TheBanyanTree: Walking Past Dragons

[Monique Colver]

http://moniquecolver.blogspot.com/2011/07/walking-past-dragons.html

Walking Past Dragons



At 4 am this morning, which is not a time I typically associate with
morning, but more with middle-of-the-night, my dog Ash decided he needed to
go outside. He communicates this to me by standing by my side of the bed and
making a very slight whimpering noise, the kind of noise no one else can
hear, particularly my charming husband, who keeps sleeping. But I, I always
hear the whimpering of the Ash. I opened one eye and looked at him, which
wasn’t easy in the dark, since he’s black and the room was, at 4 am, black,
but I could make out two intent eyes looking at me and waiting for a
response.



He only does this when he really needs to go out. He’s not a difficult dog
otherwise, normally sleeping all night through like a rock, or a log, or
some other inanimate object used to express the idea.



“All right, I’m coming,” I said, and I climbed out of the security of my
comfortable bed and the two of us stumbled downstairs, me stumbling more
than he, and I let him out into the backyard.



I don’t know what he does out there at 4 am, though I can guess, but the
truth is, I don’t really care, as long as he’s quiet about it.



He came back to the door, I let him in, and we stumbled back up the stairs.
I headed straight for bed, and had just gotten myself all comfy when Ash was
there again, at the side of the bed, with a whimper, and I said, “Now what?”




He whimpered again. This isn’t rocket science, figuring out what a
whimpering dog is saying. The only other thing it could be was the dragon in
the bathroom.



The dragon in the bathroom is a perennial issue with Ash the Wonder Dog.
During the daytime we refer to her as Honey, the Chow Golden Retriever who
is also Ash’s best buddy, the older dog he doesn’t hesitate to jump on when
he wants to play. But during the night, when she’s sleeping, or anytime
she’s between him and something he wants, whether it’s water or a ball or
me, she’s an immovable scary object.



“Okay, I’m coming,” I told him, and I climbed out of my, yes, comfortable
bed and we walked into the bathroom so I could escort him past the sleeping
dragon. Honey, the dragon, didn’t move. Now that she’s half deaf she doesn’t
hear us approaching, which means I must be extra careful not to startle her.
She doesn’t like being startled. Would you?



But we walked past her carefully, and she stirred enough to almost lift her
head, but that was all. It’s not as if she cares if Ash wanders by and has
some water. She’s pretty okay with him doing what he wants to do, but he
still thinks that she really CARES and would object, even though she has
never once attacked him for walking by her. Not once! Occasionally, just
because she can, she’ll give out a tiny little growl, as if she would do
more if she really cared, if she weren’t so darn lazy, and so he believes
his concern is justified.



I do that with my own dragons. They don’t care if I walk by them to get to
where I’m going, but I keep thinking they’re going to reach out and snap my
head off, or cut me down to size (whatever that means) or somehow make me
sorry I ever bothered. They’re not even fearsome dragons! But still, I let
them control me.



After Ash drinks his fill I escort him back past the dragon, who has gone
back to sleep, or at least seems to be unconcerned with the people and dogs
traipsing past her.



I get back in my comfortable bed, and so does Ash, who decides to sleep on
the extra pillow I keep above my head for him. He falls right to sleep while
I ponder dragons, and how they mostly don’t care what we do. Yet we, or me
in particular, for I don’t know your dragons, look at them as if they’re
large immovable annoying objects, sent to bedevil me and stop my progress,
here to stop me from doing whatever it is I want to do. All I really need to
do is walk past the damn things and get on with it.



Ash needs an escort to get past his dragon. And I have escorts to get past
mine. There are people who help me with my dragons, who guide me past them
in ways I couldn’t imagine. Sometimes I’ll walk right past a dragon all on
my own, because I’m learning that it’s possible and that my head won’t
explode if I do.



I do try to avoid heads exploding at all times. It’s messy and irritates
bystanders.



We all have dragons, though they often turn out to be no more than elderly
furry half-deaf dogs who don’t care that we go tromping past them in the
dark of night. Or something similar. We can get past them with the help of
our friends, and we can get past them all on our own. We don’t need to slay
the dragon, unless it’s breathing fire and ready to eat us, we can just walk
past them on our way to somewhere else.



-- 
Monique Colver