As I wandered up and down the street around midnight, pleading with Gilda to please, go to the bathroom, I realized that I couldn't blame Gilda at all. It is she who will walk to the end of the parking lot and then stop. "No, I don't want to go for a walk. It's miserable."
And she's right: it is miserable--because I then drag her out onto the sidewalk, making it miserable. Her fear is perpetuated every time I lose my shit (excuse the pun) because she's being stubborn and frightened for no reason.
Yesterday I began to wonder if perhaps Gilda is the canine Mr. Magoo. She lurches to the end of her leash in terror when a car drives by on the opposite side of the road, and yet when we cross the street, she has no qualms about stopping in the middle to look at something when a car is heading straight for us.
Gilda's biggest allegory, and my major annoyance due to its metaphorical similarity to myself, is her habit of constantly turning around while we're walking. "Forward, Gilda, face forward," I have to keep repeating, and feel awful about myself every time I tug on the leash. It's just as annoying as someone who is continually living in the past, even though there's nothing there--in the past or at the end of the block--and yet won't just face the future head on.
Gilda learned the hard way how dangerous that can be, as we crossed the street and I said, "Come on, Gilda, let's run," to which she did, but with her head turned back, looking behind her. Two seconds later, and I know the leash wasn't tight but it was of Gilda's own volition, she ran straight into the curb, biffing out, skidding across the sidewalk on her chest and face. I checked her out thoroughly to make sure she hadn't done any real damage to herself, and it appears her locks of hair broke her fall. But it does make me wonder just how damaging always looking at the past can be to moving forward.
Something else she taught me isn't so much a lesson as a reminder of how independent I once was and how I lost that in certain eras of my life. Having pit bulls is like having a lover who has no life and can't stand to be more than a few inches away from you at all times. They need to be on you, they need to share themselves with you; they never want to leave you. They're the reason cat people believe all dog people are co-dependent.
But then there's Gilda, who is much more like the dog of my teenage years, the doxie named Dutchess. Gilda doesn't need to be pet and touched and cuddled, and in fact would prefer not to. Unlike Dutchess who felt her time was better spent gnawing on a laundry detergent lid or tearing apart an empty paper towel roll, Miss Gilda would simply prefer to lay at your feet or across the room, dreaming her doggie dreams. Given a choice, she'd rather sleep on the floor then on my lap. She proves that she can love someone while still being her own independent self in her own space.
In respect of that, I offered up Gilda a unique sleeping situation. I told Katya about it and she simply replied, "She sleeps with you on your bed on her bed?! That is ADORABLE." She likes comfort and she likes to be near me, but she also appreciates her own space.
For a dog too tense to poop without a forty-five minute warning and prep time, she is quite at ease when unconscious.
I've accepted that Gilda is a unique little pup. My frustrations for her not peeing and pooping truly are because I can't understand why she doesn't go and part of me thinks it's because it hurts her. I feel as if I'm not communicating with her enough to understand that this is her chance to go, and if she doesn't, she has to hold it. I feel like an evil pet guardian. Of course, the entire neighborhood already perceives me as such as I go from the crazy nice lady who keeps repeating in a soft voice, "Go pee, Gilda, go pee, it's okay," for half an hour straight at midnight while traipsing up and down the street, to crazy insane lady who suddenly squats down in front of the dog, grabs her face to look her in the eye and tells her how upset she is that she won't go to the fucking bathroom.
I don't think I've ever spent so much time dealing with a canine's urinary habits as I have with Gilda. Gretchen was a particular pooper, and we often had to restart the search for the perfect spot after someone walked by, but Gilda is different. She must find the perfect place to pee. As for taking a dump, the moment she's relaxed enough, she simply stops mid-stride during our walk (which sends me toppling over her), and poops right in the middle of the sidewalk. It's anything but graceful.
I have to admit that when I come home after running an errand, I do enjoy those precious sweet moments with this scruffy Muppet who in all honesty appears to have missed me. The second I'm in the door, she's jumping on me, pawing at my legs, and when I get down to greet her, she places her front paws around my neck and licks my face repeatedly while wagging her shaggy tail. She never seems distraught about me leaving, but evidently coming home deserves a few displays of affection.
Gilda truly will make someone a fantastic independent little companion. She accompanied me to a party on Saturday night, and although it took her quite a bit of time to warm up, she did finally lead me to the bar (Good job, Gilda!). She was quiet and reserved, content to sit on my lap or on the ground next to me while people milled about. I think with the right human companion, her social side will show through more quickly.
She really is all about patience: patience to get to know her, patience to pee, patience to show affection. It doesn't mean she's just not that into you; it just means that she can love with her whole heart and still be her own independent self. It's been said that in order to find your "other half," you must first be whole yourself. Gilda is proof of that. She truly is her own whole unique self, ready to find her other half.
If you're looking for an independent, willful, but loving dog who (as someone commented at the party) could pass as Sprocket from Fraggle Rock, check her out:
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