The Isolation Journals - Day 78

Prompt:  Write about a time when you interacted with someone in a moment when both of you were vulnerable. How did you react to your own vulnerability and that of the other? What went acknowledged and what remained silent? Would you have handled the situation differently in retrospect? How did it change you?

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Woof.  Why is this one so hard for me?  It's not that I don't want to admit to vulnerability, or maybe it is?  

I'm having a hard time thinking of human interactions that were a) interesting enough to share and b) wouldn't violate the other person's privacy or trust.  We're talking about the other person's vulnerability as much as my own, and it wouldn't seem fair to lay all their goodies out there without their knowledge or consent.

So instead, I'll write about my dog, who, at this very moment, is licking his own junk and could not be less concerned about privacy or dignity.  We have many moments of shared vulnerability in our daily lives.  

See, Charlie is a sensitive boy.  He has some very real anxiety issues stemming from, we assume, abuse he experienced as a puppy before we adopted him.  All we know is that he and his brother came from a farm in rural Utah, and we got him from the Humane Society when he was around 4 or 5 months old.

He's afraid of or triggered by a laundry list of mundane horrors:  Bags, vacuums, hairdryers, small children, runners, loud vehicles, doorbells, dogs he can't sniff, dogs that give him the stinkeye, unfamiliar cats minding their own business, and any other people or dogs using the stairwell at the same time as us.  As you might infer, he is an utter delight when it comes time for his thrice-daily outings from our 5th floor apartment, where we have been avoiding the elevators for months because COVID.  

Before you ask, yes.  Yes, we have tried all the things.  Training.  Love.  Treats.  More love.  Medication.  The only thing that has even a marginal impact is good old fashioned drugs.  Doggy Prozac is a miracle but only in comparison to his unmedicated behavior.  His life has improved dramatically but he still has lots of meltdowns.  

I don't know that anything I do actually helps at all, but I've been trying to unconditionally love his anxiety away.  I know it doesn't work that way, for dogs or humans, but I just look at his sweet little face and want to give him a happy life.  And he stares back at me like, "mom, why is the world so scary?"  And I'm just like I don't know, my dude, I don't know.

Hold me