Can't Be Tamed
Research suggests that dog personalities are cemented by the age of one. I think it is fair to say, as we approach her second birthday, that Emma is a wild child. After thousands of hours of training, she understands how she needs to behave, but doing and understanding are two different things. Her wildness breaks through with some regularity, like the Kool-Aid man busting through a brick wall.
My frustrations with Emma not being a well-behaved, biddable dog were not serving me nor her. I ordered Emma a leash embroidered with “can’t be tamed” in big purple letters and decided to go all in on my “woo-hoo” dog.
At the dog beach, she is the life of the party. She makes the rounds like she is at a dog cocktail party, meeting and greeting, sniffing butts, initiating games of tag. At our local coffee roaster, she gets her biscuit from Sienna and then runs outside to see Lady. Lady is a reactive rehomed German Shepherd with extensive trauma history. Emma is her only friend.
Lady greets her with excited grunts and whimpers. Emma drops to the ground and tries to shove her snout under the chain link fence from one side while Lady tries to shove her snout under from the other. They boop noses. When Lady is let out, Emma lies still on her belly so Lady can have a thorough sniff. “Lady’s hackles are down. That never happens,” says Sienna, watching the two dogs calmly check each other out. “Emma should be a therapy dog for dogs.”
On an evening walk downtown, a group of frat boys cluster around her, stooping down to pet her before going into the Mongolian BBQ. One of them hangs back, too cool for petting puppies. Then she rolls onto her back for a tummy rub. “Ok, I’m in!” he exclaims, bending down. We pass an exhausted women at the bus stop who wants to give Emma a pat. “How’s your day going?” I ask her. “Better now,” she says, as Emma drapes herself over her shoes.
Emma jumps in the back of the car. ‘Love the One You’re With’ is playing on the radio and I sing along with feeling, watching Emma’s ears bob in time to the music. My wild child and I are going home.