“Grrrr!” she grumbled as her bare feet made contact with navy carpet fibers. This was the third call in one long night of cold and dark. Barkhowlbarkbarkbark… hrmphhhh!
Early, but late enough to be considered morning, she slipped into fleece lined pants, descended the stairs, and entered the mud room. There she fastened the fourleg’s collar around a warm neck and set her mud-encrusted sneakers on the utility carpet.
“Dog, annoying, stupid dog,” she muttered as she went off in search of her mittens.
Guess what happened next? That blasted pup stole one of her shoes!
Paws dancing, the fourleg loped around the house like a gazelle on the savannah. Chunks of dried dirt escaped the shoe’s creviced bottom. When nuggets hit the freshly scrubbed floor, they shattered like little glass vessels made of silt, sand, and pebbles.
She felt anger.
She gave chase.
She bribed with a treat.
She threatened to walk alone.
The dog’s eyes sparkled and taunted her.
After countless trips around the coffee table, she snagged the leash’s loop and the pair exited through the garage. Under a starry sky, the twoleg took stock of the feeling flowing inside of her. She didn't like it… anger was not her natural state.
Is it anybody’s?
Is the problem in the dog?
Or, is the problem in me?
Step by step she walked the asphalt and dug below the surface of her anger. About a half mile in, she unearthed the root and recognized the problem was not the dog, but rather her failure to set clear boundaries.
Reframe.
What if today is an opportunity to work with the fourleg instead of in opposition to her?
narcissism
Perhaps a metaphor for life? Boundaries. Working with vs against. Exceptions to rules. I wrestle with how much leeway to give our beast so as not to squelch her playfulness and spontaneity. Perhaps this makes your own work harder? Not my intention of course. I walk Izzie off leash on almost all our outings. In a couple areas I encourage her to run, chase whatever I just threw, and have extended sniffing sessions. Fair is fair. She goes where I want her to go and I decide when a walk is over. In between she might initiate a game of keep away, her and the thrown object, by dodging me, eluding my outstretched hand. A variant for her is seeing just how close she can come without me being able to touch her as she sidesteps me at the last second. In the dark, hide and seek is another option. In all variants I read the joy in her body posture and eyes. I’m grateful to be her erstwhile playmate. In our home there is far less “do your own thing.” No means no. Stop means stop. Chill means, well, chill. Calm down. Don’t bite the kitty’s head off! (She is not aggressive. More like grand gestures, taking the cat’s head completely into her mouth!) We do permit “rumbles” with cat chasing dog and vice versa. Perhaps this isn’t really a control situation but a negotiation?
It sounds like you and she have balance. The good with the bad. All is well.