Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 4 Comments

Sensitive

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This morning I’ll take a pause on paws. No more writing about puppies, at least not for today.

The Archives, here, began with the intention of capturing ordinary moments and discovering something extra-ordinary within them. Typically, I have written from the present, recounting something as it has been unfolding, perhaps yesterday, or even now.

I consider this last week’s puppified posts, and realize that I’m telling the tale of events that unfolded last month. Meaningful moments that were not shared here in the Archives as they were happening. Why?

Though it may sound silly, the path to our puppy has been just too fresh. Too sensitive. The layers of emotion brought up within me, the thoughts that have swirled through my analytical mind, have all been too tender to type about.

I suspect the delicacy runs deep through old experience. Past posts have touched on the farewell to my dog twenty years ago. But I’ve yet to write about my early days of mothering my own human child, the one who now is twelve.

It was over a decade ago when the pregnancy test turned positive in a rainstorm. I watched the line fill pink, as the banana trees outside pooled in puddles. I stood in the make-shift screen room, attached to our school bus on blocks, the abode where I dwelled with my boyfriend. There was my voice speaking the stick’s result. There was the sound of the front door shutting behind him, as he left when I said, “I’m pregnant.”

There was the loneliness of my dream coming true being his greatest fear realized. There was the trying between us. There was the inevitable failure. There was me and a nine-month old, and little support. There were a string of house-sitting jobs, and the good graces of others. There was work for little pay, and a lot of mac and cheese.

There was the realization that my lifetime’s longing-motherhood-had come to be. And the reality of that dream was painfully difficult to live. I could handle the survival mode we existed in, but the self-doubt, the loneliness, and the accusations I hurled at myself, were the toughest to reconcile. Perfectionist that I was, my life situation appeared, not only imperfect, but a complete folly. The circumstances seemed to be the life of someone else, not the world in which I imagined myself.

But that was eleven years ago, and over time the tides have turned and mellowed. I live in a house and pay my own rent. I have a husband that is a loving, and supportive life partner. I have a healthy and compassionate son. I don’t know the last time I ate mac and cheese. And our family is fortunate enough to have the luxury of bringing a puppy into our lives. So why so touchy?

I sense there are themes of trust. Success and failure. Responsibility. Commitments made that must be kept, no matter what the challenge. My simple fear of doing it ‘wrong.’

It’s just a puppy, I know. But it’s sensitive.

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

“Ohhh! So you want a dog. Okay. You didn’t say that before.”

“Well, I guess so. Was that not clear?”

“I just kept hearing about how much Jeb wanted a dog. I never heard you actually say that you wanted one.”

Did I?

Somehow the simple statement from my friend’s mouth made me feel both vulnerable and relieved. As if the secret I’d been keeping from my own self was at last revealed.

The parent of a wonderful canine companion herself, my friend was deep in the end-of-life stages with her dog. He was regal in his old age, but ailing. Throughout the conversation of “should we get a dog” over the past months, my friend had bluntly suggested, “Don’t do it.”

Now, on her back porch, her grey-haired dog curled not far from her feet, she looked across the table at me and said, “If you want a dog, then you definitely should get one.”

“Really? But you’ve been saying all of this time that I shouldn’t do it.”

“Right. But that was when I thought Jeb was the only one that wanted it. But if you want it, too, then you certainly should do it.”

As I’m recounting that afternoon conversation, I realize there is a certain absurdity in giving so much thought to a pet. To be concerning myself (and even writing about) the issue can seem petty and hyper-analytical.

When people in the world are without homes or clean water, the pet choice is a luxurious option to even consider.

But since I have the opportunity to actually have this choice, why think it to death? People around the world adopt puppies and dogs every day. It’s quite typical. If you were to ask my son, he’d tell you, “Everyone has a dog.”

So what’s with all the deliberation?

For one, any of this discussion needs to be held in the context of the fact that I tend to over think things. And part of what fuels my over thinking, are the memories of times when I didn’t think enough. Or so I tell myself. Meaning, that if I would have given more consideration to future outcomes, my choices may have been different. Basically, I don’t like disappointment, failure, or regret, and would like to avoid these feelings, if at all possible.

What I fail to realize as I’m over-analyzing something, is that disappointment, failure, and regret, are part of the messiness of life, which cannot always be avoided, and can oftentimes enrich this earth-walking experience we humans briefly have.

Twenty years ago, I was dedicated to facing fears and living from my intuition and heart. There were times when I got demolished in the process. Part of that era included me diving into loving my dog Ella. And part of that experience was me realizing the depth of commitment it took to care for a dog.

Now, at the age of 42, with a 12 year-old son begging me for a canine companion, I still want to live from my instincts and heart, but with some balanced reason.

I don’t want to be the person that oogles over a puppy, only to find myself with chewed up furniture and a hyper-active dog, running circles in a back yard full of poop piles. It seems too many people fall into the cuteness of a puppy, only to realize they don’t have the stamina to maintain the 10 – 15+ years needed to responsibly raise it.

That said, I also don’t want to avoid a potentially life-enriching experience out of fear, or painful memories from the past.

In fact, I’ve had a sense that maybe (just maybe), with twenty years of life experience behind me, a solid home life, and a supportive husband, I may have another chance at this dog thing. Maybe even a chance to do it a little differently. If I’m honest, maybe I’ve entertained the thought of having a dog, because it meant that I could redeem myself. Assuage my guilt for not having been perfect at it when I was 22.

Of course, that’s some heavy pressure to put on myself and any possible puppy. (Note to self).

But for that moment on the back porch with my friend and her aging dog, it was liberating to hear someone accept the plain truth. I did want to try again. Until the instant that she reflected those sentiments to me – “Oh, you want a dog…” – I had not been fully aware it was my heart’s desire. With my head-strong focus only outlining to Jeb all of the practical implications of a puppy, I could hide from my own feelings. Avoid my inner wish, out of fear that I would fail.

I know, I know. It’s just a dog. All of this soul-searching over a hound.

Well, that hound is Mae, and she turns 12 weeks old today. And, as with every morning that I’ve come to the computer to write in this last week she’s been with us, she is sleeping on a pillow at my feet. She is offering me, and our family, something that has yet to come into words.

We have a dog. And it feels simple, plain, and true. There is lots of love, and it feels very, very right.

2016-01-09_wet Mae
first time at the beach
Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 5 Comments

Puppy Love

It’s as close as Jeb will have for a sibling, and the nearest thing to a baby that the Bohemian and I will raise. On New Year’s Eve, we welcomed a new addition to our family. She is a four-legged, furry friend, and due to my up-in-the-night-to-take-the-puppy-out brain, I will not bother finding the creativity to give our new dog a pseudonym. She is simply Mae, and she is simply fantastic.

Jeb has been begging for a dog for the last seven years, and I’ve continued to put him off, citing many logical reasons for why getting a dog is just too impractical. Over the last six months I’ve begun seriously opening my mind and heart to the idea of actually welcoming a dog into our world.

If we were going to really do this doggie thing, I had wanted to go about the process with careful preparation. I began reading Cesar Millan to Jeb at night, and we all watched episodes of his series “The Dog Whisperer.” I poured over the training suggestions from the Monks of New Skete, and for the last few months I’ve been perusing Amazon.com, adding dog-related necessities to my cart, then filing them as “Save for Later.”

I have wanted everything precisely planned and well-thought out, any detail within my scope, considered and addressed.

With this formula in mind, I had hoped we’d find our perfect pet some time after the new year, but most likely not until the Spring.

It was certainly not in my scheme my to take a dog that we had never met. Nor had I imagined that Jeb, the Bohemian, and I would commit to our new family member, via text, in the airport, five minutes before boarding a plane. We sealed the deal with a thumb-tapped message that read something like: “At the risk of sounding impulsive, we’ve had a family meeting and decided that we would like the puppy…”

I would like to write more about how this adoption unfolded, because what ensued felt like a metaphorical labor for me. The Bohemian was right there beside me, as we passed through the many stages in finally bringing Mae home. But this morning, despite the fact that I set my alarm early to accommodate her pre-dawn potty break, along with some bonding belly scratches, I have run out of time. The clock says it’s time to wake Jeb for school.

Throughout my typing of this post, Mae has diffused her morning energy by wrestling with a rubber chicken not far from my feet. She has now exhausted herself, and fallen asleep with it resting by her head, as one soft ear flops over its feet. Outside the real roosters crow with their reminder. It’s time to go.

None of this is exactly what I had planned, and yet, it’s more than what I had hoped for. I trust the telling of this tale will find its outlet in the midst of puppydom.

For now, I get it. This is puppy love.

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