My Wonderful Dog Made Me So Insanely Proud Today.

How this Scrumperdinger made my whole year and changed my world in just a few seconds.

Today I feel like one of those smug gits with the perfect dogs.

Twyla just made me the proudest mumma ever.

She was a lot of dog, as a puppy. She still is a lot of dog now, but as a puppy she was a LOT.

She was very interested in EVERYTHING. She was up to constant mischief. She destroyed so many things we gave up stopping her from shredding stuff. When we went out, she was about as focused on me as a blade of grass.

So, when presented with two other puppies the same age in the park, she wanted to go and play with them. They had appeared out of nowhere. Before I had a chance to get her lead back on, she was off gaily chasing around the playing field after them.

As a professional trainer, this was humiliating enough. Couldn’t even control my own dog.

But then my PTSD kicked in. And it got a whole lot worse.

The man who lives along our road and whom I see most days was probably just trying to help. He began telling me to “Stop Talking” and to “Stand Still” when I began to walk over to collect her and put the lead on. He told me I was the reason she didn’t behave.

He was training his two boy spaniels, and they were remarkably well-behaved. The pups were a little nervous about Twyla. She is quite a lump of scrump, and they were rather smaller in stature than she. They were both weaving in and around his legs instead of running away.

They looked to him to protect them from this fluffy, demented bowling ball that was bouncing about, trying to get them to play.

I froze and just stood there, nervously laughing. I did as I was told while he gave me orders to be still, wait, and stop giggling like an idiot. I was mortified and went home shaking and in tears.

My PTSD stems from a domestically violent marriage, and being yelled at doesn’t help me very much. I go into survival mode and either just do exactly as I am told or what I think will stop the conflict. I am not even aware I am having a reaction until afterwards when the shaking starts.

From that day on, in the park, I have had a secret.

I have been very afraid of what others see when they see me out with my “badly” behaved beast. I assume they all laugh at me or say I don’t know what I am doing.

Imposter Syndrome hit me hard. I stopped walking in places or at times where we would see people for a while.

I knew Twyla was so busy being a floofer that she couldn’t possibly meet my standards, and absurdly, I was ashamed of myself and questioned my ability.

The dog I had before her, Moo, was the most well-trained boy, after a lot of work, and we would perform tricks in the park, at the bus stop, or in town. People would stop to talk to him, and unless there were cats around or we were by a busy road, we didn’t even bother with a lead.

He had his friend dogs whom he was always appropriate with. He would always wait for permission to say “hello” to dogs he didn’t know. He was reliable in almost every situation.

And he died from a stupid grass seed injury aged just 6, and my world fell apart.

So Twyla, with her Working Springer Spaniel brain in a Labrador body, was a whole different kettle of fish. She simply was not and could not be Moo.

I put that pressure on her to live up to him. I shouldn’t have. She is a different dog entirely, and the two were complete opposites in every way. Equally as wonderful but polar opposites.

It is easy to forget that it was Moo who got me into behaviour in the first place, as he started life so very aggressively and fearfully. It had taken 6 years to get him to the point he was at and Twyla was still just a baby.

I had grown lazy as a dog parent. I was completely unprepared for having a puppy like Twyla. She was the most hyperactive and impulsive dog I had ever met.

I have trained hundreds of dogs and helped thousands of others’ dogs with great success. Yet, my own dog was more like the shuck. I felt embarrassed at times when she was just being herself.

She was happy, healthy, playful, fun and confident. But I judged myself on her lack of recall and focus in the face of fun things to chase and play with.

And I allowed it to affect me. I lived in fear of being judged or even shouted at about her behaviour. So, in fact, I have allowed it to affect her, too.

But today, all that changed.

We were walking back from a perfect, on-lead walk around our village. I heard a scrabbling noise coming up behind us.

The two Spaniels were bombing up the road to say “Hello” to us, which they did happily. Twyla behaved perfectly. She wiggled slightly and then decided to be calm, sat and took some treats from me, while the man called at the dogs to “GEDDD ERRRRREE”.

After less than half a minute, the two good boys ran back up the road to him. But that was long enough to leave me beaming and feeling so proud of Twyla.

He apologised, embarrassed, but he had no need to. I love to see dogs being dogs. I just wished him a Happy New Year. My PTSD, in that instance, just melted away.

The realisation that the other dogs are just as full of it as she is, and there is nothing wrong with that at all, is so very comforting.

No dog is a robot. No animal is a robot. No one should ever be judged for not behaving as one.

In that instance, I also realised what I already knew deep down.

My friendship and bond with Twyla are far more important than trying to change her into someone she is not. I do not have the right to project my insecurities onto her.

Her beautiful, naughty, cuddly, funny, leaf-chasing, friendly, impulsive, kleptomaniac, digging, wiggling self.

She is already perfect.

So, my New Year’s Resolution is to be better and braver for Twyla and to allow her to be herself without my fear of being judged or shouted at, stopping play ever again.

If you enjoyed my article I have a newsletter which I would love you to subscribe to!

100 Day Challenge — Day 78