Thankful Thursday: Puppy Love

Outside of my family and a select group of friends who stood by me when I decided to get sober, my longest and healthiest relationship in the world is with my dog, Clementine.  She's an eight year old Rottweiler/Blue Heeler mix, and we've been together for almost seven years.  Today, I am grateful for my beastly baby and all she's taught me.

My darling Clementine, 4 years and 40 lbs ago.

She was found wandering skinny, hungry and alone in a blizzard by a family my father worked with.  They took her in and tried their best to make things work, but she was too much for their 3 bedroom home and family of 5, so they began looking at other options.  When they mentioned the possibility of getting rid of her in front of my father, he thought of me immediately.  Not only have I been an animal lover and rescuer my entire life, my birthday was coming up.   When he called and asked if I would be interested in adopting a dog, he explained that she was "a few months old", but that no one knew her exact age.  He also told me that she'd been found abandoned during the winter, and my heart melted.  I agreed to be her human before meeting her or even seeing a picture.  I had no idea how to be a dog-person (up to that point, I'd always been a cat person), but I liked the idea of having a dog, and her story broke my heart.  I knew she had to be mine.

So, four days after my birthday in April of 2008, I loaded a small kennel and a good friend into the car and set out to pick up my new baby.  When I finally arrived at my destination, I discovered that the puppy I had expected to take home was actually some sort of half dog-half puppy hybrid, not to mention the most gangly creature I'd ever laid eyes on.  She was wearing an old, faded red collar with extra holes punched in it in order to fit her properly, and she cowered when the children of the house wandered by.  She was so desperate to be please, so pitiful and tentative....It was love at first sight.

Playing copilot.  She rides better these days,

I was told that her name was "Kitty", but that she wouldn't answer to it.  I was relieved to hear that, because when I decided to adopt her, I'd already had a name picked out.  I remember scratching her ears and chin and asking if she would be my Clementine.  She may or may not have had any idea what I was talking about, but she smiled and wagged her tail.  I took that as a good sign and officially renamed her.  From that moment on, she was my little baby citrus fruit.

When everyone had said their goodbyes and it was time to load her up, I realized she definitely wouldn't fit into the kennel that I brought along.  I stashed it in the trunk and opened the back door of the car, ready to welcome Clementine to her new life.  She was so unsure as she climbed into the car.  She was hunched low to the ground with her tail between her legs, and she quickly folded herself into a tiny ball on the floor of the back seat.  There was absolutely no amount of coaxing that would get her to move onto the seats themselves, each time I tried to place her there comfortably, she would wince and whine.  Finally, I gave up, deciding that she probably knew what would make her most comfortable.  It was a boring, quiet trip home.  She didn't move a muscle or make a sound, she just laid in a sad little ball on the floor.

The first several weeks were HARD. Clementine was a difficult dog to train and a difficult creature
to contend with.  After all, she was young and full of energy.  She was in that horrible teething stage

that dog's go through when they're growing up.  She'd gone through at least 2 other owners and had no sense of who her master or pack leader was.  She had no sense of stability or home.  She was timid and emotional, as though she'd had an owner who screamed at her rather than training her.  She was also sneaky, stealthy and faster than a speeding bullet.  Within the first month, she managed to destroy over half of my wardrobe and several pieces of furniture.  She also had an incredible knack for escaping.

Despite any and all of her flaws, my love for her only got stronger as time went on.  There's nothing quite like the feeling of coming home after a long day to see your dog's eyes turn into cartoon hearts the moment they lay eyes on you.  The relationship I was in at the time, like most of my relationships up to that point, was built on a foundation of loneliness and an inability to stand on my own.  We were companions (bad ones) and that was pretty much it.  Clementine was my first experience with unconditional love.

That was also when I was in the beginning stages of working through my depression after the mental hospital.  I was going to therapy, I was taking a plethora of different medications (for a plethora of different mental health ailments), I was reading a lot of philosophy....  Basically, I was just trying to learn how to be a happy, healthy person.  That's when Clementine started to change my life.

Grown up, going gray, and too fat for her chair.

It started with getting active.  Having a dog isn't exactly the same as having a cat.  It's not a sedentary activity, especially if the dog is young.  When I realized that Clementine was chewing everything in
my life because she was bored and all hopped up on youth, I started taking her for walks regularly.  Not only did that seem to quench her thirst for  destruction, but I noticed a marked improvement in my mood after our walks.  After a week or two of consistent walks, she began to leave slack in the leash.  She stopped worrying about every passing smell and squirrel and we were able to walk the entirety of the town without me feeling like my arms were going to fall out of their sockets.  She began listening to me at home, she began coming to her name 10 times out of 10.  She started to understand how to sit, how to lay, how to roll over. I'd never been so proud of anything.  Each time she learned or accomplished something new, my heart would swell with pride.  It took her a while, but she finally accepted me as leader of the pack and as a consistent presence in her life.  I may have decided that she was my dog the day I got her, but it took Clementine a lot longer to decide that I was her person.

Eventually, the relationship I was in fell apart.  He had been seeing another woman, and even though I had suspected for some time, I was devastated.  We were living together, so we had to divide the assets and figure out who would take what to their new life.  It wasn't exactly amicable, but he knew better than to fight me on dog custody.  He moved in with his new girlfriend while Clementine and I moved back home with my parents.

It ended up being the ideal situation for the two of us.  She loved my parent's ancient Collie, and it
wasn't long before she started imitating their dog's behavior.  In less than a month, that frail, graying puffball had my dog better trained than I had in almost a year.  My parent's house also provided Clementine with a dead-end street and almost an acre of property to explore.  I was able to trust her outside without a leash or tie-out in almost no time.

Once I was able to trust her without a leash, I started taking her to parks.  We would visit parks and wild-life reserves in every county surrounding us.  I'd let her off the leash and explore while she ran and danced in circles around me, like I was her Sun and she was stuck in my orbit.


She still acts like that when I take her out, though her run has slowed to an enthusiastic trot.

Throughout the last several years, my dog has been a constant source of smiles, happiness, cuddles and companionship.  On my darkest, saddest days, when I feel low and worthless, I just look at her face and take comfort in knowing that I sure did something right with her.
The gangly little dog that I brought home from that trailer park in 2008 has swelled into a 95 lb cuddle monster with a passion for car rides, cuddles and blankets.  She is jealous and bashful and protective and fierce, but she's also gentle and self-conscious.  She helped teach me about what it means to loyal and trusting.  She helped me realize what unconditional love actually looks like.

More than anything, though, Clementine has taught me that you can solve any problem and face any obstacle as long as you have patience, compassion and a sense of humor.  I'm so grateful that I took a chance and adopted this ridiculous, emotive little beast, but I'm far more grateful to be her person.

Learning to be enough.

Have you ever gotten a compliment and had no idea how to take it?  It seems odd and a little ungrateful to just accept it, to say "Thank you" and move on, but it seems just as bad to deny it--to be bashful and coy.  It seems like the worst you can do is just agree.  If you're going to go that route, you may as well just start calling yourself Narcissus, find a nice little bit of standing water to stare into  and just commit. Whenever I receive a compliment, I get all wide-eyed and panicky, desperately searching the person sending it for something that I like about them, something to return the aesthetic appreciation they showed me.  I realize that this may come off as insincere, but it's the only way I really know of to accept a compliment.

This anecdote, now that I think about it, is surprisingly representative of why I have trouble talking to people and making friends.

See, it's not just compliments that I don't know how to deal with.  Generally speaking, I have a really difficult time with smart, nice, interesting and funny people.  I freeze up and get awkward; I fumble over words because my brain is moving at a thousand miles an hour trying to figure out something worthwhile or witty to say.  I start asking stupid questions like, "So, are you the type of person who eats breakfast?"  Basically, the minute I realize that I'm talking to an awesome person, everything goes tits up.

It's probably something that's rooted in low self-esteem, at least that's where I'd put my money if life was like a roulette board.  The thing is, I don't like myself very much. Don't get me wrong, I can see that I have good qualities--I am a good cook, a fantastic baker, I can be funny sometimes, I know a little bit about a couple things and I can type really fast--but I'm also incredibly hard on myself.  I mean, nobody can see my flaws as obviously as I see them!  I know that I can be flaky and irrational, moody and lazy.  I know that I often make excuses rather than taking action; I know that I'm not the best that I can be.  Because of that, because I'm so in touch with some of the darker, less pleasant sides of myself, I just assume that everyone else is probably MORE in touch with and put off by these traits as I am.

I am blessed in life to have some truly remarkable friends.  I know that everyone has a bit of a superiority complex about the people they love, but trust me, my friends are incredible.  They are insightful and strong and smart and funny, generally speaking, some of the most intimidating people in the entire world.  Sometimes I can't bring myself to follow through on plans with them because I just feel so unworthy of their presence.  Sometimes I don't text back or don't show up to a party simply because in my ridiculously skewed through process, I'm doing them a favor.  I'm saving them the hassle of dealing with me.

You're probably thinking, "That's just plain backwards!"  And, you're right.  Also, logically, I know this.  I know that my friends love me and think I'm great, but I'm always wondering how long they will think that.  I'm always wondering, "Is this going to be the day when they stop?"  And I'm always bracing for it.

This fear of abandonment--this feeling that I'm unworthy of love or friendship--has cost me dearly.  I've lost great friends and I've missed out on potential friendships.  I push people away before they can leave me...  And while I think that I'm protecting myself, I still end up alone...

The thing I'm most afraid of still appears.

Throughout my life, most of the people I've been surrounded by told me that I was worthless.  They told me that I wasn't special, that I was ugly, that I couldn't do this and that I couldn't be that, and at some point I started believing it.  Then I started preaching it.  I became the leader in the anti-me movement and for a long time, I thought I was being empowering.  I thought that by saying all of the horrible things about myself that other people said, they would stop talking.  Then I grew up.

The people who pushed me down and made me feel awful about myself didn't care anymore (thank God).  They had lives to lead and shit to do and suddenly, it was just me against myself--locked in the stupidest, most imbecilic battle to have ever been waged.  And the longer it continues, the more people get hurt.

So now that I'm able to identify the problem--able to point to it and say, "That right there!  That's what's mucking everything up!", what's the next step?  How do you build confidence?  How do you realize that you're worthy of love?  How do you accept that you are enough?

I really have no idea, to be honest, but I'm playing around with a few different things.  Meditating has proved to be helpful, though I still can't shut my ego up all the way and worry that I'm doing something wrong.  It helps because it's quiet, because it's an escape into myself.  Also, it's one of the only times I am truly able to be gentle with myself.  When I'm repeating my mantra or singing or whispering a prayer, it's all kindness.  It's all light and love and positivity.

Because of the way I was treated for so long--because of the abuse I endured both with intimate partners and with friends, acquaintances and peers--I try to treat everyone I come across with kindness.  I always try to be reverent to the fact that everyone is struggling, that the intrinsic worth and value and fragility of everyone should be recognized, but I cannot seem to extend it to myself.  In fact, I would never speak to another person the way I speak to myself.  It's actually hard for me to even think about looking someone in the eyes and saying some of the things that I say to/about myself.  I don't understand that.

I read a quote once that really inspired me, it went something like, "You, as much as anyone in the universe, deserve your love and affection."  I think it's true, and  I want it to be my truth.  I'm just not sure how to get there yet.