Our new thick brown dog keeps getting up from resting to follow me when I do something mundane, like refill my tea or grab another handful of dark chocolate chips.

“Sweetie, I know it’s hard to trust that we’re as boring as we appear,” I said.

Being his surrogate Mama inspires me to become more interesting. For starters, I think a dog park is in order, as are some new dog toys. I found a huge rolling bell toy in the alley, clean and new. It’s the type of toy people often use for cats, but I’m working not to put anyone in gender, race, or breed boxes.

Captain threw it and batted it around. “God boy,” I said. Then he attempted to eat it. I had to admit that maybe there’s some good collective wisdom out there re: good toys for cats and for dogs.

There’s also some serious shit out there. Last night, having realized that he’s part pit bull, I decided I’d better do some research so I would be a well-informed representative of the species. Turns out pit bull’s biting rate is low. The reason they’ve been involved in so many fatal bites is due to their quantity: there are more pit bulls than most other kinds of dogs. Also, because they look strong and macho, they were the dog of choice when dog fighting had a resurgence in the 1980s. They’re still densest in population in the lowest income areas, and, sadly, still sometimes used in dog fights. Here’s more.

When raised well, they’re wonderful, gentle giants.

We put people in boxes also. Last night I dreamed I was at a wedding next to a ski slope. The groomsmen made pyramids and interesting shapes in their multi-colored tuxes in the snow.

One bridesmaid decided they were having all the fun. She lay down in the snow and someone pulled her like two or three feet down the slope. Her flimsy short dress went up over her waist. She got an ice wedgie. “Yay,” she said in a flat voice.

Also in my dream, the wedding was generously opulent, but the photo afterwards showed the couple trying to smile while bills kept slotting through the front door at them.

Now Captain sleeps. The only time he’s seemed tough is when awoken suddenly. Then he barks big and deep like somebody’s guard dog you won’t be messing with.

I’ve worked through my fear of him. Once I learned his breed, and before the research, I felt afraid of him.

I spent the day in doubt that I’d done something horribly wrong in adopting Captain. The thought followed me on the walk I took him on after dance and before work. It grew until I realized I hadn’t felt that alarmed since before my daughter was born.

During an “episode” when I was 21, I grew terrified all the time. Each time the anxiety began anew had to do with a choice I’d made, seemingly unimportant. Which study group I’d be in. Whether I’d go to a party. I’d become convinced that one wrong move would mean the end of everything good. I felt responsible for my life and yet I obviously couldn’t be trusted. Everything could be ruined utterly with one bad move. I don’t want to write about this now, thank you, but yesterday it all came back, and it came back with all the emotional intensity of the first time.

I sat on the couch sweating it. My thoughts kept turning back to the decision, and each time a fresh wave of anxiety would send me out of my body.

My pulse raced. I felt like I needed to escape from my own skin. I could hardly stay rooted inside my feet, let alone work on advancing my career. Captain’s large face leered at me. His large body seemed oversized for our house. Having him there looking at me felt like a gun pointed at me. Clearly, this was the worst decision ever. This would be how I’d lose everything.

Christopher said later, after I felt better, “I knew you would have to process that stuff again. I knew it was coming.”

News to me. I thought I’d been there, done that.

“How?”

“I could sense the wound, and the way you were kind of hovering above it. Good job going there without anesthesia.”

I stood in front of the stove on the phone with my beloved. I sifted through my rib cage, felt my shoulders. I felt so newly…good.

“I can’t even tell you how much better I feel. I feel more peaceful now than in years.”

“Great job,” he said again.

Earlier in the day, when I was freaking out, Christopher helped me to know that I needed to stay present and feel and not take any action. Especially I needed to not decide. I told him that for me, obsessing over decisions was an addiction, my attempt to try and escape and control my anxiety. And somehow, then and there, the fear changed. It transformed from all the thoughts into a substance I could tread in, like water.

“I’m scared,” I said. My gift and best friend listened.

As I breathed with it and felt it, my fear softened.

And then my fear faded.

I spent the rest of the afternoon alternating between working with great focus and hugging and petting this gentle brown giant.

Right before we adopted Captain, I went for a walk in the sunshine. I kind of asked for guidance. A few minutes later I noticed something on the sidewalk as I stepped in it. Upon closer examination, I discovered the substance to be canine excretion. I stepped into the snow beside the bike path to clean the poop off my boot. However, as I stomped and rubbed my feet, nothing appeared in the snow. I tried a few times, and even turned my boot over to look at it: Nothing.

Maybe grace isn’t in avoiding any of this shit. Maybe grace means that we step on through it. And then we let it go.