Still out 'vacationing' with my daughters, though we actually spent most of the day at home yesterday. That's the beauty of being at a resort a mere 30 minutes away from our own house. While the girls had 'in-town' errands I had to sew a binding onto a quilt. Across the room, Jamaica did this:
We know this because our next door neighbors have been around now and then when we actually go out the door to have a life. Saturday, the wife had to come over, sit on the back deck with Maica and throw a tennis ball for her for a while. Maica played for a bit but mostly wanted to back herself up next to K--to simply be reassured by the touch of a human hand on her fur.
Yep, she's one scared puppy, our lonely dog is. So scared I took her to the vet last week to ask if there's anything we can do to help her through this transition. We talked about natural anxiety medications (Phermone collars), actual medications, 'Thunder shirts,' getting another dog (which would have to be--in her case--a puppy, because she's terrified of dogs, due to being badly bitten/traumatized by a dog when she was small). Oddly (for us), Beve began to look for puppies online that night, while I looked online for Thunder shirts. I'm just not ready--nor am I sure I ever will be--for another dog. Don't know if that's the answer. But calming her fear is.
I deal with it myself. That's the truth. I struggle with fear. And though I worry about rational things (of course there are rational worries that we all face, it's the irrational ones that haunt and--yes, annoy!--me. In fact, I really hate how long the list is, but here goes:
Caves (or being deeply underground even in buildings)
And the only one of these that has any basis in reality is that I'm allergic to bee stings. Still, I'm talking palm-sweating, beath-taking, heart-pounding fear in these situations. There have been times when my family (both birth and with my own kids) that we've been driving on a high mountain road--especially when it's GRAVEL!!!--that I've had to sit in back with my head buried in a pillow. Completely terrified.
But aren't most fears?
In fact, fear is such a BIG deal, there's a whole industry dedicated to it--horror stories, flicks, a holiday and amusement parks. Because fear sells.
I don't get that. I don't. I hate the way it makes me feel, do everything I can to avoid it; wouldn't read a horror story if a grade were dependent on it, wouldn't watch a horror flick if a gun was put to my head. All those stories told around campfires of a hitch-hiker with a hook--not for me. Not ever.
Because I'm a wuss. I am. Admit it straight out. Proud of it.
And because--now that I'm a grown-up--I know who is the author of fear. I know him. I know him in fear at large and fear in particular. I can't tell you that such knowledge always makes me better at standing up to him, but it helps. Or perhaps I should say--HE helps. Because I know where to go when my heart is pounding and my palms are sweating and I think I can't breathe. He alone.
The opposite of fear. He alone.
He's my Thunder shirt.