It isn’t by accident or oversight that I didn’t have children. I just didn’t think I’d be any good at parenting once things went past the loopy, smiling-admiringly stage, i.e. after the first 20 minutes of childbirth. It’s not that I didn’t think I was smart enough; after all, there are plenty of non-geniuses raising functional children. It’s that I’m drawn to children in the same way my exclusively meat-and-pasta-eating friend once told me she was drawn to vegetables, which is to say, in theory only, and even then, not at all.
But dogs are another story. I’ve had 11, not counting the dogs I had growing up or those I’ve fostered over the years. You’d think with all that exposure to dogs, and all the time I’ve spent teaching them important things, like how to poop on demand and how to tell real murderers from our friends, I wouldn’t feel so in-the-dark about how to operate one. But I do. So when we got Lulabell, a 2-year-old cocker from Lynn for the Animals Rescue Squad, I decided to up my game and take us both to training.
Lulabell is uncorrupted, meaning that I’ve not yet inadvertently taught her any terrible habits. She’s as amorous on the sofa as she is eager to plunder the yard, but in the kitchen, she’s a “sidler” (to borrow a concept from “Seinfeld”): a dog so quiet that, until you’ve exhausted yourself calling her and glance down to take a breath, you don’t realize she’s been beside you the whole time.
“You’re a real sidler,” I’ll tell her in my best Elaine Benes voice, and she will wag her tail exuberantly and lie down, a charming behavior I’d like to say I taught her, but that is actually her default response to everything. The trainer calls this being “shut down.” I think Lulabell is just supremely relaxed, and that we could all learn a thing or two from how she approaches life.
Training class is eye-opening; just as I thought, there’s a lot I didn’t know about dogs. I did not know, for example, that I shouldn’t expect Lulabell to “heel” for an entire walk, that it’s actually no fun for her to march beside me like a hairy handmaiden for 30 minutes or more at a time.
I also did not know not to give her a command over and over, in increasingly louder tones, until such time as she obeys. Because this is what I do with my husband, I assumed it would work for a dog.
In fact, I learned I am to give a command once and then wait for its meaning to sink in. In training class, this often looks like Lulabell and me staring intently into one another’s eyes, and then her wagging her tail exuberantly and lying down. At home, it often looks like my husband and me staring intently into each other’s eyes, and then him saying, “What?”
It’s hard, in training class, not to look around and see how other dogs are progressing. Are they heeling more closely to their owner’s hip? Do they understand “place” better than Lulabell, who understands it not at all unless rotisserie chicken is involved, at which time she understands it in six languages?
The other day I was telling a friend about my fear that Lulabell is not progressing as quickly as the other dogs in training class. She looked at me sagely and said, “Don’t compare your children to other people’s children.” It sounded like advice from an actual genius who had probably raised functional children, and so I vowed to stop looking around and to just focus on helping Lulabell understand what’s being asked.
The more dog training classes I attend, the more certain I am that child raising would not have been my forte. I’m often tired by 6 p.m., which is when class starts, which means any child of mine with a bedtime later than 6 p.m. would have to fend for itself. Need warm milk? Learn to operate the stove. Need to go to soccer, piano lessons, the emergency room? Learn to operate the car.
If the above sounds harsh or callous, remember no actual children were harmed in the creation of this imaginary scenario. Because I have always known the extent to which I am drawn to children, the only person fending for himself in our home is my husband. The dogs have everything they need, and more.
Lulabell and I have two more training classes left before we will be thrust into the world on our own. With any luck, we’ll continue to grow and deepen our understanding of each other. It’s not unlike getting married, whereby you and your intended live inside a fragile truce until such time as the ceremony ends and the wedding guests all go home. Suddenly you see, with uncompromised clarity, that your success as a couple rests on how well you learn to communicate.
Call me crazy, but that seems like a pretty good rule of thumb for all relationships, human and canine alike.
Dana Shavin is an award-winning humor columnist for the Chattanooga Times Free Press and the author of a memoir, “The Body Tourist,” and “Finding the World: Thoughts on Life, Love, Home and Dogs,” a collection of her most popular columns spanning 20 years. More at Danashavin.com. Email her at danaliseshavin@gmail.com.
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