Dog Training, Painting and the Long Road to Grace

We have a tradition, Mr. Spouse and I–after dinner we walk the dogs to the mailbox, a mile round trip down our gravel lane. It’s a chance to unwind, burn off a few calories and get some more steps before the end of the day.

On this particular night, Mr. Spouse and Maggie are up ahead. They move along easily together. Loose leash. Relaxed pace. No drama.

Behind them it’s me and Charlie.

Charlie is just learning this leash business. The kindest thing I can say about that is he’s enthusiastic. And doesn’t weigh enough to wreck my shoulders.

He pulls. I stop. He pulls harder, straining against the harness. I don’t budge. He eventually looks over his shoulder at me before circling back to my side.

We start walking again.

He pulls. I turn and head the opposite direction. He hustles back beside me, trotting by my side.

YES! Good dog! A quick treat as a reward.

Three steps later he lunges towards something only he can detect– a scent, a sound, a leaf drifting across the road.

And this is how the walk goes.

Pull. Stop.

Pull. Turn.

Walk nicely.

YES! Good dog. Treat.

We repeat this pattern over and over. My hands will forever stink of salmon.

Meanwhile I watch as Maggie and Mr. Spouse continue peacefully down the lane. And for a minute I envy how easy it looks. How Maggie’s leash dangles between them.

Then I remember what it took to get there. Because Maggie didn’t come that way.

When we adopted her she was a one-year-old, seventy-pound rescue off the streets. She came with all sorts of issues and little understanding of how to behave.

I’m the one who trained her, walking miles and miles of backcountry trails. Sore shoulders. Being yanked down rocky inclines hard enough to lose my footing.

Stopping. Redirecting. Repeating.

Over and over and over again.

Not perfectly. Not gracefully. But consistently.

And eventually, somewhere along the way, all that effort became ease.

That’s the part we forget when we look at people doing something beautifully.

The years underneath it.

The awkward repetitions.

The ugly middle where nothing feels natural yet.

Painting works the same way.

People see the finished piece hanging quietly on the wall and think maybe the artist was simply born knowing how to do that.

What they don’t see are the miles behind it, the messy creative process. The paintings that fought back. The compositions that collapsed.

The years spent pulling against your own instincts until your hand finally learns what your muse has been trying to say all along.

Ease isn’t where we start.

Ease is what shows up after enough repetitions that the struggle slowly transforms into rhythm.

One day Charlie will walk easily beside me.

Loose leash. Calm pace. No drama.

And when that day comes, it’ll look effortless.

This week’s creative prompt

Actually, it’s a life prompt.

Notice where you’re expecting ease before you’ve put in the miles.

Where are you pulling, stopping, turning around, trying again?

Don’t call it failure just because it isn’t graceful yet.

Stay with the work.

Patience is not passive.

Sometimes it’s the most stubborn thing we do.

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Thanks for being here–even when it’s not graceful yet.

Back next week–