I did think of alternatives: I could strap his bony legs in my Bugaboo stroller or bungee him to a 4-wheeled scooter. However, I had no energy for either today.
I rolled the windows down ‘cause Elvis is a civil defense siren in the car. At the park, I got him out. AND HE WALKED. YES, LIKE JESUS!
I am so proud of… what? Being….with…a….dog? Oh. My. God. Am I turning into a Dog Person? I’m a People Person. I can’t just up and change into a Dog Person! Then my phone will be all pictures of dogs, and I’ll miss those sweet moments sharing coffee and feelings with friends. Next, I’ll start talking about Elvis’ poop re: size, shape, frequency. Ahhh! Yes, well, I did that when my kids were babies… Not a dog. Totally different.
Before leaving, I sat on a bench. Elvis paced. Always looking for mom.
It’s the end of the dog-inning, really.
On the park bench, talking to a dog, not myself
Me: Hey buddy. I’m sorry you are so attached to your mom. Like when you’re too hot on a walk, you collapse. And you only play, eat, and sleep when she’s home. Your mom is pretty awesome. But, somewhere deep inside, you are one cool cat-dog.*
*Yes, when you follow the sun, perch on furniture, cross your paws, prefer not to be petted, and go potty in a litter box, you get the cat-dog designation.
Elvis walked over to me and jumped on my lap. Another miracle!
Me: I’m sorry I’m so mad at you. I’m sorry you don’t feel free to be yourself and chew a bone or whatever you dogs do. I’m sorry you spend all your time being a velcro dog. And when your mom is happy, you are happy. When she’s gone, you’re lost.
And I’m sorry that you were made to be codependent. I used to be a velcro dog with my parents. And my teachers. And bosses. And my ex. It was probably great for them. But it really sucked for me once I realized I was never gonna be happy. In my own shoes, er, paws. I’m trying to be my own self now, but you can’t.
We stayed a few more minutes, then went home. As I opened the door to the bathroom, there it was.
An entire floor-full of what looked like red and white snow on the ground. Let me just say that Elvis loves lady items. And then his stomach doesn’t.
ME: ELLLLLLLVISSSSS! Damned it!
Well, I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks. And the rest his roommate just needs to accept, after some lysol and coffee with friends.
POEM: Full Circle
Seriously, can you stop? Truly, what’s your problem? Really, do you hate me? Sincerely, just leave me alone. Honestly, you didn’t know I was here? Damned, I mean, Thank you.
The SoulJourner QUESTion
The poem catalogs my process with Elvis: From anger to assumption to avoidance to the end – acceptance. It took a breakdown (the second story) and a victory (walking with me) to get to that place. And, while it wasn’t exactly smooth sailing from here on out, I willingly made room for him in my life and home. Which, years later, has grown into gratitude.
Why gratitude? There will never be a better reminder for compliant and low self-esteem traits than Elvis. If I get mad at him, I have work to do. Most times, he is a grateful reminder of how far I’ve come.
PROMPT
- (Serious) Share about a painful lesson that, after time, you look back on with gratitude.
- (Fun) What is a funny trait or habit that you share with your pet? (Or children! Or spouse! Or relative!)
