How Shandy ended up in my lap.

I set a towel and a variety of brushes on the porch each morning before heading out for a walk with Koa and Shandy. When we returned, I’d put Koa in the house and set the towel down on the walkway to sit with Shandy.

She appeared more at ease outdoors, so I would work to desensitize her to being petted and brushed there. It was a slow process. Her exposure to humans was limited. She was reactive and uncomfortable being touched.

Over several weeks, I went from petting her back softly with the back of my hand, then with the palm of my hand, then brushing her with the backside of a brush, to using the bristle side. The purpose wasn’t about getting her groomed. We were quite a ways from that. I was acclimating her to being touched. Sometimes, she gave a low growl, but I learned to read her sounds to know when it was only a soft objection. Through repetition, she began to understand what to expect and could relax.

We were building trust between us.

I was still afraid of her, even after Pete, the behaviorist, worked with Shandy for two months at his place.  Pete and I talked by phone at the end of each day. I let him know how the day went with Shandy. He talked me through any difficulties that came up. He was supportive but rough on me. I often ended up in tears after an already challenging day with Shandy.  I experienced the same emotional distress with Shandy’s snarling, growling, showing her teeth, or having fits as before I met Pete.  Neither of us expected my fear or her sassiness to be present after Shandy’s “summer camp” with him.

Pete would yell at me on the other end of the line, “STOP WANTING SOMETHING FROM HER!”

I didn’t know what he meant. Weren’t we trying to rehabilitate her? Get her to change her evil ways? Want her to be well-adjusted? Of course, I wanted her to feel better, safe, comfortable, and healthy. I didn’t understand.

Then, one extraordinary moment happened.

Sitting next to Shandy on the towel, enjoying the sunshine and the view of the trees, I felt a “wanting” rise in me. Something I needed to fulfill, and feeling impatient about it. I wanted Shandy to be well, to feel safe, to cooperate. I wanted to brush her like I would any other dog. I wanted all this for her right then. Exasperated, I sat there. Then, I remembered Pete’s words. “Stop wanting something from her.”

There it was! Finally, I understood what he meant.

I had been wanting her to be different than she was.

This belief governed every experience of mine, both past and present, that things should be different than they are. Shandy should be different than she was. My marriage should be different than it was. My house, my landlord, my husband, my mother, and back to my childhood, where the belief took hold of me ~ My brother’s health should be different than it was.

What if, for this one moment in time, I let everything be just the way it is?

I took a deep breath, a heavy sigh, and let go of the need to change anything. My whole body relaxed with a feeling of relief.  The tension in my muscles softened from having braced myself for so long, afraid of what might happen next, as I tried to fulfill all of life’s “shoulds”.

And right at that moment, Shandy fell into my lap.

When I stopped energetically “wanting” her to be different and accepted her how she was, she relaxed and trusted me. By allowing her to be herself, exactly how she was, everything changed instantly—our lap times had begun.

We were both novices on this great adventure, finding our way together, and letting each other know how the other was doing. No one can understand what they don’t know yet or be anywhere other than where they are. Shandy and I started each day with this mindset, accepting each other just as we were in all our ignorance and with all the love we could call forth. Every day, we showed up for each other and did the best we could that day.

I learned from years of training for competitive rowing that progress doesn’t happen all at once. It is gained in the smallest of increments. A half of a second on a 500-meter timed row or noticing when a troubled Chow Chow’s body slightly softens when touched. These seemingly tiny markers are the most exciting thing in life to me. It’s the little breakthroughs that add up to the biggest changes.

I had to keep showing up and do my best because she did. I didn’t know that the next small change I would make would lead to a little Chow Chow, who didn’t trust anyone, falling into my lap.

“Let Love Lead” ~ Joy Taylin