I can do it

Here's a secret: I'm intimidated by dog trainers.

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.

I just needed to tell myself that.