A dance of trust

Raising a dog is like raising a child. There is the instant love when parent and child have their first moments together. There is the time of nurturing, when the child is dependent on the parent. As the child begins to grow and explore, there is the time of anxiety for the parent. How do I keep my child safe yet allow for learning experiences and exploration.
Even though I got Rocky when he was almost two years old, there was still the instant love moment when I looked through the bars of his kennel and saw his eyes. There was the time of nurturing when I first brought him home, showing him his new place, his food and where to sleep.
Now I’m in the dance of trust, finding the balance between freedom and safety.
I’ll say it again, Rocky is a wonderful dog. And, he still has not learned that coming when called needs to be an instant thing. Because of that, his walk time and potty time are spent on a leash.
I’m getting to know his umwelt includes a need for freedom to run. I know when he’s feeling that need. He gets a look in his eye, a tension in his body, and for a brief moment there is a hesitation. He may look my way as if to say, “I know you don’t want me to, but I really have to go now. Trust me.” Then he’s off.
Like the parent, I know I cannot keep him leashed his entire life. There comes a time when each of us needs to feel the freedom to be our true selves. I can only give Rocky that time if I find a place of trust within myself.
I know he always comes home. He’s usually gone for about 20 minutes, then comes running back from the opposite direction. His smile melts my heart.
I decided control was futile and went for a ‘supervised liberty run’ approach. Fortunately, I live in the country where room to run is available on three sides. The fourth side is a road and across the road are the neighbors. My approach is to keep Rocky’s supervised liberty runs in the three wild areas.
I thought about boundaries. I realize that our farm ends at the tree line, but Rocky doesn’t understand that boundary. He seems to have a different idea of the limitations of liberty. His boundary reaches into the woods, down the ravine and across the creek, then back to the farm via the horse pasture behind the barn.
We start on leash, walking in the direction I choose, away from the road. When we reach the middle of the field, I bring Rocky in, give him praise and a treat, then unhook the leash. Rocky smiles and bounds off a few feet, jumping straight in the air, chasing his friend Lisha, sniffing the ground, until he gets the look.
This is where the trust comes in. I watch him take off, snow flying behind him as his paws hit the ground. Watching Rocky run is like watching the changing face of wind. At times he will run unhampered, like a straight line wind, powerful and unyielding. The next moment, he stops, nose to the ground, circling like a dust devil. When he finds the perfect smell, the wind ceases, like the eye of the storm. When the eye passes, he’s off again.
He heads for his favorite spots and veers off into the woods, out of my sight. I resist the urge to call him back, knowing he won’t respond. I wait a few moments, then begin to walk a diagonal line through the field to intersect his circular route.
Lisha stays by me, occasionally looking into the woods as if she can hear Rocky run. We stand quietly, listening for the jingle of his dog tags. The jingle gets louder and soon Rocky breaks through the brush, still nose down, his tongue swaying with each breath. When he gets close, I begin to communicate again.
“Good dog, Rocky. Thanks for coming back.”
He looks at me and sometimes comes to me for the treat in my hand, sometimes it takes a few tries before I’m able to get the leash back on. And, even then, his joy in the experience of the run is contagious.
“Thanks,” he says. “I needed that.”
Like the parent, I’m learning if you really love them, you have to let them go. If you’ve done your job well, they’ll come back.
There’s something about watching a dog run that stirs the love of freedom in people. How often do we get the chance to run free, unfettered by boundaries or time, only concerned with what is in front of our noses? Do we ever trust ourselves enough to remove the leash of expectations and responsibilities?
Rocky is getting better. It takes him longer to get the look now and he’s developing a consistent route so I feel like I know where he is, even though I can’t see him. I’m hoping he will realize there is a time to run, and a time to stay by your people.
It’s a dance of trust for us both.