Self-Help for the Stubborn Animal
Photo courtesy of Gratisography
Friday, December 5th, 2025Wally’s been home a week, and the house feels different in that hard-to-name way—like when you give yourself bangs and suddenly everyone thinks you’ve achieved emotional stability. (Ha. As if.)
He’s calmer. More focused. He walks on a leash as if he’s finally joined society. Runners pass us from behind and he doesn’t freak out like someone just spit in his Cheerios. It’s nothing short of a miracle.
And then: there’s his “place” obsession. He’s been putting himself in place. Voluntarily. So often that I added a second dog bed to the bedroom, like I’m opening a tiny hotel for one small, highly opinionated guest—because I am. And he is.
I mentioned it to the trainer.
“He likes structure,” she said. “But he rebels against it.”
“He likes knowing what he’s supposed to do, but he doesn’t want to be told to do it.”
Clearly, Wally is my dog.
He’s a beagle–heeler mix—an unholy pairing the trainer described as “a difficult combo,” especially for a first-timer like me. Heelers are smart, energetic, stubborn, relentless. Basically the kid in class who finishes the worksheet early and then eats the glue.
Yes... That was me.
Getting Wally to behave the way I needed him to behave—stop terrorizing the neighborhood, stop turning me into a psycho constantly looking over my shoulder, terrified of anyone within twenty feet of us—was going to require, in her words, “a lifestyle change.”
For both of us.
Because I want Wally to live his best life: confident, safe, sure of what’s happening around him. And the only way to give him that is structure. Predictable rules. Reliable timing. A world that makes sense.
Which means I need structure too. Annoying. Inconvenient. And, True.
So here I am, again, trying to build scaffolding for myself just so my dog can thrive. One of these days, I tell myself, the structure will actually stick. (Cue the laugh track.)
To be fair, I do have a kind of structure. A loose, slightly feral routine:
Wake up. Check my horoscope, play games on my phone.
Hard-boiled eggs and coffee, every day, because I’m pretending I can be healthy.
Walk the dogs.
Overcomplicate things at work and collect a fresh chip for my shoulder.
Walk the dogs again before the sun clocks out.
Dinner—homemade or overpriced.
Wine, peanut butter cups, and a movie I won’t remember by morning.
It’s technically structure. Just not the kind that carries you into your Future Self era.
Wally is putting in the work, though. And I refuse to let my downward spiral drag him down with me. He’s trying too hard. And I’ve paid too much money for this. Is this pride and capitalism joining forces in the spirit of personal growth? Fine. I’ll take the bait.
So tomorrow, on go my feathers. And off I go to the gym.
Even if all I manage is a treadmill walk, or a few kettlebell swings, or a lopsided Turkish getup that would make YouTube trainers cry. Maybe yoga. Maybe just showing up. There’s always the sauna…
Either way, I’ll be doing something—assembling a little dopamine, serotonin, and endorphins like IKEA furniture with no instructions.
A shaky structure, sure.
But a structure all the same.
Stay Gritty!