Harper turns three years old today. Nathan adopted her from a pet rescue organization when she was just over a year old and she has lived with me (along with her dog brother Toby and Nathan) for almost two years–most of her life. Shortly after Nathan moved in with me, Harper decided that I was going to be her person. Like most young dogs she is full of mischief, light, and love. She is simultaneously too intense (her favorite activities are gregariously greeting visitors, playing with Toby, and giving the cats and her humans far too many “kisses”), and unbelievably eager to please. She rarely needs to be called more than once, is relatively easy to train–in fact she often asks to be trained…and her favorite place to be located is usually smashed up next to me with her head resting, ever so slightly possessively, on my lap.
Harper is a VERY good young dog and she will probably be an even better mature/old dog. I am incredibly grateful to have her in my life because she has a habit of teaching me small lessons about love, play, fun, and loyalty. Harper also teaches me about healing.
Harper Gets Her Nails Trimmed
Like most of us, Harper has a particular activity that she STRONGLY dislikes. Harper HATES having her toenails cut or filed. We suspect that something might have traumatized her before she came to us because no matter how many treats we give her, what rewards we use (we have consulted with three dog trainers), no matter who trims her nails (vet, groomer, me…) or the methods that we use (file, treats for “scratching” on sand paper mounted on a board, clippers, etc.) she HATES having her nails trimmed.
This past January, at the suggestion of our vet, we gave her 150 mg. of Trazadone. The plan was for Nathan to gently hold her while I give treats and file. The drama started as soon as the Trazadone started to kick in. Harper knows that when she is “drugged” she is about to get her nails trimmed and she starts the most pathetic and dramatic groaning imaginable. Finally, when it appeared that she was sufficiently dopey (she is always a little dopey–even when she hasn’t been drugged). Nathan gently, but firmly held her. I spoke soothingly to her–noting the panic in her eyes–and gently lifted her paw. She screamed, jerked wildly, pooped all over Nathan, and continued screaming like the sound track of some awful “B” horror movie. All three of us were left disgustingly filthy, traumatized, and a little annoyed. I took a three minute break, and then gave Harper (and myself) a LONG bath.
Nathan and I decided then that we wouldn’t be cutting Harper’s nails again ourselves. It just wasn’t worth it. Luckily, Harper’s nails grow very slowly. I suspect that this is achieved somehow through the force of her will alone. If there ever was a dog that could will her nails not to grow because she hated to have them trimmed, it would be Harper.
Last week, after postponing a visit to the vet for far too long, I decided that seven months without having her nails trimmed bordered on cruel. It was time to trim Harper’s nails. If Nathan was telling this story, he would interject here and inform you that I decided to cut Harper’s nails mostly because I was tired of her stepping on me with her beastly claws. Both perspectives might have some veracity.
I decided against the tranquilizer and simply led/coaxed Harper into the garage. She knew exactly what was about to happen and immediately started to panic. Fifteen minutes later I was a bloody mess (note to self: DO NOT to wear shorts next time), Harper was panting, we were both emotionally exhausted, but Harper’s nails were cut. We took a ten minute break from each other so I could jump in the shower to wash the scratches on my legs from Harper’s nails. In true Harper fashion, as soon as I got out she tried to lick my “wounds” clearly concerned about the state of the skin on my legs.
On Emotional Healing
My scratches and bruises have started to itch a bit in the last couple of days. Despite all my years of training and experience as a therapist and coach nothing seems to illustrate the process of emotional healing better than physical injury for me. While I am very competent (even excellent) at holding the pain and discomfort of others’ emotional wounds, I remain somewhat challenged when it comes to navigating my own. I keep telling Nathan that he has seen my cry more than anyone else in my life–and that I have cried more in the last two years than I did throughout the entire rest of my life.
On Monday I will have been divorced for a year–it has been two years since he dumped me. Healing from that seventeen-year-long relationship has not been easy. In addition to my anger and sadness about the end of a relationship that I did not want to end, I’ve been fired twice, felt overwhelming feelings of worthlessness and hopelessness, and been terrified about essentially starting over financially and occupationally (in the very last year of my forties–and in the midst of a global pandemic). I am unemployed (again) and really struggling with trying to remember that I am more than my paycheck, titles, relationships, bank account balance, and credit score.
Nathan, my family, and a couple of friends have been absolutely amazing. They keep telling me to “slow down,” “focus on yourself” and that, “the grief comes in waves.” I hear them, and their well-meaning encouragement makes sense, but I feel like Harper getting her nails cut in the garage.
I hate not having control! I know that I will get through this–but it is terrifying. I know that sometimes my internal turmoil ends up flailing about and inadvertently scratching up the folks I love and–just like Harper penitently trying to lick the scrapes and scratches–this too is hard for me.
I am healing. I can feel it. But it is a scratchy and itchy process. I am learning to trust (in others and myself), perhaps for the first time. I am trying to be o.k. with life not turning out as I had planned it. I am trying to discover a more authentic version of myself that isn’t reliant on a projected version of what I think others want me to be. Most of all, I am trying to be o.k. with not knowing what the future will bring. I am trying to live today: not in the past and definitely not in the future. This is new and arduous work for me. I am a planner. But my life has taught me that even perfect planning simply does not and will not produce perfect results. Too much of my life is outside of my control. So I am working on living today–I just don’t think I am very good at it yet.
icaw 
This was beautiful. Thank you for sharing your heart xxx