Anticipation and Experience

“A great source of calamity lies in regret and anticipation; therefore a person is wise who thinks of the present alone, regardless of the past or future.”

- Oliver Goldsmith

       My childhood was filled with negative dog experiences.  My maternal grandfather had a “crazy” dog.  I remember hearing him, sequestered in the basement, barking and scratching. My aunt had a French poodle that jumped when people first came into the room.  Imagine 4-year-old me looking at a large dog with its paws on my shoulders.  When I was 6, a dog chased my friend and me down a driveway.  My friend was faster.  The dog bit my calf. 

But my paternal grandmother had a nice Beagle mix.

       My daughter LOVES dogs.  When she was 2-years-old and full of Shirley Temple curls, she’d tell a giant golden retriever to sit in what she thought was a tough voice.  It didn’t work.  If that same dog passed by and knocked her down, she’d laugh.

Over the years, she begged for a dog. 

       I said, “I’d rather have another kid.  At least they’re potty trained after 2-3 years.”

       At some point my husband said, “Of course we’ll get a dog.” I told him it would be harder than he thought and that my daughter would do less than he believed. 

       The two of them broke me down. I agreed to get a dog once we’d moved to a bigger place and she was 10.

We moved in June.

She turned 10 in July.

Damn…

I had a long dog wish list:

Not too big

Not too energetic

Doesn’t drool

Doesn’t bark

Doesn’t lick

Doesn’t jump

Doesn’t shed

Needs little grooming

Has a BIG bladder

I knew dogs would be a mix of breed, temperament, and training. 

But it’s hard for me to not control everything.

When I worried about owning an out-of control dog, my husband reminded me that our kids weren’t out of control.  We’d have similar expectations.

I hoped he was right.

       We visited two shelters before we found a potentially right dog for us.  He was a two-year-old beagle that loved people.  We asked to meet him.  We completed adoption paperwork.  We were interviewed.  Because of a technicality we were told we couldn’t adopt him that day, so we might be better off not meeting him.

My daughter still wanted to meet him.

I braced myself for her future tears. 

       He was sweet, scooting backwards to sit in laps.  We were told he was low on aggression (yay).  He’d also scored low on activity, which is rare for beagles.

We liked him.

But we couldn’t take him home.

       This was good for me.  If I’d just been able to take him home, I would’ve had an anxiety attack.  The situation made me (slightly) regretful instead.

The employee saw how well we’d bonded and was able to figure out a solution.

       My daughter named him Milo, after the main character in The Phantom Tollbooth. When we took the dog home, my husband and I had the same disembodied sensation we’d experienced when we took home our son from the hospital after he was born. We’re in charge now?!?  We don’t know what we’re doing!

       The next few days were overwhelming for my husband and me, but not because Milo was “bad”. Neither my husband nor I had ever owned a dog before.  My daughter and I read books to prepare. When I had a question, I’d scour the internet.  But it was an adjustment. 

       A week into owning Milo, we fell into a routine. My son had become a huge help. Our poor cat was warming up. A little. I’d boasted how well things were going to a group of people. They proceeded to explain to me how the dog was being good because we were in a honeymoon stage. They warned there’d be exuberance and howling.

I freaked out inside.

It was like “veteran” mothers scaring pregnant women about childbirth, or how their kids won’t sleep through the night or behave in restaurants.

       Afterwards, I told my husband we’d taken on too much, and couldn’t back out now because our children would never forgive us and I wished I could go back a year and say no to getting a dog and how this dog would be our responsibility when the kids went to college and I missed my cat… 

We calmed down.

       The next week was our biggest challenge. My kids and I were going away. My husband would be in charge of the dog all week.  He’d leave the dog all day while he worked.

Would the dog destroy the house?

Would the dog hold his bladder?

Only time would tell. 

I’m happy to report nearly 3 weeks in, Milo's list:

Not too big

Not too energetic

Doesn’t drool

Doesn’t bark

Doesn’t lick

Doesn’t Jumps rarely

Doesn’t shed

Needs little grooming

Has a BIG bladder

And the cat is back snuggling with us on the couch.

The dog has learned:

to sit

patience when the cat is eating

to stay off the couches… at least in our presence

I’ve learned a few things too:

I need to relax to be a good pack leader.

When all four of us chip in, it’s not so much responsibility.

Walking dogs is good exercise.

Like with raising kids, keep expectations high.

And, as with almost everything, anticipation is worse than experience.

Have you ever feared anything

that wasn't as bad as you thought?