Love…unexpected.

Until a few years ago, hardly anyone knew that I hate black standard poodles. I don’t just prefer other dogs, I don’t just dislike black poodles, I literally hate them. I’m not scared of them. I don’t think they are ugly. I hate them.

I know, I know. Hate is a strong word. But I’m justified. And I’m not crazy, because my sister hates them too.

Why? Well the details are too much for blog post from a life coach, but here’s the snapshot. My stepfather, god rest his soul, was not a nice man. When he was a young man, he had a black standard poodle named Ticoq. That’s right, T-I-C-O-Q. I couldn’t make this up. Ticoq was the best dog ever, apparently. The kind of dog that brought you your slippers and the newspaper when you arrived home from a long day at the office. And for my stepfather, Ticoq brought a beer as well.

Because of this formative experience, my stepfather INSISTED that my family endure two black standard poodles. Ticoq II and Ticoq III. Again, I couldn’t make this up.

These dogs were assholes. They were supremely intelligent animals that were given no training and no exercise. It wasn’t their fault, but they were assholes.

So. I hate black standard poodles. But that was a pretty well-kept secret until a few years ago, when my partner Anthony announced he was going to adopt a dog.

“Great!” I responded to his text, “What kind?”

A picture appeared on my phone and my stomach dropped and I thought my chest might explode. It was a big, black, standard poodle. My first thoughts were ‘Is this a joke? Did I tell him about the black poodle thing? Did I have too much wine one night and rant about black standard poodles?’

Closely followed by ‘This dog can’t come to my house.’

Then, ‘Will I have to break up with him?’

It was pretty early in our relationship. But, after some inquiry into my hatred, I decided to try to be open to the experience. I had not seen or touched a black standard poodle in 20 years. I was terrified.

And, a little bit curious.

As it turns out, Beau the black standard poodle, is not an asshole.

In fact, the moment I met him it was obvious that he is an old soul, and he brought so much joy and comfort to Anthony that I had to love him, and I did. There were moments when I was reminded of the black poodles of my past. Like when he snuck down at night to steal my cat’s food, or took my spot on the bed (literally lying on my pillow) with an air of entitlement. He ate things he wasn’t supposed to, he chased my cats, scratched my floors and he barked at people walking by my house. But for more than two years now I’ve let him sleep on my bed and I have loved him as part of my family, much to my surprise.

Until Beau, black poodles embodied everything I hated about the house I grew up in. When the Ticoqs ate dishtowels and barked at every person who passed the house I saw all the deficiencies of my parents embodied in black poodles. I carried that association, recounting the story of how my parents brought Ticoq to sit with them for the church directory photo, but not me and my sister. And so when I asked myself, Byron Katie style, “Is it true?” about the statement that all black standard poodles are assholes, my answer was yes. But when I took that inquiry further and leaned into my curiousity instead of my fear, I learned that if I could be open to every experience, more love and joy would be available to me.

Beau is leaving us, too soon, having been diagnosed this week with a rare form of bone cancer. He is only 4. And I’m unbelievably sad. I will miss him more than I know how to express. But I’m so grateful to him. He gave me a pathway to admit hard feelings and explore them.

He showed me that there is always love in unexpected places. Thank you, Beau.