The day before we left the Florida keys after our volunteer summer, my partner and I jumped out of a plane. Actually, jumped is a bit of a generous description. Our tandem instructors—two Florida men with intentionally overpowering “chill vibes”—rolled us over the side with no literal leap involved.
It took a massive mental one, though.
Up until the moment you and your guide are perched on the very edge of the plane with your feet dangling out the open door (at which point finagling your attached selves back into the small craft’s metal hollow would be more dangerous than anything else) you are allowed to shake your head no and stop the whole thing from happening. I knew I didn’t want to do that. Skydiving was my idea, after all! My bucket-list dream! But when my instructor told me our leisurely fifteen minutes of marveling at the island’s blue-green waters were over—when he asked if I was ready to do the thing I came here to do—all I could muster was a feeble “I think so.”
I hesitated for another second, attracted to the safety of the plane—clinging to the familiar form of air travel far more comfortable than the heavy harness contraption I still didn’t fully trust—until reluctance was no longer possible because holy hot hell we were in free fall.
The next two seconds are the entire reason I paid the extra fee to purchase a video of my skydive. When Marcus and I first leave the plane, my face is red and my eyes are wet and my body is stiff with fear, all of it magnified against his easy movements. Heartbeats later? I look euphoric.
My nervousness shoved out by joy and pride and awe, I screamed “oh yeah!” without realizing I’d made a sound, and I didn’t stop grinning until my feet touched the earth, and even then Sean and I spent the rest of the day catching each other’s eye to proclaim some version of “we did that. Can you believe we did that?!”
It’s the bravest I’ve ever felt.
What does any of this have to do with dog training?
“Stress” isn’t automatically bad. And it’s easiest to get through it—to actually benefit from it—when we have support!
I’ve written before about Scout’s joy throwing herself atop uneven rocks, the way she prances and tip-taps her feet and looks back over her shoulder like she not only is joy incarnate but also knows that’s how Sean and I see her. There’s something innate in her reaction to accomplishing a new challenge. After a demanding leap, she radiates fulfillment so potent you can breathe it right in.
I’ve also written about my sometimes-struggle to know how far to push her. Scout’s a sensitive dog, nervous by default, and in our early years it didn’t take much for her to shut down. I wanted her to grow—I wanted us to grow together—but each time I forced her into a situation she wasn’t ready for, it backfired and burned our fragile trust and only made her less willing to show her soft belly to the world.
What changed things was focusing on our social relationship first. Instead of viewing Scout’s capacity for challenges (whether walking past a somehow-very-scary plastic bag blowing in the wind or swallowing her fear of being attacked again to hold a sit stay near an unfamiliar dog) as a thing happening solely inside her, I started looking at our ability to get through difficult situations as a team.
I was able to jump out of that plane because I didn’t do it alone. I trusted my instructor to have my back—we were, as literally as two people can be, in it together. That’s how I want my dog to feel each day of her life.
Sometimes we’re going to do hard things. Sometimes she’s going to freeze up and look so stressed that the social-media mobs would be gleefully come for me in the comment section if I dared to share a clip of her body language, and the only reason she won’t shake her own head no is because she trusts me. But afterward, when we have conquered the trial, we will look at each other and feel brave. We will not even be able to believe how brave we were. Did you see how brave we were?! And the next time we embark on something difficult, the memory of our shared success will hang in the air around us, and we’ll start slightly further from tears.
It won’t always be perfect. We will overshoot on occasion. I’ll think she’s ready to jump out of a plane, and she’ll do it because I ask her to, but she won’t reach the moment of screaming with awe on the way down. We’ll have to recover from that, too, together.
But as often as possible? I will trust her to tell me if she absolutely cannot do it. She will trust me to carry her through things she’s not quite sure of. And I will take that trust as seriously as a tandem skydiving instructor, cheering her on through every moment of freefall, reminding her that even when I reach to adjust her harness and she feels gravity’s demand, nothing bad is going to happen because I’ve got you.
Related reading
Other notes and news
Van-life travel and personal happenings
What a busy chaotic fulfilling fast summer it has been! We spent four months living in Bahia Honda State Park, volunteering as campground hosts and sea-turtle surveyors. Since we left in late July, we’ve been splitting time between loved ones in our home state of Wisconsin. (My best friend is preparing to have her first baby!)
Writing world excitement
Next week I start the 2026 Incubator writing intensive. I can’t wait to focus on my PAWS AND REFLECT book project in an incredible community!
Updates on Scout Finch herself
Scout did a stellar job adjusting to our volunteer position in April. She’s done equally well settling back into a full-time, on-the-road, actually-driving-a-bunch situation again, too. We’ve been fortunate that she hasn’t had a seizure in a while, and she also keeps testing my belief in the “use it or lose it” adage by remembering all sorts of skills (from precise heel commands to general patio manners) we don’t often ask her for.
In short: It’s felt easy lately, life with this cattle dog. I hope she’s enjoying it half as much as I am. 💛
This is sooo sweet. I loved this bit in particular: "I was able to jump out of that plane because I didn’t do it alone. I trusted my instructor to have my back—we were, as literally as two people can be, in it together. That’s how I want my dog to feel each day of her life."
that was beautiful 🥹 I want my dog to trust me like that too, knowing that I got her no matter what.