what my rescue dog taught me about fear

I was sitting in the Chicago airport, enjoying a super over priced hamburger before my flight, waiting for all my motion sickness meds to kick in. All of a sudden, this:

We already have a beautiful black labradoodle named Coco. She is trained, smart, and doesn’t chew on my furniture. She is five years old and doesn’t run away when I open the front door.

And, of course, my husband would wait until I’m on my way to speak at a conference in Iowa to drop the puppy bomb.

But the part of human beings that can’t resist the power of puppies made me put down my burger and begin texting him back – I mean it was as if my fingers were speaking for my heart and totally ignoring my brain!

I said he was cute and I was “open” to it.

That was all he (and my daughter Kayden) needed. They were off to the races. They began searching Fort Wayne for labradoodles to join our family.

When I arrived at my hotel in Iowa, another text came in:

Brody was a rescue. A sad story, really. He was originally a stud dog for a breeder – but they found another dog they liked better.

So poor Brody lived in a 6 by 8 foot pen for two years. No love, no attention, just hanging out by himself in his little run.

We (even me) decided we needed to bring him home.

We promptly renamed him Fozzie (because he looks almost identical to the Muppet bear) and began loving on him. When I arrived home from my trip, I almost cried at what I saw.

Fozzie shrank at every noise, every car horn, every pin drop. He didn’t know how to walk through doorways. He didn’t play with toys. He wouldn’t eat any treats. If anyone walked out of the room and back in he would run and hide. Fozzie hadn’t had much human connection and he was afraid of us. He lived in his pen – alone, and didn’t know how to operate in our world.

He was always afraid.

The woman at the rescue gave us some really great advice.

“Don’t feel sorry for him. Just put him on the leash and tell him, ‘You can do it’ and walk him through the door or across the street or past the traffic.”

So we did just that. We continually told him, “You can do it.” She said that would help him face his fears.

When I was a freshman in college, I met this boy at karaoke night. When I finished my song, he got on one knee and told me I had the most beautiful voice he had ever heard.

All American football player. Senior. Kneeling in front of ME.

What began as a whirlwind romance quickly became toxic. Outbursts. Humiliation. Pushing me too far. Manipulation. Visiting my dorm window at night to make sure I met my "curfew". Leaving me at the state park in the middle of the night only to show up with roses at 6 a.m. And again. And again. Until my parents swept in and forced me to walk away.

I was broken. Like Fozzie.

My chest had been split. Flayed open. I didn't want to walk into any new relationships, let alone trust anyone. My heart was raw. I felt weak. Unable to claim my own womanhood. Full of shame.

The fear was that if I forgave him, I would be saying it was okay. I would be conceding. Giving up. Letting him win. I shut out trust and turned the open sign to closed on my heart.

A couple years later, I met a man who told me I was like an onion, many layers to peel away. He let me struggle. Rage. Find myself. Explore my anger. He didn't try to do any of it for me. He just empowered me to do it.

And finally, forgive.

Because forgiving doesn't mean trusting. It means not letting the abuser live rent free in my head. It means not letting him control me or my emotions. It means HE LOSES.

The new guy, he didn't complete me. I was complete all on my own. His patience as he waited for me to learn, to trust, to heal has turned into 22 years of marriage.

He and I, together, believed "I could do it".

It’s sad that anyone would treat Fozzie the way they did. It’s downright wrong. It's sad that boy would treat me the way he did. It's downright wrong.

Fozzie has seen our consistency and, over the weeks, our historical patterns of leading him into safe spaces. But even when we lead him past the dangerous intersections or past houses with barking dogs, he understands that we know best – because we’ve never hurt him before. Occasionally, he is startled or shrinks back, but we tell him “You can do it” and gently push him to keep walking.

We have a long road ahead of us (I didn’t include pictures of the half-eaten legos or the entirely demolished television remote control).

So he presses more closely to us. He leans in. He hides in our strength and lets us lead him. He knows he can trust us.

It’s an amazing metaphor.

We’ve all been hurt. We’ve experienced sickness and pain and death and loss. And it isn’t fair. It isn’t right. But life always offers hope. Room to grow and breathe and change. I'm not saying I'm "fixed" - that I don't ever remember. But I've gone to counseling. Worked through the steps.

I am dead set on being whole.

Just like the Fozz-ster, we can be willing to forgive. See that all humanity isn't like the ones who did us wrong. Understand that life is difficult and hard. Embrace the lemons WITH the lemonade and trust the people we love with that process.

My husband says he’s a simple man so he likes simple analogies. Me, too. And I’m thankful that a sweet, rescue dog can remind me that I have the ability to say, “You can do it” and walk through that next doorway.