A Dissolving Fear of Dogs

I’ve been afraid of dogs as long as I can remember. I walked blocks out of my way to school to skirt houses with a barking dog, avoided riding my bike in the country where dogs run loose, and still scream occasionally when my neighbor’s boxer charges me in the yard.

The fear feels innate yet I could never trace its source, and I’m not scared once I get to know an individual dog. When I moved to Minnesota I went dog sledding to immerse myself in a pack and learn to trust them.  After my initial fear, I enjoyed feeding, harnessing and petting different dogs all weekend.  Not until I was in my 30s did my mother mention that she’d had to give her black cocker spaniel to her own parents when I was born--“That dog was so jealous of you he growled whenever you were around.” Apparently, having an unhappy dog around newborn JoAnn hardwired my fear.  Over the years, I’ve learned to talk myself down from panic into a state of wary watchfulness.

Last month we were at a party where I didn’t know many people; as I sat on the couch the host’s dog came over to me.  I reached out, petted it, and she responded with a happy tail. A stranger nearby commented “you really love dogs don’t you?”  I almost replied that actually I have a lifelong fear of dogs, but I didn’t. Somehow that didn’t feel necessary. Why tell an old story when it’s not accurate? Why tell it when it’s even a little bit true if it isn’t the direction I want to go? Instead,  I smiled, nodded and continued to connect with this dog I’d never met but somehow didn’t fear. 

It wasn’t until I described the scene the next day that I realized the party dog was also a black cocker spaniel, and I felt a tingle alerting me to something significant. What did it mean that the very dog I wasn’t afraid of upon first meeting was the same breed as the origin of my fear? Was the fear gone? When had it left?

Change doesn’t happen like a light switch. For me it’s mostly gradual, morphing into something new at the steady rate of an Airborne tablet dissolving into water. I'm not in charge of the change itself. My responsibility is to notice it.  How easy it is to tell an outdated story because it’s familiar and used to be true. To stay current with the evolution of my spirit, I need a practice of checking in with myself, and I need someone to talk with regularly about my innermost self.  I’ve spent years cultivating both the practices and the intimate connections that allow me to see what’s true and where I’m heading next.

And then, sometimes, the universe gives me a sign that, in fact, I’m already there.