“You should be able to handle this. You are weak.” This is the song that plays a lot on the radio inside my head. It plays at a nice low volume -- almost imperceptible, but I feel its reverberations throughout my entire body. I feel it in the tightness in my chest that makes breathing difficult. I feel it in the giant lump in my throat that keeps me from speaking. Without thinking, my system starts shoving the fear and shame down, as it's been doing for a lifetime, and I carry on with my day, mistaking my persistence for bravery. 

I walk my then seven month old dog, Otis, and I get beet red as he starts barking at a young child on a scooter fifteen yards away. This is not a playful bark. It’s a back-the-fluff-up bark, and I decide I have had it: “This is not acceptable, I have to fix him.” I am not sure I recognize it then, but I know now it is another hit song on that same radio station inside my head. I begin walking down a metaphorical road of trying to shove my dog into the “good dog box,” where only easy, happy, obedient dogs can fit. 

After some time, I look over at Otis to find a dog who looks flat from all of my metaphorical shoving. There is less life. Less joy. But that damn fear is still there. It just looks a little different. I realize that what I am doing doesn’t feel loving at all.

I decide in that moment that I am going to help Otis from a place of love. I have no idea what that actually looks like though. So I start to learn.

How Partnering with Otis Changed Our Relationship

First, I listen and accept. Instead of telling Otis that he shouldn’t be afraid, I ask him what he is afraid of. And when he tells me, I show him that I really hear him by walking to the other side of the street where we can watch scooters pass from a safe distance. I tell him that he is allowed to have feelings and needs and promise him that it is safe to tell me about them. I look at who he is, and I learn to love every part of him. Even the parts that drive me nuts. Because they are just the shadowy sides of the things that make him so beautiful to me. 

Second, I “hold his hand” and tell him we are in this together. We take baby steps, and I listen to him carefully so I don’t push him too hard. We sit in the grass, and he eats chicken while we watch scooters pass by from a safe distance. I am a bit bored, but I smile because the whole experience feels like love. I realize I can honor his feelings while also helping him. And I learn that sitting beside him and helping him feels a lot different than fixing him. 

Third, I add things into his life that fill up his cup. I pay attention and learn what sort of things he enjoys and what sort of things calm him. I very intentionally start adding those things into his life and feel incredibly grateful to be able to give him this gift. I notice that he starts to communicate more and more as he learns that I will at least always listen (even if I can’t always give him exactly what he wants).

How Training Otis Helped Me Find Acceptance in Myself

As I sit here at my desk with a now three-and-a-half year old Otis at my feet, I start to feel that old classic hit song reverberating in my body again. I decide I don’t like this song very much, and almost as though by muscle memory, I change the station. This action is new for me, and yet somehow, it feels familiar. 

The song on the new station goes something like this: “I know you are afraid to feel what you are feeling, but I promise it is safe. We can handle it together.” 

Looking at these past few years working with Otis, I realize it was never just about training my dog. In the many many hours I spent training him, I strengthened some really important muscle groups: acceptance, compassion, humility, grace, and love. The more I use those muscles in my relationship with my dog, the better I get at recruiting those same muscles for my relationship with myself. 

I am very slowly learning how to accept and honor some of my own fears and feelings. It turns out that what I have wanted all along is what I give to my dog: someone to listen and accept me and what I am feeling, someone to sit with me and help me when I am ready, and someone to enjoy life with. It turns out that I am capable of being that someone for myself - I have had lots of practice. Just ask Otis. I am his favorite someone. 

You can follow Christie’s adventures with Otis on Instagram here.