What's done is . . .
… done.
Earlier this week my shy, teenage, eight month old pup joined me in the perfect storm. She spooked and lunged. I tripped and weighted. And when I looked up there she was - my fifty pound, big white dog - backing away from me, her harness empty in my hand.
I have a newfound belief that stories are a precious commodity. I don’t always need to tell mine and I should ask the listener if they are able to receive. I’ve ignored that belief since following my dog in the dark of my neighbourhood, calling to her and to anyone who might be able to move faster than my own legs could carry me. I’ve told many a dog owner of our ordeal, some of them already familiar from my social media post as I’m searching for the man who leapt from his car and did move faster than me. “I’m so glad she is ok,” emote the other owners.
I’ve also developed a trauma informed lens in the last year. Crossing four lanes of traffic, waving my flashlight to stop cars was traumatic. If I am to use Gabor Mate’s definition, I perceived this experience as traumatic in the degree of fear and responsibility I felt for my dog.
Stop. In the degree I felt … for my dog.
My social media post received many a comforting word, but it was made in a local dogs group with a large membership so it was inevitable that someone would offer me advice. “You should have her harness professionally fitted and do some positive reinforcement training.” Thanks. Hadn’t thought of that.
I think unsolicited feedback is often rooted in fear. I’m sure many read my post and feared having their dog slip away from them. Perhaps they double checked a harness or watched a YouTube video after reading about my experience or even booked a session with a trainer.
But here is the thing about unsolicited feedback and trauma … I’m already busy with my own “good advice.” My dog should have recall by now. She’s negatively affected by my anxiety. What have I done to impact the frequency by which she spooks?
Trauma is perception …
Do you know this mantra: We do the best we can until we know better. I just looked it up and it roots in the words of Maya Angelou. “Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.”
Elsie - my dog - she chose me. She was born in the land of her namesake, my maternal grandmother, my sister sending me the picture that crawled under my skin whispering firmly, “I’m yours.” And so while I readied my home I don’t think my head and heart have fallen in step with this pup. I researched harnesses and took puppy classes but I had to land on my bottom to see that I have what it takes to guide this pup, I just need to get up and take the lead.
When Elsie was newly mine I confessed to my daughter that I was afraid. This confession overwhelmed and shamed me. And in response she offered me my own memory. “Wasn’t it a big, white dog that jumped on you when you were little, Mom? And that’s why you feared dogs afterward?”
I know I did things in the dark of the night that contributed to the safe return of my dog. I know I will always carry the depth of emotion I felt as I stood with empty harness, or called across a green space with only intuition guiding my belief that Elsie was still nearby. And so I’m going to offer myself that beautiful word - grace - such that I can reach for better.
“Good girl, Elsie.”
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