The Size of the Fight in the Dog, or Human

Saliva dripped like water off Big Dog’s tongue. We were walking straight into the sun, half blind, but following the pattern the paws knew by heart. A sound around the corner grabbed Big Dog’s attention. The hair raised on his back.

A boy/man walked around the corner. In the spring he was a boy; sometime in the last six months he grew a foot of height and developed sculpted biceps. I was glad for the biceps as I saw he was hauling along a golden-haired dog with a certain strut in his step. That strut meant trouble.

Boy/Man had a certain strut in his step too. I suspect he was aware that he had just become a man, at least in body. Or maybe it was his new biceps he was aware of—either way, he ambled on toward us. Big Dog rapidly began his transformation into a werewolf. If it had been dark, there suddenly would have been a cloud over the moon. Wolfish snarls and foam were beginning to come out of his mouth. I edged us across the street, across the grass, up against the fence, so as the message could not be any clearer. Boy/Man decided then would be a good time to jog his dog past us. Translation to Big Dog: Attack and eat now!

I kept the dog monster contained, and after two minutes of the deafening roar of dog expletives thrown back and forth through the air, all was at peace again.

“People don’t like it when you want to eat their dogs,” I said as I straightened the leader on his nose. “It makes for awkward walks. It’s just an emotion, dog. You’ve got to just let it pass. Emotions come and go, you can’t react to them.” He stopped to pick up a scent off the grass, still breathing heavy, the hair rising on his back again.

Nobody takes my advice. I don’t take my advice.

October is nearly here, so we continued our walk drenched in gold light, instead of sweat. By its conclusion Venus was gleaming bright near the horizon, with Jupiter sitting proudly above—not as shiny, but slower to set.

All this beauty is the perfect example, I thought without bothering to waste my humans words on the dog again, of how so much peace exists all around us, but is ignored in the heat of the moment.

It was an hour later, toward the conclusion of “Family Game Night”, when the exhausted boy experienced his heat of the moment. Similar to Big Dog, I could see on the horizon a transformation from cute five-year-old to werewolf. Big Dog lazily blinked an eye at the boy, not relating in the least.

“Just take a deep breath and calm down,” I said to the boy, trying to keep a straight face. It struck me at that moment how ridiculous it is for me—of all people—to try to teach a child how to calm down. Or even a dog to calm down. I’m wound up like a ball of yarn.

“Take a deep breath, and think about how this is just a game,” I said, as the boy followed along with me, sucking in air through his nose in a not very relaxing manner. I caught myself twirling my hair around my finger like a nervous preteen girl would while looking at Boy/Man. It’s an anxious habit learned a long time ago, because although I wasn’t angry, there were other emotions being reacted to, just simmering away somewhere in the background. I dropped my hair.

The boy let out a rush of air at a speed that was akin to Big Dog’s breathing during the incident earlier. “Take another breath, slowly, and think about how this is one of your favorite games,” I said, but quickly realized I sounded like some sort of new age life coach. I couldn’t hide my smile—because obviously I am far from an emotion control master—but the boy didn’t notice, and he followed along for a couple more dramatic breaths. And then immediately afterward, proceeded to flip out.

Because no one takes my advice. Not even me.