Grace
People who know me, Mabel, wouldn’t call me graceful. I’m a bulldozing love machine. But today, I’m giving you my wisdom about grace.
My human and I went for a walk the Saturday after Christmas. The weather was suddenly 58 degrees, and I was so excited when we arrived to see my favorite, POOP. I rolled and twerked and covered myself in a whole lot of ca-ca before my human could ask me to do otherwise. According to her, I’m doing better with this, but it’s still my favorite, and I’m faster than she is, especially on Saturday mornings.
Despite her planning, there were also more dogs than I usually see, which she didn’t know until halfway through our walk.
Covered in my pitty perfume, on our way back, all pumped and powered up, I saw a dog. Oh goodness, I wanted to pull bad. My human had too much water that morning, so she let me hurry us along, not realizing that I wasn’t wearing the proper harness for a busier stroll. Usually, she would have veered us off to the side and played “find” games until I settled down.
Well, once we got back to the parking lot, there was another dog, and she couldn’t cradle my chest like usual (calming and making me feel super safe) because I was covered head-to-toe in scat. So she held onto my harness and talked softly until I was ready to move again (I freeze and plant, I won’t budge, and she doesn’t want to hurt me).
Later that day, after I got wiped down in the public bathroom and a bath at home (thank dog for gentle shampoo), my human thought my gait looked off. It was so subtle and sporadic that she thought she was being overly sensitive.
You know what happens to you worry-equals-love-humans, right? You start that not-nice self-talk. Why did you let us pull? Why didn’t you hold my chest? You can clean yourself and your car. It’s your fault if I’m hurt.
What if, instead, you were gentle with yourself about your mistake? What if you talked to yourself like you speak to us when we mess up? What if you gave yourself grace?
It turns out I had a minor muscle tweak that was fine a couple of days later. Despite my annoyance at not playing tug, running up the A-frame, or crashing into my human until she got the A-OK from Dr. Crouse, I was 100% ready to resume rowdy romping the way I like. No one can keep Mabel from moving.
So, humans, please remember that when you’re tempted to trash talk yourself, think about how you treat us when we bark at another dog, nibble your ear while doing yoga, or jump on a guest despite practicing calm greetings. Be gentle with your gaffes and sympathetic with your snafus. Be nice to yourself; we know your intentions and your hearts.