I was in between dogs, having lost my beloved Gus in July 2021, and not sure if I was ready to welcome a new dog to my home. To be blunt, it sucks.
Some dogs are “stickier” than others, and Gus was that dog. I had predicted his passing might send me into therapy, and it ended up not being far from the truth. I’ve loved all my dogs, but Gus was what some people call my “heart dog.”
A few months later, a friend was in town and we decided to have a little fun and go to a psychic fair, where you could sit in front of various practitioners to get guidance. A whim, something I didn’t take too seriously.
I chose one lady, and she asked if I had any specific concerns or questions. It popped into my head to ask if I should take the leap and get another dog. She closed her eyes, drew a breath, and said, “I’m getting… ‘wait.’”
In other words, don’t get a dog right now.
So I did what any normal person would do, I ignored her, and a few weeks later, I adopted a shelter dog named Lance. He was a black lab, who was a bit gray in the muzzle. The meet and greet went well and he was super sweet with me and his handler. Still being in the wake of the pandemic, I was told he was in foster care without much other interaction.
He came to attention when another person walked by with another dog, but there was little else I noticed that would raise an eyebrow. I brought him home, and started to realize his attention toward other dogs was negative. One meeting I thought I would allow some sniffing, but it became glaringly obvious he was flat-out dog aggressive, snapping and snarling to my horror.
A friend who was also a dog trainer recommended we look at a place that specializes in aggressive dogs, and I gladly complied. I’ve had dogs for about 30 years, and I was determined to make Lance’s story a success.
Things progressed, and while we could get Lance to accept the trainer’s dog over a couple of training sessions, it seemed to be only for that dog that the rules of good manners applied. At one point in training, he reacted with the usual lunging and crazed barking to a random dog walking by, and I corrected him.
In his head, I interrupted his plan, and with no where to express his rage fully, he turned to me and laid into my thigh. It didn’t last long, but it was clear to me this was going to be a very long road. As I stood in shock, sadness, and feeling a little insulted, my trainer asked to take him with her for the week. Please.
I told her OK, and again said I didn’t want to fail him.
A week later, she and I met up, with Lance bounding out of her car, leash trailing behind. And with her dog alongside him. Success!!
Yet again, in his mind, the rules were very conditional. In the weeks and months to follow, despite daily walks to get him accustomed to seeing other dogs and being reinforced as to what the right behavior was, he continually reacted in rage and fear.
By the following summer, I was exhausted and more than a little stressed. I asked for a sign as to what to do next. I could not replicate the miracle that my trainer had, and I was fearful that Lance’s end would be violent, I would be sued, or both.
The answer came shortly after, when I was parking my car, with Lance sitting in the back. A woman walked past with her dog, and he lunged from the back seat, putting his head between the dashboard and the windshield, leaving his front legs dangling. I’d been told that much of aggression is fear, but what was there to fear in this situation, O troubled dog?
Lance was not leading a good life. We would go for walks that included a muzzle and training collar, and we avoided further triggers by going to the corners of a large park we frequented. I felt like I was walking the dog equivalent of Hannibal Lector. On one of his last days, I felt secure enough to let him off leash in a remote area, something that we also rarely did in the eight months I had him. He sprinted like a puppy with the joy of freedom that all dogs deserve.
I made the call the next day to script an ending that would be far more peaceful and loving than where his behavior could have led him.
The words of the psychic came to mind during this time – wait. And I hadn’t.
Tons of guilt and forgiveness later, as well as many people reminding me I’d given Lance a better chance and a much longer life than others may have given him, I let the matter rest. Just as people are said to be either blessings or lessons, the same can be said of dogs, Lance in particular. Yet I’d still argue he was a combination of both.
I’ve never been good at patience. At waiting. However, I will hear a voice that says, “I’m getting… ‘wait’” in my heart, and I’m better at obeying.
Waiting got me to Leo, who is the antithesis of Gus’ high energy and narcissistic tendencies, and Lance’s triggers to aggression. He’s a canine cardigan, happy to wrap you in warmth and quiet comfort. He has one pace – slow – and has only expressed displeasure at cats, which I get.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s still a virtue I work on daily, this patience thing. More recently, I’m understanding that waiting is not passive, but an active and open door to deeper connection with God, with where I may be headed, and how I don’t need to get there five minutes ago.
In fact, I’m becoming averse to the pressure to “do something, now.” I’m normally someone who just can’t wait for the holidays, but as I’m seeing the onslaught of Christmas ads and displays, I turn away. I still love this time of year, but things need… waiting to be fully enjoyed.
I’ve mentioned that I’m Catholic and have been technically for over 60 years. Yet this is the first time I’ve really begun looking forward to Advent, which is the start of the Church year, and depicted as a season of waiting. Truly counter-cultural, as it’s quiet, and subdued in its posture, but it really prepares you to enjoy more fully the next season of Christmas.
I will still decorate weeks ahead of Christmas, but in a more purposeful way. I want to find an Advent wreath somewhere, which features four candles you light in progression in the weeks leading up to Christmas. It’s been decades since I’ve had one, and I’ve waited long enough to get one again.
Peace and joy are the byproducts of successful waiting, and it’s been these gifts I’ve experienced in the past month or two.
I guess you could say that I’m finally getting ‘wait.’