Getting a puppy right now is hard. I get it. Socialization is a real concern, and while I think there are a lot of advantages to be gained from a puppy who is not swarmed from birth by everyone they meet fawning over them, it’s still a challenge. Sure, emotional regulation is great - I look forward hopefully towards puppies who can calmly take in their environment, and look to their owner for reinforcement, unperturbed by the chaos around them. It’s an opportunity not typically afforded to adorable puppies to be able to quietly appreciate humanity from a distance - we are all far too magnetized to want to “go pet the puppy” to allow them that. I’m among the most guilty of this. But it is a scary proposition to ensure emotional well-being with a puppy who will likely not directly interact with more than - what, five? - five humans during the first six months of their lives with us, at least. As this crisis has grown, as the situation became quickly as serious as it now is, I got it.
I got it.
…I thought I got it.
And then I was out the other day with my family. With my gregarious, outgoing-while-surprisingly-introverted 6 year old and my extroverted-and-somewhat-bossy-but-wary-of-new-folks 3 years old. Just out for a walk, enjoying one of the sunnier days of the recent spring weather. On the way to the nearby school to burn off energy in the fields, find some clover, climb some trees, do some cartwheels, head home for lunch. Just enjoying the outdoors.
Until my youngest, the 3 year old, stopped stock still. Staring at the few kids riding their bikes in the elementary school parking lot.
Staring in fear at the few kids riding their bikes in the elementary school parking lot.
“We can’t be here” she hissed, sotto voice. “there’s people. The sickness.”
My daughter has been very conscientious about lockdown since it begun. Every video chat starts with a debrief for the person on the other end of the line about how we can’t see people because of The Sickness. She’s careful to stay three cement blocks away from anyone on walks. But this was the first time that I saw my daughter, always the more reserved of my children, look at fellow human beings, fellow children, in fear.
Oh.
I got it, now.
Because what do you do? You can explain to a child in ways you can’t to a puppy, but not really. How do you explain to a child that there’s no need to be frightened of others, but that doesn’t mean they are safe? How do you impress upon them that this isn’t forever when you can’t tell them when, or if, this will all end? How do you help them cope with the grief of not seeing the people they love, not being able to hug their friends or kiss their grandparents? How do you explain this, when we are all struggling to even barely comprehend it ourselves?
Our puppies, and our children, live in the present moment. There is only right now. And right now, other humans aren’t safe. So you do what you can to balance the scales enough to hopefully teach them it won’t always be this way.
Maybe you sit on a hillside and reward your dog for watching families walk by, enjoying the sunshine too.
Maybe you let your kids yell back and forth at their friends across the driveways.
Maybe you set up greeting safely, letting your dog run up to a non-household person, in return for a treat thrown to them, rather than pets and snuggles.
Maybe, you take your daughters hand, remind her that we’re all trying to be as safe as possible, and wave with her at the other kids before heading to her favorite climbing tree. Click, treat.
Like most things right now, protecting our child but letting them grow unafraid is a challenging balancing act. So is raising a puppy. Taking one step at a time, letting new people still be a predictor of good things, and rewarding for calm, unruffled behavior. It’s a slow path, but with consistency, it’s one we can bring our young ones through to the other side. Unafraid.
