I love to dance. Ever since I was a little girl, I'd listen to my sister's Beatles' albums and move my little feet.
As I got older, still too young to understand that Disco sucked, but old enough to get together with my friends on Saturday nights, we'd practice our boogie moves in their basements till 8pm!! (Oh yes, I was a wild one back then).
The 80's and 90's was where it was at for me. I would start dancing on Friday night and not stop till Sunday night. For me, it was always about music and movement. I still love music, I still love dancing, but now I can appreciate other types of dance. I marvel at the Meringue, I love the Paso Doble, the jive makes me smile.
Now, as an adult, I've come to understand where dance originated. Dance is an extension of life, and depending on the people and culture of that particular dance, it can describe the life, loves and ills of a culture.
Such was my discovery when I finally came to the realization that my relationship with my dog is very much like dancing the Cha Cha. With my doggy, every time I make any headway, I just slide back to the place I was before. With my doggy, it's like taking 2 steps forward-3 steps back (1-2-cha-cha-cha). No matter what I do with him, any training, any progress-it barely lasts 2 days. By the 3rd day, I'm right back where I started.
This became painfully clear to me, after I had my 7th straight PERFECT walk with him. One week prior to our perfect walks, I had begun to step on the leash when he bit it. I did this for a few days, and it looked like he finally started making the connection between biting the leash and lying flat on his stomach barely able to move. I took him out on a Sunday night, and poof, the magic had happened. We walked perfectly together. Then, the next afternoon it was the same...and the day after that as well. From Sunday night to the next Friday, my walks were wonderful!!! I was finally starting to feel good about having a dog! For the 1st time in almost a year, I wasn't questioning why I had gotten one in the first place. I was happy!!!
Then, Friday happened. Friday was the day he was going to get groomed. I walked him to the groomer-but since it wasn't the regular time I walk him, he was acting up a little bit. He didn't bite the leash, but he was pulling so hard, I got leash-burn on my palm!! I dropped him off at the groomer, and a black cloud immediately lifted off my shoulders-I felt free!!! I remember having the very same feeling the 1st time I went out on my own without my newborn son-I remember feeling weightless.
I had a great Friday. I had lunch with my co-workers that day-something that I hadn't done in a year. I was never so relaxed. It was the perfect Friday. That afternoon, I got the call from the groomer to tell me that my doggy was ready. I still felt good because I knew that things had been looking up between my doggy and me. I knew I was finally able to handle him.
I got the the groomer, and my gorgeous doggy came out running. He was so excited to see me!!! He was jumping all over the place, he was nipping, licking, you name it. Now, in retrospect, what I should have done is ignore my pooch. I should have waited till he calmed down before we left. However, I was too eager to show him off. The groomer had done an excellent job with the PWD pet retriever cut. He just looked too cute.
So, while he was jumping and nipping, I put the leash on him and left. The walk was a nightmare. There was so much leash-biting, pulling, and jumping, that it actually took us 45 minutes to walk 20 feet!! This dog was in the zone!! Absolutely nothing was going to snap him out of it!!! It took us about an hour to get home-the same walk usually takes about 12 minutes!
When I finally got home, muddy, bitten and in tears-I put him in his crate. The second he went in, he fell into a deep, deep, sleep.
Two steps forward, three steps back...One, two cha, cha, cha!!!
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