Finding My Way

Sadie is a Labrador Retriever.

She does not swim.

All labs swim.

Black Dog is being held by my brother in the above picture on her first introduction to the pool last November. I had visions of her diving and jumping into the blue water, bonding with her chocolate, yellow and black labrador cousins, embrassing her genetic bond with the water and well, in a way, embrassing us. It didn't happen that way.

Sadie, like most rescues, looks to us with the furrowed brow and the gentle question, "Am I home? Do I get to stay?" and no amount of assurance changes this. It takes time.

Every day Black dog gets breakfast and dinner. She dances like a swan in big, beautiful circles as the bowl approaches her. Every Tuesday and Friday I take her to a doggie day care. She used to sit shyly next to the people at the school and watch the other dogs and now she bounds and runs with abandon. We have a quiet, Iowa routine and she is slowly, feeling the safety of it.

I started kickboxing and weight training 17 weeks ago. Over the last six weeks, I have found myself crying at the end of my work-outs. In class, on the floor, weeping. I try to busy myself with putting away equipment or stay a really long time in the shower. My friend starts counting my sit-ups in Italian and I start laughing.

It may be that I'm working through the sad parts I stored in my muscles a long time ago. It may be because the sun has been hiding from me for the last two months. It may be because Molly has been following me around the house, placing her nose in my hand. It may be because like Black Dog, I worry about people leaving me; liking me just as I am.

We find ourselves one step, one tennis ball at a time.

Black Dog and I are finding our way. Each day.