About two years ago I had my dog certified with Therapy Dogs International so that she could participate in programs with the elderly and children in hospitals.
Unfortunately, I found that because this organization resides is Jersey, the certificate is largely useless here in Chicago. They have little pull in the Midwest.
So, recently I needed to get my dog certified with Rainbow Dogs, which has affiliations with hospitals, schools, and retirement homes here in the city.
I trained my dog to do all the commands on the test. It’s tricks like the standard sit, lay down and stay, but she can also give high-fives, jump through hoops and other more complex movements. Also, they test her ability to handle people with crutches or wheelchairs or walkers.
She’s amazingly well-behaved on her own. I don’t use a leash while walking her. This is not typical of Chihuahuas as they can be shaky and temperamental. Mine’s not that way.
Her official name is Lil’ Miss Meepers. Why? My ex-wife and I thought that name was really funny. I usually call her Meeps.
When we adopted a cat, we named her Pantaloons, as we felt that was also funny. I call her by her full name.
And, to my ex-wife’s credit, she has recently adopted a cat which she named Shitty Kitty. That’s funny.
My dog spent the first year of her life going to the animal hospital every day with my ex-wife. She quickly became well-assimilated.
Through the divorce, I retained the dog and cat and Meepers and I started going to work together.
During the summer months I ride a bike to the office and she sits in a backpack. In the winter she takes the subway with me.
As I am typing this she is positioned in a bag underneath my legs on the train. Even though I am standing most passengers don’t notice there is a dog with me.
I remember when I was going through the divorce and my wife asked who should have the dog. We both loved her equally.
I said, “There’s no way I’m letting the two most important things in my life walk out the door.”
She thought about it a few days and ultimately agreed that it would only be right for me to keep the dog.
And so for the past year, she and I get up together, go to work together, and return home together. It’s very nice having her around.
But I also know that a dog is not substitute for a human relationship. My friend Bill Flynn once asked me if my relationship with the dog was fulfilling.
I had to think about it a bit, and ultimately I answered, “No, not really.”
And it was shocking to hear myself say that as I spend nearly every hour of every day with her, and I know I love her completely. But it was true. It wasn’t fulfilling.
“You know why?”
“No.”
“Because there’s no risk. Dogs will love you no matter what. And while that is comforting, it is never fulfilling.”
And he’s right. The only type of relationship that is ultimately fulfilling is an intimate connection with another person. But in order to create intimacy, both parties have to foster courage to share their pain. This, of course, is risky.
My big fear is that if I tell you where I struggle, you’ll leave. You’ll see me as pathetic and weak and take off. And that is a risk. Sometimes people will leave.
The irony is that the only way to build intimacy is through sharing what’s hard. People are less likely to leave when you open your heart.
So, the trick is to continue to share my pain with people despite the chance that they may leave.
And, even though I spend literally twenty-four hours a day with my dog, who I believe loves me, and I love her, I need at least a few minutes each day with a human that loves me, too.