Oh My Is She So Afraid

I love fireworks. I’m from Texas. I don’t love guns, though I intensely like them. Heck, I’ve had too much martial arts experience and training to keep one around. If it came to that… that’s another story. I love lightning, and storms. And, I love motorcycles. Harleys, 1000cc crotch rockets on the Isle of Man TT. If I need a boost, I simply go there on YouTube and gig it like I’m the one on the bike.

But, and this is a big but. Not like the song.

I have a German Shepherd. She’s part wolf. Can see it in the face and tail and pigeon-toed paws built for speed, and the glowing Goddess eyes when the light hits them just so.

I once watched her continue to accelerate across 3/4 of a mile on an NM mesa. Faster and faster, just closing the gap on a rabbit who ran out into the middle of a literally mile-wide open space. Stupid rabbit. Wrong way to go. Though, there’s Nature. It errs sometimes. Or, does it?

Closer and closer closing the distance, until on the other side of the almost-mile the rabbit disappeared under a big boulder. A Greyhound would have had nuthin’ on what I experienced there hanging out with my chainsaw paused watching her full-gate run across the mesa and DAYum did she go through the gears. DAYum did she go through the gears, faster and faster and faster. The longer she went, the faster she got.

Though, back to… loves and intense likes. I love fireworks. I intensely like guns. Motorcycles are da bom, especially Grand Prix types at The Isle of Man. And, lightning… though, so long as I’m in the city and not above treeline with the lightning going off in the snow electrifying the whole scene not just where it strikes… I love lightning, too.

My Girrul, though, Lyra. She isn’t afraid of much, as one would imagine. Big dogs are often strong enough to be gentle, especially of course when there’s a positive part of no bad dogs, only bad owners here. She rules. She rocks. She is sovereign.

I effin LOVE her intense gigs, even when they frustrate the hell out of me. And, during these 5 times she certainly does.

Though, my Sovereign Girrul has those afraid points, and I MIND them when they occur. I talk about legitimate fear versus being afraid and anxiety kidnapping fear to distort it into being afraid, though her legitimate fears ARE AFRAID. I respect that. She’s got some shit, from before I met her, and/or naturally, that talkin’ to it, won’t resolve. A dog’s diff than a partner. The comms together to work that shit out don’t apply. She is afraid of:

Fireworks.

Guns.

Certain Motorcycles. Harleys and certain tuned crotch rockets (feels like the over 200+ mph ones… the really cool ones)

Lightning.

Shuffling cardboard. Like when you move. (Shaking head sad)

She’ll be 12 next month, or so I think. She was a rescue, pulled from the streets. She was fully groomed, only wearing an $80 deerskin collar with no tags. Those gigs set off some alarm bells early on to let her story unfold, though that’s another story for another time. Suffice it to say… No. that’s a story for another time. You learn someone over time. That deserves its own post.

Afraid Points

These afraid points she has? Full-on. It’s almost Memorial Day. The lightning gig-goosed her yesterday. Tonight, the fireworks and motorcycles zipping around literally scared the piss out of her.

It’s not the mess I have to clean up, and Nature’s Miracle to remove The smell. It’s… DAYum is she afraid! She gets like Mark Hamill in Star Wars. If she could get any closer and had a light saber, she’d slice me open and crawl inside to get out of the frigid cold of her fear.

It’s intense. It’s important. If I don’t stop everything, she will nuzzle-push between my chair and side desk tipping anything there over, which also equates to a Malbec or Carmenere on the floor and bleeding through the papers, books, etc that were spilled.

Again, it’s not the mess that’s the conflict.

It’s… Nevermind what I love, like, or full-on dig. She is SO afraid. I stop EVERYTHING so she can get as close as possible and hear soothing me-sounds. All I can do is close the windows, turn on the air conditioner, and turn up the Sonos to Phantogram or the Civil Wars o Meg Ryan or BassNectar or 7th House Radio or Jame Horner’s epics so MAYBE, just maybe, she doesn’t hear the fireworks and motorcycles and lightning and guns so intensely, or at least so much… and console her.

She is an effin Cerberus when she goes at something, though I have to say she’s pretty reserved about parsing that out. Kids? Shaking head. Not a problem. 10-month old with yogurt on his face? Turn to get a paper towel, turn back, and one lick-tongue across her lips… clean face and a kid just bouncing beaming laughing. Phewww. When that happened early on, I got it. I got her character. Without Psychological Projection or Projective Identification or even literary personification… DAYum. THIS is certainly MY dog. The apple didn’t fall too far from the tree.

I love her. My conflict frustrations and empathy considerations? Well, that’s an alchemy that will continue. When you can’t change or evolve or adapt something… well…

What cornerstone of what you can’t change in your life do you ultimately enjoy and HAVE to brace against?

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(c) 2020 Jordan Hoggard