Rex is my nephew. He is a 105lb Chocolate Doberman. His mother is Betsy Peticolas, chronicled earlier in this blog as one of my best friends of all time and quite literally my sister, if not by blood then by love, time, intention, and involvement. I used to be so scared of Rex. He was like an enormous gargoyle that came to life and suddenly wanted to eat my face off. He always barked ferociously when he saw me. He looked like the devil, I swear. His swarthy coat looked somehow reddish in certain lights. His pointy ears looked like little horns. His fangs were dying to take a bite out of me. I just knew it. He wanted to hurt me and he would, given the chance, he would. I just knew he wanted to, too.
Betsy and I live in the same apartment complex. It's great having her so close. We share everything: groceries, music, internet, TV, books, soap....but Rex was making everything difficult. I couldn't go over without him having to be locked up in his room. I never would knock because Rex hates knocking so I would just call whenever I was on my way over and Betsy would put him in his room. Many times Betsy would answer the door and find me around the corner with my back against the panels, shaking. "Kristin! What's wrong with you? He's not going to hurt you! And he's in his room. Silly!" On and on it went. Day after day. Shaking, barking, hiding.
Occasionally other friends would want to interact with Rex. If I was there Betsy would warn the room, "Rex and Kristin don't really get along. He will probably bark at her. Don't be alarmed. He never does that with anyone else. Just her. It's because she's so tense and fearful. He's simply reacting to her fear." And sure enough, as soon as he saw me, he would bark. I was literally afraid for my life. I envisioned myself being mauled by this ferocious beast, losing an eye brow, knee cap, a considerable amount of hair, perhaps an eye. I'd end up wearing a patch and children would scream at the sight of me. This is what I saw in my mind's eye.
Somehow or another we started taking walks. At first I walked at quite a distance. Slowly I got closer. Then I began to think about petting him. Then I did pet him. As weeks passed I took to using a cutesy voice with him. I don't know how it happened! It just did! Before I knew it we were pals! We cuddle now! He's dying to kiss me but I never ever let him! Ha! We are family! Finally! In every sense. Our close friends are awed, inspired, and touched by the evolution of it all. It's quite a thing.
Betsy said something really brilliant tonight. "Kristin, I think your relationship with Rex can be likened to your relationships with men." She had my attention in an instant. "What I mean is, remember how terrified you were? You were positive he would hurt you. You had no doubt. But did he ever hurt you?" "No. Never even once." "Is he a bad dog?" "No." In fact, whenever I see Rex I always tell him he is such a good man, and I really mean it. "Kristin, Rex didn't change. You did. Rex didn't take any behavior classes or have some sort of doggy epiphany. You started to trust him. You started to love him. And now he loves you, too." We went on to discuss how I've been with men; scared to death, shaking, hiding around the corner. I don't trust them. I just know they want to hurt me and will, given the chance. Hmmmmm....maybe not? Maybe they will if I expect it. It's one of those annoying self fulfilling prophesy things. We often create in reality what we are afraid of. Perhaps we are trying to prove ourselves right. At what expense? Our hearts' demise? No thank you. I don't want to be right anymore. I want to be loved. I used to think trouble loved me. Turns out Rex does, perhaps even more than trouble.
