January 22, 2010
Tanner

it, but the rest of us convinced her. I took the biggest step into responsibility for the new one. All the kids said they would help with taking the dog out, playing with the dog, walking the dog, feeding and watering the dog, cleaning up after the dog. Uh huh. Sure kids, sure.

The quest for our next dog began. The internet can be a dastardly wilderness when searching for something. There were all types of rescue organizations, applications to fill out and breeders offering discounts on their latest litters. Heartwarming pic followed by heartbreaking pic of puppy after puppy. And since this was falling mostly on me, how would I decide? The same way I have made decisions, especially the "bigger" ones, for the last 22 years. Pray, wait, listen and pray some more. The "go" decision for me has become more of an inner sense, an intuition. I can't really describe it too well with words. This ability to discern has become almost second nature to me. I have learned to trust it completely. Of all the incredible gifts of recovery, this definitely ranks near the top of the list.

The first "sense" I received was to make a decision about the breed of dog. In talking with our family, we all loved Stella and her breed. I must admit, when the conversation turns to dogs (as it often does), I am not too fond of saying our family has a cockapoo. Maybe I need to become a little more comfortable in my masculinity, but a cockapoo is not a manly breed. Someday I hope to have a majestic male German Shepherd named Blitz, with an all black head, my loyal fishing buddy riding around in my tricked out beach buggy. Now that's a REAL dog. We decided on another cockapoo and I accepted.

After a lot of time surfing and making inquiries, I got an email from a kid on a farm out in Iowa. He and his brother were breeding and selling pups to make money for college. He seemed to be a really good kid, involved with his family, school and community and on their website there was pic of a pup that pulled at my heart. This puppy was colored a lot like Stella, but different enough… well, he was the right one. The kid had named him Tanner. I liked that too. I grew up playing a lot of tennis in the 70's and I admired Roscoe Tanner from Lookout Mountain, Tennessee, a lefty that had the coolest snap delivery and a rocket of a serve, so in my head Tanner would stick.

Tanner flew in from Iowa. Sandy and three of the kids picked him up at the baggage claim. He immediately took to the Connecticut Valentines. Tanner is not Stella, nor will he ever be. Tanner is Tanner. And we are starting from scratch. He has taught me a lot already and I guess that's why God nudged us to him. We have another newborn in the house; Tanner was just 8 weeks old when we got him. There's a lot chewing, nipping, pooing and peeing in all the wrong places going on. I was determined to train Tanner better than Stella, but he's wearing me down. My ego tells me I can do a lot of things and then either my body, my intellect or my resolve fails and I fall flat on my face. Training Tanner is a humbling experience. Without a doubt, I need humility in my life, but I don't think I am cut out to be a dog trainer. I have learned my patience level is not where it needs to be. My temper can still get the better of me. I am still lacking discipline. I still have a long way to go on this road of recovery.

But most of it is really good. Tanner is high energy, loves to play, forces me out on long walks, makes the kids giggle and laugh. He is a wonderful family dog. Tanner loves us unconditionally. Herein lies the lesson. Over the last couple decades I have worked on a flaw of mine, I have a tendency to reject acts of love and kindness, push people away. And now, just like Stella, Tanner loves me in a manner very similar to God, unconditionally and more than I deserve. Way, way, way more. Through all my shortcomings as a dog trainer and human being… Tanner loves me. He won't let me push him away. And little by little I feel my heart opening up to him.

Dumb little dog.

Hooked on Recovery is a biweekly message from CCAR Executive Director Phillip Valentine, person in recovery since 12/28/87, devoted husband, a father of five and just another surf fisherman. These thoughts, views and opinions reflect on his personal recovery and are not meant in any way to speak for the entire recovery community. He welcomes all your comments and suggestions on this column, email him at phillip@ccar.us. Visit the website at www.ccar.us to read the entire series.

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