Let's Play!About a month ago, Kane and I had an absolutely, amazing, wonderful agility training class. He checked in with me when he needed to, ran ahead when he understood where he was going, didn't bark at me (much) and we ran a full novice course flawlessly. I was grinning like a fool and he was looking at me with bright eyes and a big grin. The instructor was thrilled and my fellow students all congratulated me. I thought- oh my doG, we're getting it! We're becoming a team! I couldn't wait to get home and share this success with Scott.
But about halfway home, I had to pull over. I couldn't see the road through the tears. They weren't happy tears either- I was incredibly, terribly sad. I was sobbing so hard that it took me several minutes to regain my composure so I could drive home.
What the hell? How could this elation turn to a full-on blubbering, nose-blowing, shoulders-shaking, meltdown?
One word: Jake.
The last time I'd felt that kind of true joy after running an agility course was with Jake. My heart-dog, my partner, my teacher. When it went well (which it often did), running agility courses with Jake could be such a thrill because we were so CONNECTED. We were communicating- me and this found-along-side-the-road Aussie. He wanted to play this game with me, and he wanted to play it as best and as fast as he possibly could. It was so much fun to play those games with him.
So, what the hell? Why cry big crocodile tears when Kane and I had one of those awesome moments of connectedness? It took some time to figure out, but I finally did.
That moment of elation, that feeling, was unique to Jake. It tapped into that part of my broken heart that hasn't healed and may never truly be the same. My heart and mind have merged that unique joy of agility success with the bottomless pit of despair that I fell into when Jake died.
But about halfway home, I had to pull over. I couldn't see the road through the tears. They weren't happy tears either- I was incredibly, terribly sad. I was sobbing so hard that it took me several minutes to regain my composure so I could drive home.
What the hell? How could this elation turn to a full-on blubbering, nose-blowing, shoulders-shaking, meltdown?
One word: Jake.
The last time I'd felt that kind of true joy after running an agility course was with Jake. My heart-dog, my partner, my teacher. When it went well (which it often did), running agility courses with Jake could be such a thrill because we were so CONNECTED. We were communicating- me and this found-along-side-the-road Aussie. He wanted to play this game with me, and he wanted to play it as best and as fast as he possibly could. It was so much fun to play those games with him.
So, what the hell? Why cry big crocodile tears when Kane and I had one of those awesome moments of connectedness? It took some time to figure out, but I finally did.
That moment of elation, that feeling, was unique to Jake. It tapped into that part of my broken heart that hasn't healed and may never truly be the same. My heart and mind have merged that unique joy of agility success with the bottomless pit of despair that I fell into when Jake died.
If you haven't played agility games, it might be hard to understand this. There is a special elation in a smooth, successful run in agility. It is a culmination of training and a public moment that declares the depth of the bond between dog and handler. In that moment, we look at our dog in awe and feel tremendous respect for what they are so willing to do for us. You can talk about it with family and friends, get a hug and a handshake, but no one else really shares that special, private bond with your heart-dog.
Knowing that there is a connection to Jake in all-things-agility is going to be difficult at times and I'm afraid that it will adversely affect how I play these games with Kane. One part of me will be fighting to avoid comparing Kane to Jake when I'm frustrated and challenged. And another part of me will be afraid of falling apart when a great run opens the floodgates of irrationally enmeshed emotions.
Luckily, I am too addicted to agility to consider giving it up. I just need to find a way to play agility with Kane that won't allow Jake's ghost to follow us around the course. Then again, I might be better off to remember Jake's lessons when Kane and I are playing. Jake expected me to be there with him in that moment and to do my best for him, as he did for me. I should honor Jake's memory by applying those lessons to my training with Kane.
So, here's what I've come up with after processing this strange reaction to success- I decided to blog this and make a public pledge.
Kane, I promise to strive to be a worthy partner in each moment of our journey.
"This moment is a gift. We are only
right here, right now. I have no other expectations.
Let's enjoy this game. I am Kane. I am your friend."
I'll do my best, little buddy. We'll enjoy learning how to communicate and to build that connection that comes with years of practice.
That is, after all, how you'll become my heart-dog.
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