They say that admitting you have a problem is the fist step to recovery, so here it goes.
I have an aversion to the human race. I prefer the company of dogs and horses to people. I'd bend over backwards (and I have) to help an animal, any animal. But I think twice, even three times, when it comes to people. There, I've done it (whew).
I never used to be this way, but after many years of being thrown under the bus as my reward for helping my fellow humans succeed in their endeavours, I've grown to distrust my brethren. Enter my dog Raider. Raider is the complete opposite from me when it comes to people. If the saying "A dog is a reflection of its owner" were true, it certainly would not apply to Raider and me, for he is the happiest flipping dog I have ever met. I mean really, there is not a human being to whom he does not offer a wag of his tail and a big smile. He has made the most crotchety of people break into a big-toothed grin when he prances his cuteness in front of them.
As a result, I must follow suit, for I certainly can't be bitter at the human race with the cutest dog in the world prancing around at the end of his leash. And this has had a profound effect on many a person, even me.
Just the other day, we went to a park along the Fraser River. All three of my dogs and I walked along the trail that paralleled the river and came across a group of senior citizens staring out over the water and mountains. There was a palpable solemn silence from the group of eight or so people.
Raider seemed to take this as a cue to pull out the ultimate in cuteness tactic and began to chase his tail directly in front of them. It took no less than two seconds for an elderly crackled voice to shout out, "I used to have a border collie!" That was all the incentive Raider needed to prance over to the woman in a wheelchair and give her his best "cutest dog ever" look and rest his head in her lap. The smile that spread across her face melted the ice around my heart. Soon the entire group had wheeled or pushed their walkers over to my dogs. They all had their favourites. Some loved Piper with his short dappled fur and velvety soft ears. Others told me stories of their German shepherds and how loyal they were. Others shared their love for border collies. Laughter rang out over the water as I showed off some of Raider's tricks such as "bounce backwards on your hind legs" and "bang, you are dead."
When my dogs and I left the group, there was lively chatter among them about how they had shared their lives with dogs instead of the dead silence that we entered into.
We continued our walk and decided to sit at a park bench.
"Are they all yours?" I heard a voice come from my side.
"Yep, they are." I didn't look up, but replied with a smile in my words as I rubbed my dogs' heads affectionately.
"You are lucky, they are beautiful."
The voice came from a mother and her daughter sitting on a bench a few yards away.
"Thank you," I said. "They are pretty special" Raider took that as an invitation to go say hello and soon the two people were swooning over him. He looked back at me over his shoulder as if to say,
"See Mom, they're not all that bad."
I just shook my head and smiled as the ice around my heart melted a bit more.
"That damn dog, making me see the good in people," I mumbled to myself.
A few moments later we continued our walk and I observed Raider smile and wag his tail at literally every single person we came across. To my surprise I began to do the same. I wasn't wagging my tail, but I was giving a genuine smile and "hello" and it felt good.
It felt good to show kindness and joy to strangers, and with happy dogs at my side I got it back tenfold. . . and the healing begins.
Joan Klucha has been working with dogs for more than 15 years in obedience, tracking and behavioural rehabilitation. Contact her through her website k9kinship.com.
