Truffle has been with us for ten days now, and he is being a very good dog, all things considered. (You recall that he spent 7 1/2 years in a puppy mill cage, and two months in foster homes.) We’re going through all the usual new dog adjustments: establishing a regular time and place for sleeping, eating, and, the most fraught, pooping and peeing. Since Truffle arrived during the coldest week of the winter so far—10 F and snow—and he weighs a mere 6 1/2 lbs, it would be unkind to take him outdoors, so I’m having to use pee pads, which I have no previous experience with. I’ll spare you the technical details, and simply say that I am looking forward to spring.
And there’s been one other unfortunate timing issue: because of a (temporary) medical condition, I have to put drops in his eyes and a special foam in his ears and feet every morning. He hates this, and so do I, because the only pleasant thing that I do to him is feed him, and I can only do that twice a day. I could give him treats, but he can’t chew them, all his teeth having been extracted when he was rescued, because they were rotten. I could play with him, but nobody has ever played with Truffle, so he doesn’t know how. I could take him for walks, if it weren’t for the weather and for the fact that he doesn’t know what a leash is for.
Despite all this, we are bonding, which I think is a kind of miracle. Clearly, 30,000 years of domestication have done their work, and Truffle’s DNA inclines him to forgive my unpleasant interventions. How does this bonding manifest, you ask? Does he snuggle? Does he come when I call his name? Does he bring me balls to toss? None of the above. But when he’s running loose in the house, he comes to whatever room I’m in, checks in on me, runs out again, comes back, runs out, comes back…This morning, for the first time, he came and stayed, and fell asleep at my feet. And if I leave the room without making eye contact, he follows me. Also as of today, if I put out my hand he will come and almost touch it with his nose, as long as I don’t make eye contact. Maybe tomorrow I will feel his little wet nose touch my finger. Must remember not to make eye contact.
For me, the last week has been a lesson in humility. I’m having to let go of most of my affectionate impulses—to hug him, pet him by the hour, and smother him with kisses—and instead take my lead from him. This means leaving him alone much of the time, and following his rhythms instead of mine. It’s a kind of seduction, and seduction, paired with love, involves really seeing the other in their otherness, not imposing our will or timeline or priorities but holding back, attending, and being infinitely patient.
Ah, patience! We don’t get much of a chance to practice it in the era of Amazon, Wikipedia, and AI. But for help in developing this rare but useful virtue, there is nothing like trying to form a relationship with an animal, preferably one that is not attuned to humans. When I find myself wishing that Truffle would get over his shyness and come sit on my lap already, I think of Jane Goodall, who tracked a troop of chimpanzees for months before she ever set eyes on one. Or I think of Sooyong Park, the Korean photographer who spent five years in the Siberian forests filming tigers. He lived in a hole in the ground roofed with planks, and often went three months without even a glimpse of a tiger. I think about them and am inspired as I sit on the floor, without making eye contact, and wait for Truffle to approach.
18 Responses
Look forward to meeting Truffle (with no eye contact).
– David
I think he’ll like you.
Or the Little Prince and the fox…
Good old Saint-Ex!
Hello Lali, and welcome to your new family member, Truffle! You & Ed seem to be doing well during this difficult time. I’m still grieving the loss of my beloved partner, Dick, but “hanging in there,” in spite of Alzheimer’s, which did not come unexpectedly, as it runs in my family.
Dear Linda, I so remember Dick and his wonderful aura of cheerful kindness. I’m glad you’re persevering, as must we all.
Lali: What a sensitive allegorical rendition. Thank you….
I hope you’ll get to meet him, if spring ever comes!
That is one very lucky little dog!!! You are so wise to pick up on the eye contact, Lali. Sounds to me as if you two have come miles. Brave you for making it work!
You did such a terrific job with Greta. She was a wonder.
I’m smiling as I read your new adventure – you’ll both get there, and be safe together.
I smile too…but these last few days have been exhausting.
I predict that you and Truffle will become forever friends before you know it. Seems like you’re doing all the right things to make him feel at home and accepting his medical conditions as a part of who he is.
Enjoy this newest member of your family and thanks for sharing a picture of that cutie pie!
I hope your prediction comes true, Donna. Thank you!
My immediate response: this is truly beautiful,
Thank you, Blair. I hope you’ll get to meet Truffle soon.
A beautiful story about you and Truffle. In spite of the unending patience required from you…he is learning and i predict a beautiful relationship in your futures. Thank you, Lalli, for sharing these personal experiences.
Every day he feels more at home, and I have stopped losing weight! 🙂