Here's a brief description of my stereotypes of dog trainers:
They like their dog better than you
They're not afraid to tell you so
If your dog isn't obedient, it's your fault
the fact that the world doesn't accept dogs everywhere is your fault because of that one time when you didn't have a plastic bag and had to leave the turd in the park
They're blunt
They're kind of rude
They're loud
(They're really beautiful people who just may not approach human relationships the same way you do.)
They're more disciplined than me
They're not scared of saying no - to you or the dog
They're in the same category of my brain as 'drill sergeant."
So when Keith announced his intention of volunteering at church tonight instead of going to Dodger's first day of school, I panicked a bit.
When I was almost 12 years old, I was bit in the face by my dog. He was a Christmas present for me - I had been begging for him since I was six. My parents rescued him from a home where he was abused. They knew only that he had been "picked on." He bit me on Valentine's Day. I had a half day of school that day and my dad, who worked third shift, was napping while I was watching TV. The dog was asleep in the bathroom. I crawled across the living room floor to sneek up on the 2 year old sleeping cocker spaniel. I spooked him. He reacted. I went immediately into shock. No tears, no pain, and I believed, no lower lip.
I took the handtowel and held it to my face. I woke up my dad. He laid me down on the bed and took off the towel. Then he turned white. Then he called my mom. Then he took me to the emergency room. Then they called a plastic surgeon. Then my mom arrived. Then she said, "He won't be there when you get home - be ready for that." And then I cried. Then she promised to wait to decide what to do with him.
3 layers of stitches later, we left the hospital. The dog was in the basement. He stayed there until I got my stitches out a week later. Then we went to the doggy psychologist. Then we went to the vet to have him neutered. And then we went to obedience school. See, the psychologist said that when my mom called, he had "no hope" for the animal. Cockers are biters and biters never learn. But he spent over an hour with our dog and was convinced he was a sweet animal who was (I'll never forget this word) "redeemable."
I'm old enough now that I can imagine the hell my parents caught for their decision to work with him instead of killing him. But back then, all I knew was that it was important for me to redeem him and to do that, I had to go to obedience class.
I was scared to death. Had a stomach ache every Thursday for 9 weeks. At the end of it, I had a best friend. He died the summer I graduated from high school. We had a good run. I don't regret it at all. I respect my parents for it. My mom told me just recently she learned about courage from me in that season. It was a significant benchmark that I have long since forgotten.
But it came back. Last week's informational meeting with Dodger's teacher brought me right back to that gym 15 years ago. My blood pressure rose a bit. I sat up straight. I scoped everyone out, looking for someone else who was maybe a little bit nervous. I got nothing.
That's because it shouldn't be a big deal. We decided to go to obedience class now not because our dog is out of control, but because we want to meet people in Holland. We don't go to church here or school here and we both work in the same office. And there were a few young couples in the calss who looked as cool as us. This will be fun.
Keith convinced me to buy ugly shoes. I conceded because they're the most comfortable shoes I've ever put on my feet. Besides slippers, of course. So... after 17 hours of deliberation I bought the shoes at lunch time today. I've been conducting an informal poll. "How ugly are my shoes?" Here are my favorite answers so far:
"The real question is why are you asking that question of someone wearing blue dress socks and black Crocs to work?"
Dead silence.
"They're sort of European."
"Yeah... pretty Dutch, actually. They reference the wooden shoe, no?"
Not only do I not live in an apartment anymore, I no longer live an apartment lifestyle. Sunday afternoons are for eating roast and walking in the woods, like we did yesterday. They are not for grocery stores, laundromats, and bleaching the bathroom. They are not for to-do lists. They are for rest and laughter and reading books and watering the yard. They can be because when you don't commute and you have everything you need at home, you can do all those annoying errand things on Tuesday, maybe one on Wednesday, and that last minute run on Friday and still make it home in time to make dinner and still have an evening. I appreciate my house in a whole new way today.
That's how long it took for an interruption in my secret hiding spot in the office where I tried to hole up for some writing. A new record! Sorry, Alon...
Now that summer's unofficially over (and because it's a gray, rainy, yucky kind of day), I think it's time for a good ol' top ten list of my favorite things from this summer. Here they are, without rank.
1. Having a new niece! 2. Getting a new puppy!
3. Bringing this fern back to life. It was seriously dead. I actually killed it twice. The health of this fern actually makes me feel as though I've arrived. Couldn't tell you where, though.
4. Owning a frickin' HOUSE! Better yet - having it feel like home. Our home. I feel so blessed - not just by the four walls and a roof, but for the love that's shared there. I chose this picture because of the fleck of orange paint on Troy's side burn. Another testament to our many blessings... Thanks, again, for painting that bathroom.
5. Anniversary #2 to my best friend, hunk of a husband.
6. Ice cream, and lots of it. My favorite:
7. Backpacking in paradise. This is only an hour away from home. But tell me it doesn't look like a deserted island. This was a timely weekend to "get away from it all." I go there sometimes in my head, still. That weekend deserves a few extra pictures...
8. Having family in CA. Circumstances aside, it's fun to have a place to go. And it's fun to have a family you look forward to visiting. We were in LA and San Diego this Summer. First pic's at the Met in LA. You should go there.
I don't mean to be condescending, but some creative men are perpetual boys. Some days that's endlessly frustrating. Most days it's just amusing.
Picture this: Guy with corner office leaves the company. Guy with the basement office moves up to the corner office. Guy with the new office attempts to "decorate." Thus the Indiana Jones poster. And candles. Guy with the new corner office gets teased by other creative types for having unburned candles as "decoration." So he burns them. They're citronella.
