Going to the dogs

On the limits of independence and the quiet strength of community

My almost twelve year old granddaughter told me one of the questions she asks to get to know someone new. Apparently, the answer to “Are you a cat person or a dog person?” gives her some of the data she needs to decide whether a friendship is possible. Like her Nana, she is a cat person. I assume that is mostly because the pet she loves most is our cat, Maeve. Like me, she has had less exposure to dogs, and with less exposure comes a reluctance to engage with these somewhat needy creatures.

But this week, it seems as if I was destined to be with dogs.

First, a friend asked me to drive to the Catskills(!) so she could pick up a new dog from a breeder. As happy as I was for a road trip and some long conversations, I have an expired passport and I had no idea when the new one would be delivered. And to be honest I am more than a little anxious about crossing the US border.

Next, the owners of one of the few dogs I find truly endearing, were stuck when their dog-sitter of choice had a family emergency. I volunteered to stay at their place with Joanie. Three days in, all those expressions make sense to me now - puppy eyes, long leash, short leash, follows me around like a puppy, dog breath.

I’m a cat person. I like that Maeve will sometimes sit on my lap or sometimes greet me when I come home. She will also snub me after I’ve been away, letting me know her heart belongs to my husband. I understand her desire to be left alone.

My feline preference may be related to my own fiercely independent nature. It became deeply ingrained in childhood. I was a traumatized middle child with two working parents. I didn’t get a lot of hand holding. I recognize myself in the literature on ‘classic avoidant attachment style.’

I understand cats.

The value of community and friendship has come to me later in life. When I was young I could be a little more cavalier about community. I was busy, healthy, able-bodied and so independent.

It wasn’t until I had cancer surgery that the cracks began to show. I asked my husband to drop me off before my surgery and had the nurse wheel me out to the car when I was ready to leave. I underestimated the need to have someone present through all the waiting. I was home alone the entire next day, still recovering from surgery and with no one checking in on me. I hadn’t realized I needed help or even more importantly, moral support until I didn’t have it. I was devastated and it took me several years to recover emotionally from that day.

I came out of that experience (and the resulting therapy) with a deeper understanding of the importance of cultivating a caring community that would provide mutual encouragement and support. I had to redefine what it meant to be a strong woman. I now take having supportive people around me quite seriously.

One of the great challenges and fears of aging is losing our independence. I remember my dad crying when he was told he had Lewy body dementia. The toughest part of that appointment was handing over his driver’s license. He grieved that loss. And when he needed to move into assisted living, he was devastated.

Independence is a virtue in our North American worldview. We equate needing others with failure rather than wisdom. When I named my Substack, A Crone in the Woods, it was play on Alone in the Woods.

A wise woman knows she needs community.

Part of my growth has been learning I need other people - even dog people. (I’ll have to let my granddaughter know.) There is an expression that we come into this world alone and we leave this world alone. Maybe. But having given birth to two children and studied to be a death doula, most of us are born surrounded by people who love us, and if we are lucky, we leave the same way.