I never
really understood the appeal of dog movies. Beethoven?
Couldn’t get over the slobber. Marley and
Me? No interest in a misbehaving pooch. I figured—must be because I’m not
inherently a dog person. I grew up with miniature schnauzers, but I’m not the
type of person who would pet a friend’s dog. I get grossed out when someone
takes a tennis ball out of a dog’s mouth to toss it. The adage of “Never trust
a person who doesn’t like dogs,”--really? Who, me?
At this stage in life
can a person change? Or can a dog be, (sorry for the pun), that cat-alyst?
Here’s an
example. Continuing with the dog theme—I’m an old yeller. I am in awe of
mothers who keep a calm tone, even after telling her kids to do something eight
times. For me, for whatever reason, I can’t get my kids to motivate unless my
voice escalates in pitch and volume. Which stresses me. It upsets the kids.
Yelling, as any research can tell you, is not healthy. So last week I told
myself—I would not raise my voice for an entire day. When I felt that annoyed energy
rise up my throat I took deep breaths, walked into another room, and reminded
myself of my promise. The kicker was that during dinner my 6 year-old said that
the best part of his day was that I didn’t yell. That stung. Wow, even he
noticed.
Maybe you can teach an
old dog new tricks?
And maybe a
young dog can totally transform you.
Three weeks
ago we welcomed a puppy into our home. On a pretty much impulsive whim we drove
to Lancaster County and bought an adorable puppy from a sweet Amish family. That
first night as I got up every two hours to take out Olive, and then cuddle her
close, I felt like the Grinch--at the end of the book. Literally, I felt my
heart expand in love for this furry little creature. My maternal instincts
kicked in, and I fell for—yes, a DOG. Never before did I understand that bond. Now
I get why people have bumper stickers expressing their canine camaraderie. Last
week I drove through Philly, saw a beautiful park with the skyline as
background, and thought, “Wow, I’d love to bring Olive here sometime.” What?!?!
Who, me?
At the end
of the classic 1957 movie the little puppy steals a steak and starts to
resemble his dad, Old Yeller. That reminds me that I don’t want my kids
emulating my temper when they’re adults. Maybe I can learn new tricks—I’m
trying to keep my outbursts at bay. And maybe my puppy has taught me to be more
patient and tender. Now I can’t wait to watch a pooch movie—maybe this weekend
we’ll watch My Dog Skip—and I’ll tear
up knowing how much Olive has already enriched our lives.
Home is
where the bark is. Just less so with me—I’ll leave the woofs to my playful
puppy.
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