Estimated read time: 7 min
“The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.” —Anonymous Al-Anon member.
I have heard that quote numerous times since my first days in recovery and perhaps before then. It is often mistakenly attributed to Albert Einstein, and I often, mistakenly, try to prove it right. The most recent case of my insanity has shown itself with our beloved newer puppy, Bulleit.
Bulleit is a German shepherd, and like most of the breed, is constantly on the move at a moment’s notice, and he never wants to be more than a few steps away just in case he needs to protect us. He is a sweet, little boy (smaller than Duck and Molly Frog) and loves to cuddle on the couch with anyone that will let him, which makes his annoying trait hard to understand.
Only at night, Bulleit takes it upon himself to rip holes in the couch covers rendering them useless. I have woken up twice now to find his handy work, and before I can say a word to him, Bulleit, with ears pinned back and tail almost between his legs, races for the dog door.
For the next hour or so he will guiltily slink around checking to see If I am mad at him. When it is obvious that I have returned to normal, he trots up and noses my hand to get petted and puts on an endearing happy face.
If a dog can look guilty, apologetic and curious at the same time, Bulleit accomplishes the feat easily. Considering that he is only two-years-old, basically still a puppy, and a rescued dog, I am probably a little more lenient on him than I should be. However, Nina and I decided that we would banish him to the yard at night and save ourselves a little money on couch covers.
This is not an easy thing, if Bulleit is out at night, Molly Frog and Duck have to be out at night as well because none of them like being separated. And, Molly Frog and Duck would rather be sleeping on couches in an air-conditioned house than be left in the yard. So a nightly ritual of wrangling three dogs outside takes place just before bedtime, a feat not to be accomplished alone, and not always easy with two people. Still, the system works pretty well, until my insanity kicks in.
I can make an excuse, and it is a good one, for my decision that Saturday night, and it even seems kinda sane. It had been raining off and on that day, and I decided that I could sleep in one of our spare bedrooms to be closer to the dogs should anyone, meaning Bulliet, attempt to do something wrong.
Nina would be at work all night so solo wrangling would not be necessary, and, Duck, who hates thunderstorms, and Molly Frog, who loves the couch, could be safely inside. Bulleit, I hoped, would stay close by and to that end, started the night with him at the side of the bed. See, a perfect plan, if you are completely insane.
When I woke the next morning, the skies were as clear as the evidence of my insanity. A hole about the size of a large pancake had been nibbled in the couch cover. To Duck’s credit she was laying on the couch trying to hide the spot. Bulleit, who was already outside raced out of eyesight and stayed that way for an hour. I cursed myself and cleaned up the mess. After a brief second of wondering why we even have Bulliet, I began to reflect on my addiction and the insanity that showed then.
In a way, I think I was a lot like Bulleit at times, not clearly understanding the consequences or perhaps not worried about them. But most of the time, I had this idea that somehow some way things would be different when all the evidence of my past drinking showed it would not be. This time, I would drink just enough for the buzz and stop before drunk kicked in.
My first run-ins with out-of-control drinking happened in high school when I was kicked out of band for MUI, Marching Under the Influence, and had to talk my way out of the back of a state patrolman’s car who had me dead to rights for drinking and driving following a high-school party. As I got older, I managed to find ways to stay away from the backseat of police cars, and avoid legal consequences for my drinking. Still the idea that I could just get buzzed and stop still lingered.
I was able at times to control my drinking, which means I didn’t get to drink like I wanted and pouted about it. Other times I would not drink a drop for days or weeks. In those cases, I had done something on a drunken binge for which I felt I needed to atone. I would even go months drinking relatively normal. However, eventually, I would end up as a drunken embarrassment to myself or others wondering how it had happened AGAIN.
I was baffled. How could a nice, hard-working guy like me end up needing to be poured into the passenger side of a car after what was supposed to be a fun cookout with friends? Why would I make two and three trips to the store to replace booze I had bought that was supposed to last through the weekend? Why was it impossible to stop drinking after the first one?
I kept on and on repeating the same pattern and always, always thinking, “This time it will be different.” I remember the countless times I swore I would NEVER, EVER get that drunk again, only to find myself laying on my back watching the world spin around me two days later.
Now, I know the answer was so simple. Don’t take the first drink, and I can’t get drunk. When I finally accepted that I was an alcoholic, and drinking would never end well for me, I stopped that insanity. I stopped trying to control the uncontrollable. I have not been drunk in more than 8 years because I don’t try to drink just one drink anymore. That doesn’t mean that I’m always sane. I am after all a grateful NUT.
In early sobriety, my brain stayed on a roller coaster. I would be perfect at staying sober one hour and convinced I wouldn’t make it through the day without a drink during the next hour. I tried every suggestion I was offered by people who had long term-sobriety. I ate my weight in chocolate, read the Big Book, meditated every morning.
I avoided most places that had alcohol readily available. I even tried brief stints of exercise to stay sober. I didn’t repeat the same mistakes expecting different results. And, when I made a mistake, I didn’t try to cover it up. I snitched on myself to another alcoholic, and made amends. I also remembered that “some of us are sicker than others” and became able to forgive when I felt wronged.
All of this brings me back to Sunday. I recognized that my insanity with drinks have now manifested in another way. Despite all of the evidence Bulleit has given me, I thought this time would be different. There was only one thing to do, the same thing I did in early sobriety. I quickly let my aggravation go and forgave Bulleit. Poor fella is just a little sick after all. He doesn’t mean to be destructive. He was probably just going to hold part of the couch cover in his mouth for a second, and BANG, instant hole.
I looked at my part, in the situation. Then, I confessed what had happened to my wife, after waiting until she had some coffee and morning hugs from me. I bought a new couch cover, and will, from now on, ensure that when night falls, Bulleit will be in the yard where he is supposed to be.
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