The Poodle Whisperer

I was in Lidl minding my own business, when she spotted a little black poodle in the arms of an older man. He had just set the dog down onto a nearby gondola (in the “tool isle”). Maybe he wasn’t intending to draw attention to himself and his furry friend, but hard luck, a younger part of me, we will call Suzanne had clocked it, and without a second thought, her hands were on the man’s dog. 

If I’d have watched this from a distance, with my hands firmly on my trolly, I’d have seen an innocent little girl stroking and loving the dog while chatting, and listening to the man. I would have seen that she was unburdened by a running commentary, doing all this with authentic connection. I’d have also noticed the man’s eyes light up as he talked about his furry friend, and that the little girl didn’t draw back as he leaned in to listen (I guessed he was a bit deaf, but she didn’t care).

Yes, I could have observed all this with my hands firmly on my trolly, but I didn’t. My hands were caressing the little black poodle, I wasn’t really “watching” from a distance. In her head, she made up a name for the man, and told me; “the poodle whisper”. Before we left the shop, she gave the dog one last stroke, and as she thanked the man, she told him he was “the poodle whisperer”! 

It’s not as if I haven’t done this sort of thing before, but I definitely haven’t done it without restraint, or the need to have a little chat with myself about talking to strangers. It’s as if she’s always been there, trying to be heard, and now I’m offering her a voice… Ok, more than a voice; I’m not only allowing her just to be, I’m going with her, because I am her.