"...when a young and gentle spirit has, but an instant, fled to Heaven: and the gross air of the world has not had time to breathe upon the changing dust it hallowed.”Sometimes I feel so badly for Maxwell. He has an inherently good, albeit mischievous air about him. Telling him "No" is difficult at times, simply for the earnest gentleness he carries with him. Occasionally I feel that being so rigid with him defeats his spirit, no matter how much a regimen of consistent discipline begets a loyal and obedient dog.
You see, yesterday evening my two youngest, Emma and Liam, and I were in the master bathroom getting ready for bath time. My son takes baths, and my daughter showers, and they are both young enough they need supervision and help yet. Maxwell of course was with us, because he truly loves to be around his family. The following scene played out:
First my son was using the toilet before getting in the tub, and he is still at the age where his pants and underwear are around his ankles every time he goes potty. He had his back to us, and his little booty was hanging out in the breeze. Now, it was easy to see the impish wheels turning in Maxwell's mind, and he was preparing to bounce up and nip Liam right in the backside.
Before it could happen, I sternly said, "No, Maxwell."
His shoulders slumped and he sat down obediently instead. In reality, if he had nipped Liam's backside it wouldn't have been the end of the world--in fact it would have been rather humorous really. I can just imagine the mayhem that would have followed and it makes me chuckle to think about it.
Next, while I was bathing my son, out of the corner of my eye I saw Maxwell sneak over to the pile of freshly shed dirty clothes, root around, select a sweaty sock, and tiptoe away.
"Maxwell, drop it."
Woefully he deposited the sock and sighed heavily. He likely would have chewed a hole in the sock, and if he'd swallowed some or all of it it very well could have been dangerous to him. But he sure was awfully cute swiping it, and really he just wants to immerse himself in his family's scent. And the abject sadness in his eyes as he dropped it...
Then as I moved on to help my daughter rinse her hair completely in the shower, I glance over and Maxwell is standing front paws on the side of the tub. Anyone can easily see it's a matter of seconds before he's in the bathwater with my son.
"Maxwell, down."
Reluctantly he obeyed. The mess a dog and a little boy in a bathtub together could make is substantial. And is a boy really clean if he's shared a tub with a dog? The two of them would have had a time though. And I can hear the shouts of laughter echo in my mind.
Finally Maxwell sticks his head in the open shower door as I'm rinsing my daughter's hair. He's chasing and snapping at the splatters of the shower water raining down.
"Maxwell!" comes the frustrated cry.
Again, his head dropped. His tail drooped. And this time he wandered out of the bathroom, obviously dejected.
It was then that Dickens sprang to mind. In some regards it's silliness because obviously Maxwell didn't die. (neither did Oliver Twist in that particular scene either, but that's off the subject). But perhaps Maxwell's spirit gave way, just a little. And isn't that a tragedy of its own? Should he lose a small bit of innocence because he was acting just as he should? Like a puppy?
What do we crush in others when we expect them to fit our expectations rather than who they truly are?
I have often thought the exact same thing about Duncan. For instance, the park we frequent is filled to capacity with geese during the long winter and early spring months. They leave behind the little green Tootsie Rolls that are their trademark and Duncan loves them like I love candy. I have worked and worked (and worked!) to get him to stop eating them, sucking them down in one satisfying gulp while he looks at me guiltily from the corner of his eye. "No eat!" I say, and his head droops. But after an evening of slurping goose poop, when he's hunched up outside tending to his own business, obviously cramping and uncomfortable, he seems to understand me and why I tried to rein him in.
ReplyDeleteI finally reasoned that I am not crushing his spirit, I am protecting him, because I have the gift of foresight, which, for all his blessings, he lacks. It is my job, as parent, as human companion, as caretaker, to look after him, especially when he's unable to do it for himself.
Do not feel guilty. You're doing exactly as you should. Just as you would not leave your son or daughter unattended in the tub or shower, you would not let your pup come to harm. Just as he is yours, you are his, and that comes with countless responsibilities.
As Dickens (my favorite writer!) also said in Oliver Twist (which I just reread over Christmas):
“It is because I think so much of warm and sensitive hearts, that I would spare them from being wounded.”
Fret not, Robert.