The Sammy Limits

When Sammy came here, he had been living on the streets.  That's his only known history.  He was picked up in Loehmann's Plaza parking lot by a couple who, not being able to keep him themselves, dropped him off at the Humane Society.  Providentially, this was the same institution to which Petey and I had applied for a doggie sister.  I wanted another Yorkie, Petey wanted a girl, neither of us cared about her age, we just wanted another four-legged family member.  

Four months later, I fielded a phone call, "Mrs. Reily, we have your dog."   "I'll be there in 20 minutes."  I abandoned my grocery cart mid-aisle, sprinted to my car, and headed north to the rescue.

They dropped a matted, skinny blond with drooping ears into my lap.  He was all bones and dreadlocks.  Rasta puppy.  We looked at each other and he licked my nose.  Some shots, a bath and a shave later, we reassessed.  Six pounds of bones and pure rascal. I was head over heels in love.  Petey was unsure.  Tentative approaching, sniffy and assessing.  We had dinner, appreciated the difference between indoors and outdoors for hygiene purposes, watched some TV, and went upstairs to bed.  Sammy galloped up the stairs, smelled his way around the bedroom, jumped up on the bed, burrowed under the covers, wrapped himself around my feet and slept. 

We all slept well.  The trouble started in the morning.  Petey and I went normally down the stairs.  Sammy stayed at the top looking apprehensive.  He wanted to come down and be with us, for sure, but all his wanting could not overcome the down-ness of the stairs.  It took a lot of training bits, small kibble nuggets, a lot of coaxing, a little bit of demonstrating, (Petey was very good at the demonstrating part), a little juducious front-paw-handling on my part.  Repeat for each step until something clicked and Sammy, with a tentative lump-a-lump-a gait, walked his own self down the stairs.. Triumphant day.

Cut to a couple of years later.  Petey is still my best friend, Sammy still owns my heart.  I decide the stairs would be much better off without the 70's brown shag carpet, just letting the underlying oak shine out.  I pulled the carpet off the bottom two steps, washed my hands and called it a day.  

Bedtime comes, Sammy starts his takeoff run in the living room and gallops, gathering speed, about 25 feet to the stairs, he turns a sharp corner and begins to ascend.  Well ascending was the plan.  His feet found no traction on the now naked riser and he slammed into the far wall.    A surprise.  He was in easy reach of the still carpeted third stair, put out a paw, pulled himself up and continued his customary mad run.

The next night the same scene, gallop, turn and leap, and crash into the wall.  The third night he tiptoed up to the stairs and sat at the bottom whimpering.  I scooped him up and carried him to bed.  By this time, Sammy was no longer a six pound dog, and I am not a willing enabler.

We tried a lot of tries and tricks to get Sammy up the first two steps on his own, but he was so certain he could not do it, given the bareness of the boards, that he refused to initiate the process.  Food bits didn't work, nor toys. Leaving him to his own devices and going to bed without him only led to pitiful whining followed by really loud barks.  Sammy was stuck in his "I can't".

So I lifted him over the uncarpeted stairs for many days and weeks.  He developed a stance, back feet on the ground, front feet on the bottom stair.  Bounce and yip until I came to lift.  Then instead of lifting I just gave him a push on his butt.  That was all he needed; he bounded up the stairs.  He still had it,  ability to climb stairs, eagerness to climb stairs.  He was just convinced he couldn't climb stairs.  He "recognized" his limits.

And I continued to push his butt up the first two steps.  Then I would just pat his butt and he climbed.  One day I was slow in turning out the lights and gathering my book and music and he just surprised himself by allowing his bouncing-in-wait stance to carry him up without the butt pat.  Yay!  So I was deliberately slow the next night as well.  Self-start!  After that, if he's still at the bottom when I get there, he gets a light pat, but he owns the move now and he knows it.

Sammy had set his own limit.  Sammy had said his own, "I can't".  Sammy had "known" it was impossible.  Sammy limits = those chains with which a person binds his own self. Sammy limits = those nails a person uses to nail his own shoes to the floor.

I have needed to sit with myself now and check out what Sammy limits I have set for myself.  What lack of freedom is false and self-imposed?  What have I bought whole cloth about myself that isn't true, except that I believe it, and that would cease to be a limit as soon as I recognize its falsehood?  And by what method will I recognize its falsehood?  Interesting ponder.

And I think I need to resume pulling the carpet on the stairs.