Yesterday, I ended my post about belief systems with some statements about the world being a more wondrous place when it’s shared with good company. I didn’t say it that succinctly, but it was part of what I was aiming for. That sentiment runs slightly counter to the type of self-reliance I’ve been trying to practice for a few years: find or build within the self, what one might look for in another. The nuance is in the word “more” – as in, the world is a wondrous place, and is more wondrous when it’s shared. As for the self-reliance piece, I’ve come to realize that that whole theoretical house of cards comes crashing down on me during some of my morning walks with the dog.
I briefly “owned” a dog a few years ago. It was my girlfriends dog, so I can’t say it was mine. She was a sweet meathead of a pit bull (the dog). She was very friendly and very affection towards me and would “woo woo woo” when she saw me (again, the pit bull and maybe sometimes the girlfriend). When we were together at my place or her place, the dog was always there. Sometimes, when my girlfriend was busy, I’d take the dog on the evening walk as a way to help out. More often then not, we walked the dog together after dinner. She called it our family walk.
All of that said, I never had every-day, full responsibility for the dog. There were times on our walks when my girlfriend would be impatient with the dog, or would instruct me to not let the dog stop and sniff every two feet. I didn’t quite understand the approach…. In hindsight, I see that my “ownership” or responsibility was probably closer to that of being a grandparent with frequent babysitting duties than it was being the parent of the dog. I didn’t have to take the dog to the vet. I didn’t have to walk her twice a day every day (good weather and bad). I could afford to be more patient with the dog because stopping and sniffing every street post hadn’t been part of my experience for years on end.
Once or twice we would talk about what the next dog or pet would be. She was pretty adamant about not getting another big dog. Meanwhile, I thought everything was great and was like, “why wouldn’t you want more of this? more of these family walks? this seems about perfect – you, me, a big dumb dog.” Indeed, the family walks were sometimes the highlight of my day. After we broke up, I can remember thinking I might want to get a dog. I’d go for walks in a park and would always smile when I saw dogs. As part of this philosophy of build within the self what I sought in others, I adopted a big dumb dog thinking that I could have “me only” family walks that would be just as enjoyable. They’re not. This morning, the roads were slick with ice from last night’s snow. For the better part of our fifteen minute walk, I was partially duck-walking hoping the dog wouldn’t pull and send me ass-up in the air. My dog, because he was abused and never socialized as a pup is a little more unpredictable than the girlfriend’s dog. As such, most of my walks are filled with minor moments of anxiety and dreadful anticipation – what’s going to jump out, and will I be able to rein him in. This has forced me to acknowledge (over and over again) that the walks were enjoyable because of the company and not because of the dog or the activity. I like dogs. I liked her dog. I like my dog. I like walks. But it was absolutely the person I was with that brought joy to the moments, and seems to be a clear case where doing for myself what this person (and her dog) did for me didn’t quite work the way I had expected it to…