Milestones

My dog is no longer scared of snowmen.

The first winter we were together, on a routine evening walk, he was suddenly on high alert. Growling at the darkness, wary to walk any further. Looking around, I didn’t get it. We were alone in the neighborhood.

Then I saw it. The imposing white monster, far across the street. I wondered. So, instead of our usual route, we crossed the street and doubled back. He slowed as we approached, his steps like stalking prey. Before we reached the house with the snowman on their front lawn, he stopped. Paws planted firmly; he would not walk any further.

Snow is a regular part of winter for us, and so are snowmen. I didn’t want him to be afraid, although I understood his hesitation. Snowmen are tall, imposing creatures that pop-up out of nowhere. They don’t smell right to be human, but they are hulking enough to feel like a threat. He needed to know (really, I needed him to know), that a snowman wouldn’t hurt him.

Petting his ears, coaxing him gently, and pulling the leash a bit when he hesitated, I introduced him to the snowman. On that stranger’s front lawn, I remained firmly planted until my dog felt brave enough to sniff the huge monster. I watched his tail raise a bit front between his legs, his whole demeanor relaxing. Then, he turned and marked it as his own.

For a few weeks, each snowman triggered a cautious pace and a wide berth on our walks. But given enough time and snow, my dog relaxed around the always motionless, hulking beasts in the neighborhood. I noticed that his eyes kept their alertness, but his body no longer gave signs of his intimidation.

The next winter, the first snowman brought on a similar panic for my dog. I reintroduced him to the monster, and he relaxed over the next week or so. We repeat this process every winter. It’s something I look forward to, this moment of helping my dog take on his monsters, reminding him that he’s brave enough to face them.

When we got our first snow this winter, I waited for the moment. Our moment. The one when my dog looks up at me for reassurance that he is safe around his pop-up nightmares in the neighborhood. But the moment never came. For weeks now he has confidently moved past the snowmen, never breaking his stride. Not even one fleeting flicker of hesitation.

It’s a milestone. My dog is no longer scared of snowmen. It’s been five winters warming up to this new moment, and of course I’m proud of him. I wanted this for him. It’s been something we’ve been working toward together. But, I miss the old moment too.

Milestones are a funny thing. We spend so long waiting for them to happen, these markers that tell us we are reaching something new. Then we get there, to this new place. And no matter what else we are feeling when we arrive, we immediately know that we can never go back. Once a milestone is reached, we can never un-reach it.

A milestone is always tinged with disappointment for me. No matter how proud I am to get there, I always feel a bit deflated too. Somehow I always expect the moment to feel bigger, and then it doesn’t. Because the excitement was in the anticipation of the moment. But when the moment happens, it’s over.

Without fail, I always wonder was that it? What comes next? The answer lies in finding something new to reach for. That place just beyond where we are now. The next milestone. But it isn’t the getting there that keeps us going. It’s the excitement of the challenge ahead.