51. Please Don't Poke My Eye Out: Learn to Trust People More

Me, back when I still trusted people.

When I was about four years old, my mom brought me with her to buy groceries. We’d just made our way up the steps of the bus (because she didn’t drive and there were too many bags to carry all the way home) and plunked ourselves down on a seat near the driver. 

A visibly pregnant woman boarded the bus. She huffed, strained to make it up the stairs, then scanned the immediate vicinity for an empty seat–but the bus was packed. 

It was clearly difficult for her to remain upright. She swayed a bit as she clutched the pole near our seat, sweat making its way down her cheek.

“That lady needs help,” I whispered to my mother. “Should I get up and let her sit down?” 

She pressed her hand against my knee. “No,” she said, flatly. “I’m sure nobody would get up for us. She’ll be fine.” 

But it seemed to me she wasn’t fine. I was torn: I was a good girl who listened to my mother. And didn’t my mother know best? But this woman was clearly struggling. 

In the end, I stayed where I was to please my mother. After all, she was the one with whom I was going home. 

But the incident stayed with me (obviously, since here I am, almost six decades later, writing about it). 

Elsie says, “I hear ya, Mum. People can be disappointing.”

What that event taught me, and what I learned subsequently from my parents, was that the world wasn’t to be trusted. People are not going to help you. (I also learned to doubt my own gut feelings, but that’s another story).

As I grew up, it seemed, my mother’s proclamation proved true both within my parents’ lives and my own. 

There were the friends who cheated in cards during the regular Saturday night game my parents held weekly at our house, the contractor who promised work would be complete by a certain date; then disappeared halfway through the job; even my father and his brother fell out (and didn’t speak for years) because of a perceived lie related to a shared investment. 

Over the years, I learned that my own life experiences also seemed to support this notion of an untrustworthy world. My sister had been allowed on a trip to visit cousins in Boston, while I was assured that “kids aren’t allowed on this trip” (where did I think she’d gone? No memory of that). Birthday gifts were promised for good behavior, then never materialized. 

When I began dating my first boyfriend, my father disapproved and banished me from his home (we didn’t speak for almost a decade). Even my first marriage ended because of dishonesty (his) and shattered trust (mine).  

“I’m still not quite sure I trust what’s going on here, Mum. . . .”

Psychologists inform us that trust develops from repeated acts of trustworthiness. Well, duh. (But then again, should we trust such circular logic?).  

According to Sabrina Romanoff, clinical psychologist, you trust someone because you can rely on them and “feel safe with them and have confidence that they will not hurt or violate you.” That definition makes a lot of sense. 

Lying is an obvious means to erode trust. But any time someone’s actions don’t align with their words, trust is eroded as well. 

Doctors John and Julie Gottman, psychologists and co-founders of The Gottman Institute for couples therapy, coined the term “Emotional Bank Account” to illustrate how trust builds with each positive action or encounter, just like a deposit at the bank (well, assuming money and banks worked as they have until recently!). 

However, actions that destroy or diminish trust, such as lying, criticism, reneging on promises and the like, work as withdrawals from the account. As the Gottmans point out, “Just like a real bank account, a zero balance is trouble, and a negative balance is the real danger zone.” In other words, you’ll find yourself lacking trust in your partner (and likely lacking any positive feelings) once you’ve hit that negative zone or stayed there for a while. 

Now, some people begin with an assumed positive balance, no matter whom they encounter. You know the ones: they’re willing to loan money to, go on a vacation with, or offer to house sit for someone they might have met within the hour. Other people never reach that level of trust, even with their most intimate partners. 

Elsie says, “Mum, I trusted you so much, I even let you put this silly tiara on me.”

And dogs? Well, I’d say they’re generally in the former group. If they had the cash, they’d give it to you without a second thought. They’re willing to play with a total stranger, after all. And they assume you’ll treat them well until proven otherwise. 

That is, except for our Ms. Zoey as a pup. In her case, you most definitely had to earn that trust. Here’s what happened. 

While Zoey was always relatively carefree and clearly felt safe in the company of humans, when it came to any vulnerability–say, after she was spayed or if she had a sprained foot–she didn’t want anyone getting close to her and would do her best to escape under the sofa or hide behind the shower curtain (she learned fairly quickly that the latter wasn’t exactly “protection”). 

Zoey was *NOT* happy with the cone.

So we had a situation on our hands when Zoey presented with her first eye infection. I say “first,” because this became a recurring issue once she started attending the local doggie daycare. 

Now, she LOVES daycare. And I have no doubt that the owners take good care of the dogs and are cautious about letting any ill pups into the mix. But when you have almost 40 dogs playing for a full day, and when Zoey is likely one of the most active of those dogs, and when she’s got her face in the muzzles of other pooches while also smooshing said face into the grass and dirt throughout the day–well, if she comes home with a bit of goo oozing out of her eye, it’s no surprise.  

The vet prescribed antibiotic eye drops. “Just put two drops in each eye three times a day,” she instructed cheerfully, ushering us out of the office. Relieved we had a remedy, I didn’t think to ask any other questions. 

Once home, I enlisted the hubs to keep Zoey still while I opened the bottle. As soon as she spied the looming dropper approaching her naked eye, she clenched that baby so tightly that I literally couldn’t separate her eyelids enough to insert even a drop, even a smidgen, even a minim of that liquid, despite pulling them apart with all my might.  

What to do? In the end, the vet offered a second option–a gel in a tube–which she demonstrated efficiently by first, distracting the pup and then dispensing the millimeter of gel before Zoey had a chance to squeeze her eye shut. 

Back at our house, I tried again. But our girl was just too quick and her eye muscles too strong. Plus, she didn’t trust that tube of gel, either. 

In the end, the only way I was able to dispense even a modicum of medication into the eye was by first applying a bit of gel onto my thumb like toothpaste, then pretending to pat her while quickly rubbing the thumb along her lower eyelid. She blinked several times; if we were lucky, a molecule or two of gel entered the eye. 

Although we ended up using three tubes of gel when only one was prescribed (we lost that much to her forehead, her muzzle or the floor), that did the trick and the eye cleared up. This same sequence of events repeated itself three more times over the following 18 months, before the infection appeared to take a hiatus. 

Fast forward to today, four years later. 

“I really must trust you to let you put this getup on me, Mum. But they do protect my delicate eyes.”

A few months ago, when our Girl was stricken with a similar infection, it was no trouble at all to insert as many drops of liquid into the affected eye as necessary. Sure, she allowed me access because of the forthcoming liver treat held over her head. But still, she trusts me enough to let me complete the task because she’s learned that, in general, Mum will never hurt her. 

Once dogs trust you, it takes A LOT to break that trust. Sometimes, as when they’re abused, that’s not a good thing. Still, it seems to me that most humans are not nearly so steadfast in their trust, even when it’s been earned.

A podcaster I follow spoke recently about her belief that, in general, the world is beneficent and people are generally good. Yes, even in these weird, wild times. Yes, even when it seems that the entire global population is divided between two black-and-white opposites. Yes, even when bad things happen to good people. 

As the podcaster remarked, how does it serve us to believe otherwise? Does it make our lives better, or happier, or more fulfilled if we presume that most people are out to get us–or simply out for themselves? 

Gotta say, she’s got a point. 

And so, like Zoey, I’ll endeavor to trust more people, more openly and more often. Yes, they will have to earn it first. But I won’t dismiss them off the bat, either, simply because it’s easier. 

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Follow up to last week’s post: A Question for My Readers

Thanks so much to those of you who commented or emailed me privately with ideas for upcoming posts and/or a new series of posts. I would definitely miss writing about my canine companions if they were removed entirely from this space–so something tells me they’ll continue to be featured, at least once in a while. 

As for new topics? Food got a couple of votes. And musings on human nature and personal development tied for number of mentions. 

“Readers who comment really are teh best, Mum.”

And while I forgot to suggest this last time, I’m also considering sharing some of my fiction (primarily short stories). Curious to know if anyone would be interested in reading that. Or are there already more than enough fiction writers on Substack? 

Until a new series is christened, though, I’ll keep the name “Be the Dog” on this site. Clearly, if I end up writing mostly food-related posts, that title won’t apply (unless of course we’re looking at other types of culinary traditions??). 

But I’ll let you know as soon as it’s all settled, of course. 

As always, thanks for being here, and thanks for reading. Your support is greatly appreciated!

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