My dog, Daffy, passed away last year. She was a great dog. She did what I wanted her to do with a modicum of individuality and enough dog nature left in her to have fun. I loved watching her run around wild and jump in the water.
When she was a puppy, I hung out with my friend, Bob. He had two dogs. When we all walked together, sometimes he would give a command to his dogs. “WAIT”, he would say in a lording voice. I would obey the command and stop. I would always laugh at myself thinking, “I’m not a dog!” He was in charge with his commanding voice and threatening demeanor. If one of them were to get hit by a car, he would feel sad or maybe even get stuck with a hefty vet bill. All the love and control he had put into training his dogs would be wasted! He truly loved his dogs and they loved him. Or did they? I wonder what his dogs would do without him? What if there weren’t a human to control and love them, to control the food, the love, time outside, the walks, and the ability to mate?
I overlooked all of the feelings I had about control at the time. Getting a dog seemed like the right thing to do. I wanted to be master of something and to have it love me. I had wanted to have children. But alas, the right man had not come along. So, I adopted Daffy. Or should I say I captured her when she was tiny and vulnerable. Bear with me. I do have a dog now. I adopted her from the Humane Society.
She was born in the back of the car of a young vagabond. They did not know their dog was pregnant. Daffy’s mother lived on scraps. I picked Daffy up and carried her around the farmer’s market for a bit and decided to keep her. I walked home with her in my pocket and cared for her as if she were my own baby. Bob helped me potty train her and keep her flea free. He patiently watched me struggle through dog parenting. When Daffy was two, she started playing keep-away when I wanted her to go in the house or get in the car. I would become irate! I wanted to keep her off-leash as much as possible. I wanted her to love me.
One day, when she was playing this game of keep-away on Bob’s front lawn, I found myself in the position of feeling humiliated and ashamed that I could not control my dog. I was afraid I would loose my. Wow, I still wonder what it is I was afraid I would loose if I could not control her. I just wanted to go. I had to go. I had to get to class, or go home to bed, or meet a friend. What ever it was, I was convinced it was much more important than being a loving friend to Daffy and playing this silly game.
So, when she finally came close enough to grab, I beat her backside and yelled at her and turned her on her back, a technique recognized as alpha dog. I was so angry that I could not physically control her that I wanted to show her my anger and create fear in her. I wanted her to remember this “fun game” as pain and fear. Bob was shocked. I wonder if it was because he had somehow given me “permission” to control my dog. I wonder if he felt responsible in some way.
He very calmly told me that if I wanted her to continue to come back to me, I should give her love when she returned. That I should do this every time she returned or obeyed. Then she would obey because she knew I would forgive her and love her no matter what.
So, I grew up and “settled down”. Now I have two beautiful boys. They are not interested in being controlled and loved at the same time. They are human beings in every sense. They want to play games in order to learn and to test my love for them. I play the games most of the time. I am not perfect. Beyond just being children and having needs, they want to be independent. They want to learn and to change and to grow. They want to be heard and to be recognized and to be empowered. This is a beautiful thing.
They have a true way of relating to others. They have anger, sadness, joy, and suffering. Being a human being is not always easy, but it is beautiful. I want to see them without judgment. I want to see their true need and to know they have good intentions even when it is totally outside the norm of acceptable societal behavior. Like peeing in the bathtub, refusing to wear clothes, screaming out loud at the dinner table. After all, who decided what was right and what was wrong and who am I to judge the little things? How much can I control them and love them at the same time?
I wonder how human beings learn to control one another. How is it that we learn to control each other until we are torturing another human being, or killing them because they are the enemy, the other, the oppressor, the victim, the prisoner, the withholder of goods, the uncontrollable. What do we need? How can we give it? Is it love? Maybe love is as simple as softening and opening to the humanity in one another. Being the first one to give and the first one to stop.
I often have to stop my anger with my child by stopping and looking at him. The way his little face moves, and the way the tears stream down his face, his fingernails and the way the nails become white at the tips, the soft hairs around the hairline, the way his hands hold tight to his beliefs, the way he looks when he is desperate to communicate. The way he breathes just like me. If I look closely enough, I can see the pulse in his neck. He was made in my body. All human beings were made inside the body of another human being. And the life in them is the life of all living things. We are one.
Then I can lay down my anger and my need to control him at any cost. I think of a peaceful way to come to an agreement.
