“Paris, PLEASE…enough already!”
Good Lord…when will she ever stop?
The “Mixed Poodle Rescue” description should have been enough to raise at least one of my overplucked eyebrows.
“More or less looks like a poodle, should act like a poodle, but who knows?” Super cute, though!”
That “who knows” should have been another warning, but being human, I lean into the hopeful, into what I wanted her to be. Well, good Lord, she was far from that. A banshee from the get-go, I tried molding her into my image of poodle perfection, of what she “should be.” And, to a certain extent, my girl “Paris” proved malleable. Bless her southern heart, she learned a few basic commands – to sit, to sit up, to “go easy” – along with a few key motivators: “Does Paris want a treat?” or “Look, there’s your friend!” But, that’s pretty much where we hit a hard stop because, beyond that, she was hell on wheels, intent on patrolling THE PROPERTY from inside and out with the mere suggestion of a potential threat – an errant branch, a distant bark, an Amazon driver two doors away. And, don’t get me started on that big yellow behemoth – the school bus.
Almost three years in, I’ve given up trying to train, cajole, scold or punish her into being who I imagined she would be. And yeah, I knew that I had choices. I could return her to the loving rescue group from whence she came or offer her to a more lenient neighbor.
I breathed; took in those long breaths intended for clearing the mind and sat in my discomfort, awaiting the insight which eventually relieved me of my suffering:
It’s how she’s wired.
It’s who she is.
It’s the truth of it.
Deal with it.
Oh crap, I hate when my inner knowing smacks me with irrefutable straight talk. I also know that some pricey, well-credentialed canine trainers and dog whisperers would push back hard, would tell me that it doesn’t need to be this way. After all, YOU, alpha-human, can be trained.
Oh, shut up!
But, they would be right. I could be trained to mold her into a more obedient and compliant version of herself. And honestly, I’ve sat with that compelling proposition, ultimately deciding that this is “good enough,” a compromise between Paris’ nature and my preferences would be okay. I decided to see her for who she is – a brave, wired guard dog who will protect her gate-enclosed property and her humans with every fiber of her wild being – all 18 solid-as-a-rock pounds of her. And while I am genuinely apologetic to our accommodating neighbors, I also respect and admire that she is being who she was born to be while providing a “service,” by way of protection, no less! It’s fascinating to see her through that lens.
This journey with my crazy, quirky, lovable Paris has made me think about the expectations we have of those we co-exist with, those we love. Are we willing to see them for who they are, to respect and appreciate the unique gifts they bring to this shared experience we call life? It’s a very “big” question. My experience with Paris, affectionately nicknamed Miss Wigglesby for her signature, unmistakable butt moves, reminds me to stop, to breathe, to take you in. To cut you the same slack that I can only hope you’ll cut me. Because here’s the thing – love isn’t blind unless you’re 13 – ironically referred to as “puppy love.” No, it’s the wise, consummate expression of appreciation, patience and forgiveness.
That’s the truth of it.
