In the Pet Play community, it’s a common sentiment and joking point that when the leash and collar comes out, the mind goes blank. “Head empty, no thoughts, only Puppy”–or similar captions are often proudly emblazoned upon various pictures and clips spread across many social media platforms. It’s a point of vulnerability, to give up control, to lend one’s physical will to their handler. To be something nearing helpless.
For this working dog, personally, in the hands of Pepper, I feel my experience may differ from most. To give any curious readers a glance at the cards I’ve been dealt; I was born with cerebral palsy, asthma, scoliosis, and sparing harsh details– I am a victim of pervasive domestic abuse. The sum of all this means I have spent the majority of my life being doubted by society, family, and partners. “Helpless” was a label forced upon me.
In the months I have been under Pepper’s care, they have enforced a healthier perception of my own capabilities, both physical and mental, and my potential to achieve success in a plethora of ways. Pepper’s circus of care is one of vigor and calculated, clever planning.
In my first Pet Play session with Pepper, rather than being “reduced” to a dog, Pepper had me play fetch while keeping note of how I navigated stairs (with too much effort). Once I had officially donned a chain leash for the first time, next thing I knew I was doing pull ups off of a steel girder as my new handler encouraged me with gusto.
My rehabilitation under Pepper led to collared walks in the park where I practiced navigating stairs with less aid. With time and dedication, I could walk up and down stairs without any support, and what’s more, while carrying items for my handler and others in tandem. For me, this was a very large milestone, as I had never been able to walk down stairs without a rail or helping hand prior to meeting Pepper.
Fast forward three months, and while on leash at a local bar, I’m tested at random simply by being led perpendicularly over the curb of a ramp without pause before proceeding up and to the doorway; an amused “Good Job, Puppy” from Pepper denoted my success in a small moment, encapsulating our dynamic.
To be collared on Pepper’s lead is to be encouraged, to be believed in, as much as it is to be vulnerable. I feel there’s something poetic in having a direct link between the point where my blood runs so preciously, to the hands of the individual guiding me in actualization while testing my mettle.
Rather than letting reality slip away as the carbineer clasps over the D-ring at my neck, my reality sharpens, my attention arranges out of the haze of ADHD and into focus, and I feel alive, ready for whatever task Pepper puts me to. There is so much more than “Puppy” in my headspace. There is me, a working dog, my handler, my goals, their goals, and whatever adventure or job I’ve gotten involved in.
On Pepper’s lead, I walk a path towards triumph, wagging all the while.
