Frankly Speaking

Russell and I are cutting class tonight. This is a totally new experience for me.

I’ve called in sick maybe three days in my entire life. In the ninth grade I refused to stay home sick even though I had (as yet undiagnosed but severe) mono. I went to class in college, when no one went to class. Needless to say, this decision did not come easily to me.

Still, the scheduling conflicts were coming out of left field, the rain was pouring down, tonight’s class just wasn’t a happening thing. So here we were sitting, enjoying our wine (and our plentiful Beniful, in Russell’s case) when it occuredto me (goody goody at heart that I am) that we should call Russell’s teacher and ask to pick up his homework. Yes. Dogs get homework too.

It was during this – now regrettable, depending on how you look at it – phone call to dog school that I got some not-so-hot news. It turns out that graduation day (which is fast approaching) comes complete with an exam. Quite frankly, I had no idea.

I knew there were caps and gowns provided as part of the course fees. That’s largely why I picked this dog school over any other, irregardless of the teacher’s abilities (yes, I am a stage pet mom, so shoot me). But it certainly never occurred to me that graduation day would include an exam. Which begs the question I didn’t want to ask the teacher – what happens if little Russell doesn’t pass?

Will they pull him out of convocation, scheduled immediately after the exam? Will he realize what’s going on? Will he be embarassed in front of his little friends? Will I have to hold a consolation graduation ceremony in our front yard and invite the neighbours to compensate?

The scenarios ran through my mind one after the other. What if he gets nervous and forgets all his tricks? What if he just doesn’t feel like performing that day, should that really be held against him? How will I spare him the humiliation? I don’t care if he never does another trick again. But I don’t want him to feel bad.

At which point it began to occur to me that he might actually pass. I mean, he’s been to the classes. He does great. He’s definitely got Buddy beat. He seems to know what he’s doing. But still, this is my first true pet parents experience, and all I can think is I don’t want the poor little guy to be disapointed. I just couldn’t bear it. And I’m quite certain my husband couldn’t bear the agony I would put him through while not bearing it for the dog. Which is how I came to the conclusion that – screw tonight’s class. Russell’s going to pass anyways. He can do this. All we have to do is stay calm, stay focused and bring enough bite size treats to bloat a whale and he’ll be fine.

Fingers – and paws – crossed. Either way, we’re stopping for cake on the way home from graduation anyways.

I don’t really believe that hope springs eternal. An eternal optimist I may be, but hope – that’s something entirely different. As determined and positive as I am, I can definitely see that hope, despite its ability to float, can invariably spring a leak.

There are only so many times you can get up and get going. There are only so many times you can pick up and carry on. There are only so many times before the world just seems a little too unfair, and that’s when hope really starts to slip off the radar screen all together.

 Still, if you’re out there tonight, and you’re losing hope tonight – don’t forget that where hope leaves off, people step in.

 You may not believe it will be okay. But your friends do. You may not see the end in sight. But the people who love you do. You may not understand why things are going the way they are. But everyone else around you is here to remind you – when your hope springs a leak, we’ll step in. When you’re hope goes gushing out the door Niagara style, we’ll step in. When you really can’t think what the point of hoping is at all, we’ll step in. And we’ll carry you along until the hope slowly starts to bubble back up again. And one day, you’ll do the same for us – the collective us that we may be.