A wolf like me
Taking in this abandoned dog may very well be the most eventful thing that's happened in my life, and despite the challenges involved, has mostly been rewarding. Two weeks ago we were strangers to each other, and now we're basically the only family each of us has. He's still young and scared, still not fully settled in, but I've been dedicating a lot of time to making sure he feels secure and finds his place in his new home.
That's when I realized that this dog reminds me a lot of myself, and not necessarily in a good way. He's got some toxic traits that stem from an advanced case of separation anxiety. He can often be whiny, demanding, and will growl or bark at anyone that comes near my door or my balcony. He found a source of comfort in me, and he's willing to protect that at all costs. I can't help but read my old posts on here and see that he's right where I used to be a few years ago, and maybe where parts of me still are.
I can totally understand where most people might feel annoyed at this attention-seeking behavior, because I do too, but I mostly just feel sympathy. I know all too well the overwhelming desire to lean on someone else in order to lessen your discomfort and distress. In theory, that's what our ability to express ourselves and to process our emotional needs should accomplish. But it's not easy to discern the line between a healthy amount of dependence and what would be seen as overdependence.
The thing about sentience that is often glossed over is the remarkable ability of living things to naturally form habits. Eating habits, sleeping habits, mating habits, grooming habits, etc., we eventually find and adopt behaviors that help us meet our needs. It's also why we can be so afraid or so resistant to changes. There's an underlying fear that our needs will go unmet and we'd be at the mercy of fate to guide us through the adjustment period. But change is, for better or worse, inevitable. It's at this point where we apply our sentience towards coping mechanisms, and often those coping mechanisms include seeking out others that might feel the same way we do.
I imagine that's a big part of the reason why this dog has become so attached to me and is mostly indifferent to my other dog. From his point of view, he might think she's had it made. She's had a loving owner and all the treats and toys and butt-scratches her heart desires. How could she ever relate to being abandoned twice in the same year? If only he knew her story.
I think when life has dealt you enough hardships and heartache, you can end up becoming stuck in these self-soothing habits. You learn to expect disappointment and form a habit of coping in order to prepare yourself for the next one. Losing your faith in certain ideas or concepts doesn't mean you'll automatically adopt something better or even something suitable, but rather that you now become afraid of what else might not be what it seems. It's how insecurities are born, and if unabated, it's how they habituate into toxic behaviors.
So the goal has been to get him to be okay with being without me. I've been locking myself in my room or in the bathroom so that he learns not to wait up on me. Although the solitude might look good on paper, his constant whining, his panicked barking, and his numerous attempts at opening the door have been making it concerning. I truly feel for him. I really wish I wasn't so intimately familiar with the neglect from whence his fears manifest. When he settles down and behaves, that's when it's safe to go out again. We're building a habit. He's learning not to panic. More importantly, he's learning that things will be okay if you're patient and don't let yourself give into the fear. If only we could condition ourselves to be so confident.
I've been teetering back and forth for quite a while now on whether or not I should be okay with being a misanthrope. To give up on the possibility of future relationships and embrace the fact that no one's going to be there when I need them. There's a lot of practicality in cynicism, but is a life like that really worth living in the first place?
I don't think it's such a radical thought to say that most people suck. I'm sure anyone working in customer service can confidently attest to that. But still, even people in the world of retail and hospitality pursue romantic connections, form friendships, and have children. They still have some kind of faith in the world in order to stake their claim in it.
At the end of the day, what appears to be natural skepticism, is actually just classical conditioning that's stuck around. It's a habit like any other, and one I'm hoping to reframe and redefine. Instead of being so focused on the flaws and repulsed by the negatives, I'd like to be in a position where I can truly understand and appreciate that some people are awesome. To look out for the good traits and to have some confidence that there's more of those good traits out there, rather than feeling like it's a prized rarity. To live with a mindset of abundance rather than one of scarcity. To venture out into the world with the hope that goodness will prevail, rather than withdrawing from it in an act of self-preservation. To not simply survive, but to thrive.
It's something much easier said than done, but like this dog I'm also pretty stubborn and head-strong. I'll probably fail more times than I'd care to think about right now, but you can learn a lot from failures if you choose to. I have a family now, even if they're covered in fur and drool like a leaky faucet. I have something secure to come home to, just like this dog does now. And if I can teach him a new trick, a new way of thinking about his place in this world, maybe I can learn something new myself.
That's when I realized that this dog reminds me a lot of myself, and not necessarily in a good way. He's got some toxic traits that stem from an advanced case of separation anxiety. He can often be whiny, demanding, and will growl or bark at anyone that comes near my door or my balcony. He found a source of comfort in me, and he's willing to protect that at all costs. I can't help but read my old posts on here and see that he's right where I used to be a few years ago, and maybe where parts of me still are.
I can totally understand where most people might feel annoyed at this attention-seeking behavior, because I do too, but I mostly just feel sympathy. I know all too well the overwhelming desire to lean on someone else in order to lessen your discomfort and distress. In theory, that's what our ability to express ourselves and to process our emotional needs should accomplish. But it's not easy to discern the line between a healthy amount of dependence and what would be seen as overdependence.
The thing about sentience that is often glossed over is the remarkable ability of living things to naturally form habits. Eating habits, sleeping habits, mating habits, grooming habits, etc., we eventually find and adopt behaviors that help us meet our needs. It's also why we can be so afraid or so resistant to changes. There's an underlying fear that our needs will go unmet and we'd be at the mercy of fate to guide us through the adjustment period. But change is, for better or worse, inevitable. It's at this point where we apply our sentience towards coping mechanisms, and often those coping mechanisms include seeking out others that might feel the same way we do.
I imagine that's a big part of the reason why this dog has become so attached to me and is mostly indifferent to my other dog. From his point of view, he might think she's had it made. She's had a loving owner and all the treats and toys and butt-scratches her heart desires. How could she ever relate to being abandoned twice in the same year? If only he knew her story.
I think when life has dealt you enough hardships and heartache, you can end up becoming stuck in these self-soothing habits. You learn to expect disappointment and form a habit of coping in order to prepare yourself for the next one. Losing your faith in certain ideas or concepts doesn't mean you'll automatically adopt something better or even something suitable, but rather that you now become afraid of what else might not be what it seems. It's how insecurities are born, and if unabated, it's how they habituate into toxic behaviors.
So the goal has been to get him to be okay with being without me. I've been locking myself in my room or in the bathroom so that he learns not to wait up on me. Although the solitude might look good on paper, his constant whining, his panicked barking, and his numerous attempts at opening the door have been making it concerning. I truly feel for him. I really wish I wasn't so intimately familiar with the neglect from whence his fears manifest. When he settles down and behaves, that's when it's safe to go out again. We're building a habit. He's learning not to panic. More importantly, he's learning that things will be okay if you're patient and don't let yourself give into the fear. If only we could condition ourselves to be so confident.
I've been teetering back and forth for quite a while now on whether or not I should be okay with being a misanthrope. To give up on the possibility of future relationships and embrace the fact that no one's going to be there when I need them. There's a lot of practicality in cynicism, but is a life like that really worth living in the first place?
I don't think it's such a radical thought to say that most people suck. I'm sure anyone working in customer service can confidently attest to that. But still, even people in the world of retail and hospitality pursue romantic connections, form friendships, and have children. They still have some kind of faith in the world in order to stake their claim in it.
At the end of the day, what appears to be natural skepticism, is actually just classical conditioning that's stuck around. It's a habit like any other, and one I'm hoping to reframe and redefine. Instead of being so focused on the flaws and repulsed by the negatives, I'd like to be in a position where I can truly understand and appreciate that some people are awesome. To look out for the good traits and to have some confidence that there's more of those good traits out there, rather than feeling like it's a prized rarity. To live with a mindset of abundance rather than one of scarcity. To venture out into the world with the hope that goodness will prevail, rather than withdrawing from it in an act of self-preservation. To not simply survive, but to thrive.
It's something much easier said than done, but like this dog I'm also pretty stubborn and head-strong. I'll probably fail more times than I'd care to think about right now, but you can learn a lot from failures if you choose to. I have a family now, even if they're covered in fur and drool like a leaky faucet. I have something secure to come home to, just like this dog does now. And if I can teach him a new trick, a new way of thinking about his place in this world, maybe I can learn something new myself.
31-35, M
