Well played, dog.

Working in a psychiatric ward, we see plenty of anxiety and neurosis, but rarely did it manifest itself in our home. And then we got a greyhound.

Luna can be the most charming, sensitive, sweetheart of a dog, inviting you to pet her with playful nibbles and nose nudges and pulling out all the toys from her kennel to the living room just to show them to you one by one. She is patient as can be and rarely complains when she needs a bath, her teeth brushed or her nails trimmed. She can be social and outgoing, leading other dogs in playful games and leaning her cheek up to a familiar human for some ear scratches. But despite all the times when Chris and I gaze into each others eyes and say with a rose-colored sigh "We have the greatest dog in the whole world", or "How did we get so lucky to have such a perfect dog?" (this usually happens when she is soundly asleep, much in the same way children are best appreciated) - despite all of that, her temperament has proven itself to be quite fickle. We keep trying to interpret her quirky moods and decipher just what it is that we're doing right or doing wrong, but I fear our attempts at understanding this one are futile at best.

I wanted to sit down and write about some of the amusing things that have happened to us recently. For example, Lu got "lost" at the dog park yesterday after running into the wooded area with Annie on her tail (like they do). Out popped Annie from the thicket at a gallop to catch up to us, and as we waited for the other trouble-maker to pop out, no Luna. Chris, Seth, Jessica and I all searched for Lu in the 25 acre fenced-in dog park, calling her name, making kissy sounds and clapping our hands like idiots who lost their dog. I even ventured into the woods along the tiny little trails broken in by thousands of curious paws trampling the brush over many years, and I even stayed very calm as that little voice in my mind tried to convince me of the catastrophes that could have possibly occurred - the longer I searched, the more creative the catastrophes became. But all I had to show for it was a small, unidentified rashy patch of skin on my arm that still itches. To make a long story short, Lu wasn't lost at all. She had just found a new family to trot alongside, walking in the opposite direction - a discovery she no doubt made immediately upon bursting out of the small thicket behind Annie: "I'm chasing Annie through the woods! Yay! I'm chasing -- Ooo! Look at that dog! I will walk alongside that dog!"

I have been collecting stories in my sketchpad that I carry with me, jotting down tidbits to remember for the blog when I think of them: funny little idiosyncrasies that we've discovered or new words or commands she's picked up on. Humorous little events like when she was sound asleep last night and fell off her dog bed with a loud, clumsy thud and then gave me the most stunned, confused and innocent look that melted my heart. Then 10 minutes later the event repeated itself. But it has been a difficult week with her - her anxious days outweighing her happy, carefree days - so many of my notes were about trials rather than tribulations.

Therefore, I had decided to sit down and share some of these tribulations with my loyal readers, hoping to somehow extract a lesson or two to harmoniously complete the entry. I wanted to share how she reacted to us getting ready to leave for the Twins game (pacing, whining, and staring at me with eyes full of anxious desperation as she experimentally clamped her jaw right onto the wood arm of our futon frame, just to see if that was an acceptable way of expressing her anxiety. It was not). I wanted to share what a complete transformation we witness of her every time she gets a good walk - like night and day. I wanted to express my concern that she had not been left alone for a full 9 hours (for work) in 7 days until today and, even though I came home on my break to take her out, we discovered upon returning home that she had been too anxious to even touch the pig ear she was given when we left.

So I set out tonight to string together all the tidbits I'd been saving, getting my chance to complain and express concern and frustration. But as I was writing the first paragraph of this entry, preparing the reader for a journey through the trials of the week and the tiny pieces of surprising, yet informative, nonsense I've learned, I suddenly skipped ahead and started writing my "end paragraph" which was just then coming to me, and my last paragraph (which you will presumably read last) suddenly shaped the body of my entry. What had started out as an expedition to scatter my witty anecdotes and whiny frustrations into, what would have been, a sufficient outlet for such things, became an answer to my own overly rhetorical questions before I had even metaphorically posed them. It's as if building up the first paragraph, preparing my audience for the crescendo of "Just when you thought you had the worst dog..." was enough to sweeten my bitter words and ease me back into a more compassionate perspective. My heart began to sing her praises once again, thinking of her little origami ears and the cute little sprinkles of individual white hairs that are starting to sprout up on her face and body. How could anyone not love this dog?

Luna is still magic to me. She projects a sort of charming demureness with undertones of both great intelligence and naive innocence. She can be too smart for her own good and dopey enough to warrant all kinds of laughter and eye rolling from her doting humans. When I think of her potential for greatness, I simultaneously understand the great role of responsibility I play in the equation. But I realize that she, too, makes me greater than I ever could have been without her. Despite the frustrations and anxiety (on both my part and the dog's), I always come back to remember that she and I are in this together; I am trying to figure her out just as hard as she is trying to figure me out. I am trying to figure out what in the world she needs as she is trying to figure out what in the world I want from her. I am trying to communicate with her while she is trying to figure out how to communicate with me. I see how far we have come in this journey as a family, and I know that, in the end, we will all three of us be better beings for having helped each other learn about life - together.

So I leave you with this: