Old Dog, New Tricks

I was never a dog person. I've been terrified of them since I was a little girl. So terrified that I can vividly remember being 5 years old and refusing to leave the house for school because the neighbours' dogs were outside. I can still conjure up the terror I felt as the tears streamed down my little face at the very sight of the vicious beasts - 2 Chihuahuas. I still remember their names, Peanut and Perriwinkle.

For some reason, that fear stayed with me throughout my life. I avoided activities like jogging or walking alone. I avoided visiting certain friends that allowed their dogs to run freely in their yards. The very sight of a canine, unleashed, without a human nearby, sent me into an instant panic-filled spiral of abject horror. I vowed to never have one of the wretched beasts. And I was pretty successful at avoiding them.

Until the spring of 2016. A friend, who was struggling, came to my husband and I with a proposal. She had a house which she was having a hard time paying for, we were unhappy in our home at the time. She proposed an arrangement. We'd all live together, helping each other and working toward our mutual benefit.

I was against it. In fact, it would be no exaggeration to say I was vehemently against it. First, I didn't know her all that well. She was the ex-wife of a former law school colleague and truth be told, I was closer to her ex-wife than her. Second, she was more my husband's friend than mine. They shared an offbeat, kind of hippyish, let the wind take you wherever kind of vibe that my overly structured, order craving personality found difficult to handle. But, hubby bitched and whined. Hubby pleaded. Hubby begged. And where we were living did suck. Well, it sucked hard. Paying top dollar for literally almost nothing sucked. I gave in.

Oh, but nobody mentioned she had a dog. Sorry, but if you know me, and one would expect my husband did, a dog is a HUGE piece of information I needed. And not only a dog, but some sort of Pit Bull mix. I watched the news, I knew what was up. I was terrified. And I was stuck in a house with a dog.

And he was an ill-mannered beast! Rocco was 8 years old. He was a gorgeous boy, but he had the manners of, well, I don't know, Hitler, crossed with Rasputin, with a side of John McEnroe. I soon learned that Rocco ruled the entire house with an iron paw.

Bed's not to my standard? No problem, just rip that shit apart and get me another. Not giving me a bone? No problem, I'll just wreck this joint 'till you cave (and you will cave). You're enjoying a nice meal without me? Oh no you don't...I'm gonna raise hell, not even hell, but particular hell until you give me some. Don't care what it is, just, you know, gimmie.

Rocco was awful! But he kept coming to me. At first, I shooed him away, hiding behind my husband. I was scared. Rocco was a big boy, about 65 pounds. I'm a small girl. The math didn't work in my favour.

But after a few days, something happened. He was throwing one of his daily tantrums, well, he threw 3 each day, but still, this was one of them. And I watched him. I watched him closely. And for the first time, I saw him. Not just observing, but I SAW him. I look into his brown eyes. I saw something, an intelligence, a desire, a need. I understood him. And he understood me.

It sounds nuts, but in that moment, I was no longer afraid. I got him. He got me. I decided I was going to teach him some manners. His original mommy (our friend) laughed. She was adamant that I could never handle him and that he was unteachable.

I grabbed her leash. I started taking Rocco for walks. He was pretty old, but he was, as my mother would have said, spry as a spring chicken. He wanted to see, smell and pee on everything. He was unruly and undisciplined. He pulled me around town. I pulled back. He pulled harder. I pulled harder. I was determined that I wasn't losing the battle. If Rocco and I were to coexist, HE was going to learn!

And learn he did! Rocco was an intelligent and keen student. He was also the most stubborn beast I'd ever encountered. The more I pushed, the more he pulled. The more he pulled, the stronger my resolve became. And something happened. I wasn't afraid of him anymore. I wasn't afraid of any dog. And he became my boy. And I became his human.

Somewhere along the line, we fell in love with each other. That summer, I fell in love with a dog. And a dog fell in love with me. We made memories galore. The first time I watered the garden and he didn't bite a hole through the hose. The first time I gave him a proper bath and he loved it! The first time we went for a walk and he didn't act like a crazy man. And even better, the first time he jumped on my lap, which is what's pictured above.

As you can see, Rocco was a big boy. But he was a huge love-suck. All he wanted was a human to love him, to spend some time with him, to teach him. I came in as a stranger and became his person.

Eventually we moved on. I left my slippers behind for my boy. He carried them around for months. He missed his best pal. And I missed him too. But he wasn't mine to take. He belonged to another, not in heart or mind, but in reality. A good boy in the body of a naughty boy, who just needed some time, love and attention, he was mine for an entire summer. And I was his. The memories we created were priceless. We were totally in love. He spent most of his time on my lap. He was too heavy, but I was okay with it. He was my boy. He IS my boy.

Rocco might have been an ill-mannered pit bull mix, but he was my boy and together we learned and we grew. The summer we were together still makes me smile. He learned to walk on a leash and to not be such a jerk about food. I learned that I loved dogs and I had no reason to be afraid. We had such great times walking through the neighbourhood, hanging in the backyard, just sitting around.

Rocco made me a dog person. And I'll always love him for that. It turns out, you CAN teach an old dog (or human) new tricks.