There are quite a few big fluffy black dogs in the world, so you might not recognize my mug if we pass on a trail or i bound over to see you at a restaurant. To be certain you have spotted the correct dog for a belly rub, (my belly–your rub), and not the animagus Sirius Black, there are a few hints and giveaways that will let you know for sure.
1) Be on the look-out for a giant puppy with a stick, stump, or random object in his mouth.
2) Keep an eye open for a clumsy, almost two-years old mass of dripping wet fur.
3) Feel the ground for the vibrations caused by a solitary figure raising dust like a herd of thoroughbreds as he races back and forth with wild abandon.
4) Listen.
The three surefire auditory signs that you are about to pass within 100 yards of my daily walk are often shouted at increasing decibels:
First…Phil!
Second…Philip.
Finally (and with great exasperation)…Philip Theodore Basher
Remember when you were a kid and you did something “wrong”, and your mom or dad or grandmother or babysitter turned their gaze to the sky and let out a resounding cry of your first—middle—and last name?
Philip T. Basher
Philip Theodore Basher!!!
When you hear all three names, nothing good can follow. When you hear all three names, you probably should have come home on the first shout. When you hear all three names, you might have wanted to think twice before chasing the ever-loving squirrel or jumping on the cat. When you hear all three names, you think to yourself…i might be in trouble…perfect.
People often ask where the idea of imperfectphil started. It started at my therapy dog training school.
On my inaugural day at therapy dog training school, i have to admit my performance was less than stellar. Mom was embarrassed, dad shook his head, and i had a blast. The majority of the other dogs were working at 85% proficiency; i was not. The majority of the other humans diverted their eyes when it was my turn to tackle a skill…which inevitably i did not.
After six weeks, i made a bit (i would humbly say a lot) of progress, but i still fell short of the picture perfect pet.
Or did i?
On my inaugural day at therapy dog training school, no one looked at me when my “heel” was more of a “toe” or my “let’s go” was more of “let’s think about going, and just stay put”, but six weeks later something had changed. After spending time together and getting to know what a dog i am, no one was ignoring me or looking at me in shock, they were smiling!
No lie! And here is why…
At the end of the class, we had to line up against the back wall and sit still while our human walked away and then told us to “come touch”. All the A+ dogs sat like statues and then sprinted enthusiastically across the room to make nose contact with their human’s hand and receive a treat. The class cheered and clapped appropriately.
I, on the other hand, took the opportunity while waiting to lay myself down for a quick nap…a bit of drool.
Once mom reached her destination and called, “come touch”, i slowly dragged myself up (giant puppy) and meandered side to side for the length of the room…in no true rush to get where i was going, but with every intention of arriving.
I was midway to my goal, minding my own business, taking my time, doing my thing, mastering my skill, when someone cried out loud, “HE IS ABSOLUTELY PERFECT!”
And so imperfectphil was born. I had brought new life to therapy dog training school. I had made people laugh. I had been me.
It was my ability to be myself…to be imperfect…to be okay with being my imperfect self…that made me perfect.
And someday, if i ever make it to graduation day at therapy dog training school, i can’t wait to hear the instructor call out my name: Philip Theodore Basher.
i’m a dog, i love life, and i have flaws. i’m perfect. imperfect. Just. Like. You.