You Don't Have To Be Perfect

Dogs teach us everything that's important in life: going for a walk outside is the answer to everything; it's always a good time to forget the bad things and be happy; never underestimate the value of treats.

I've always loved all animals and as a kid, I couldn't wait to be an adult and have all the animals I could fit in my own home! So once I got married and moved into a rental home with a backyard, it was time to head to the shelter to find our first family member.

Twelve years ago, my first husband and I came home with 6-month-old Zelda, labeled a "pit bull-yellow lab mix" by the animal shelter (where every dog is classified as either a chihuahua or pit bull mix, depending on their size... we later determined via DNA testing that she was mostly vizsla and boxer). She had been part of a litter of puppies born to a chained-up backyard dog in an environment of neglect at best, and she told us the rest of her abusive history through her behavior over time. That wasn't a problem at all for this young newlywed couple--we had enough love and patience for whatever life could throw our way!

Well.

Zelda was TERRIFIED. Of EVERYTHING. Going for a walk was nearly as traumatizing for me once I realized that she wasn't pulling on the leash because she needed training but because she was desperately trying to escape from me--where she would have gone, I can't say, and Zelda probably hadn't thought that far ahead either, since she was afraid of the entire world. Fortunately, she warmed up to her new owners quickly, and as long as we were inside the house and out of sight of anything new, she was a happy (though destructive) dog, happily chewing up to 4 shoes each day--no, not 2 pairs of shoes; she preferred to chew each shoe from a different pair, of course.

Even though she loved us, that didn't mean she trusted us. Every time we took her out for a walk or to the pet store, it was "Zelda vs. The World," and the human holding the leash ceased to matter since I was the one who brought her to this scary place. We couldn't convince her that she was safe with us and we had no way to communicate that we would protect her, so all we could do was hope that time and enough positive experiences would eventually convince her.

We immediately signed her up for dog training at a pet store in town, and she was the only dog in the class. This turned out to be the best possible situation for Zelda; after 7 weeks of people-training (if you've ever been to a dog-training class, then you know that the humans learn so much more than the dogs here!) focused on positive-reinforcement methods, Zelda was finally brave enough to take a treat from the trainer's hand. After the 12-week class ended, the trainer was Zelda's best friend fur-ever, expanding Zelda's social circle to exactly the 3 of us.

Next, we adopted another puppy. Maybe a dog from a less-traumatic background could teach Zelda that the world isn't so scary, we hypothesized! The trainer suggested bringing Zelda to puppy training class with the new baby (Link, a 3-month-old Sheltie) to give her some fun experiences since she never got to experience playful puppy time before.

Link and Zelda progressed through every level of classes the store offered: while Link earned his Canine Good Citizen award, Zelda made little functional progress. Though she understood commands and enjoyed learning new tricks, she frequently injured herself as a result of the hypervigilant fearful state she defaulted to whenever she was outside the house; paradoxically, she was too busy trying to pay attention to everything around her in the "unsafe" environment that she would run into things because she wasn't watching where she was running. Fortunately, she was never seriously hurt, and she was generally a happy dog who eventually expanded her list of People Who I Love With My Entire Soul to 5! (Zelda really had no middle ground; no one was ever neutral or "just OK." In Classic Zelda Taxonomy*, all humans are sorted into only 2 classifications: "NO WAY" and "The Best Person In The World.")

Of course, the young newlyweds soon realized that Life Is Hard and everything was not always rainbows and sunshine. There were hard times when we couldn't afford dog food, so we shared meals of toast and Cream Of Wheat with the dogs so they wouldn't have empty bellies (even though we normally fed them a strictly grain-free diet). When our work schedules didn't line up in the dogs' favor, the dogs had to be left at home for up to 8 hours at a time (much to the detriment of our kitchen cabinets, which are Link-and-Zelda-approved chew things).

As dogs do, Link and Zelda never seemed to mind--they continued smiling and snuggling every day; they never complained. They were just happy to see their humans every time they woke up and every time we got home. If only humans had such commitment to happiness or such devotion to finding joy in the present, our lives would be so much easier. Of course, we are humans, not dogs, so these newlyweds split up and each human kept one dog.

Living with Link, I was happy but felt overwhelming guilt at all times. I couldn't afford a home with a yard on my own, so he was stuck in an apartment with me working 12-hour shifts at the hospital. I couldn't afford Dog Day Care or even a dog walker, and I had no family or friends nearby who could help him. I wanted better for him, and I was so angry at the billboards I often saw on my way to work that proclaimed, "You don't have to be perfect to give a dog the perfect home!" Of course the local animal shelter needs people to adopt dogs, but what kind of life does a dog have with me, I wondered. Is this life any better than living in a shelter?

I'd come home tired after work and get frustrated because Link had chewed up the couch pillows. Then I'd feel guilty for getting upset because what else was Link supposed to do all day? I could get another job so I could afford a dog walker for him, but then I'd be working more and we'd get less time together; working 12's, I only had to work 3 days a week, and on my days off we'd go to the river together, take long walks, go for car rides to the pet store, or anything that I thought he might enjoy. It seemed like an impossible situation, and the more guilt I carried, the less patience I had, and then I'd feel even more guilty.

I gave Link away.

It's been years, and it still breaks my heart to write that. Link was my first-love dog--we all have one, the dog that has your heart and can never be replaced (Zelda was my ex-husband's).

It took 3 tries to find him the perfect home, but I needed my little Link-Bug to have a home that would be the absolute best for him. If I was going to send my heart away because I couldn't give him what I felt he needed and deserved, then his new home couldn't be anything less.

And it was. An acquaintance of mine who lived a few hours away stayed at their home (with a yard!) during the day to care for her children and 2 dogs while her husband worked. I knew this would be perfect for Link; he'd never be lonely, and he'd have plenty of love, attention, and space to play. He felt right at home there and I got to see pictures of him on Facebook often, until he died peacefully of natural causes (though young) in 2017.

There's a terrible joke I heard once about why a dog is better than a husband: if you put both of them in the trunk of your car for an hour, which one is going to be happy to see you when you open it? Dogs don't care about the less-than-perfect details we worry about. They don't compare their situation to what would be ideal. Of course they get bored and might misbehave, and they'd much rather spend their entire day with you if they could, but as soon as The Bad is over and The Good is here, that's all that matters to them. They do what they can in each moment, and they are happy to have Their Human.

I wish I could have given Link that perfect home with me. I avoided getting another dog until just last year, and I often find myself thinking about all the things they should have that they don't have in my home and how they deserve better. But whether I work all day or if we do something fun, or even if we just stay home, my dogs are so happy every time they see me, and I think I finally get it. My dogs don't care that I'm not perfect. They don't care that I don't have the energy for "walkies" sometimes; they're just ECSTATIC whenever we do "go walkies." They don't care that I don't have a big yard for them; they just run around as much as they can whenever we visit someone with a yard. They don't care how many hours I work; they're just happy that right now, I'm smiling at them.

It's taken years, but I finally agree with that billboard that made me so angry all those years ago. You don't have to be perfect to give a dog the perfect home.

*I just made this up, but if you want to refer to the Classic Zelda Taxonomy and make it Officially A Thing, I'm 100% OK with that.