My dog Katie is afraid of her dog food bowl.
That’s just all kinds of not normal.
She hasn’t always been this way, though. She and her food bowl used to be best buds.
A few months ago, the metal clip on her collar somehow hooked onto the rim of her food bowl, causing it to rise up off the floor as she lifted her head from the bowl. It was absolutely stuck to her collar and no amount of shaking on her part would set it loose. Panicked, she tried to get away from the bowl only to have it follow her. Terrifying.
Katie covered a lot of square footage, yelping loudly all the way, bowl bouncing as she ran, before I was able to set her free from her tormentor.
And ever since that day, things have not been the same between Katie and her bowl. She is showing it zero love, even though it contains one of her favorite things (not her MOST FAVORITE thing…that’s toilet paper.).
She’s super apprehensive, sure that the bowl will jump up at any given moment. (In case you’re curious, we’ve tried LOTS of different bowls…all bowls are currently evil.)
Fool me once, food bowl…shame on you…
These days, Katie slowly approaches her bowl, takes a single kernel of food, and runs away to eat it. Then she’ll come back, bark at the bowl (a stern I-Have-Not-Forgotten bark), and try again.
Fool me twice…shame on me…
My dog has trust issues.
I don’t blame her. Feeling attacked by something you trust is scary.
And even though the Food Bowl Attack of 2017 happened months ago, it feels like yesterday to her. Fear has a good memory.
So do I.
Sometimes I let the memory of the pain of broken trust or the fear of hurt feelings keep me away from what I really need: people.
I act just like Katie. No, I’m not afraid my dinnerware will attack me, but I do shy away from situations where I might be vulnerable. Given the choice, I’ll pass on pain.
