LESSONS FROM MY COACH…COUCH: And Some Food for Thought

Copyright © 2024 Delphine du Toit.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Balboa Press

A Division of Hay House

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.balboapress.com

844-682-1282

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are

models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 979-8-7652-5557-5 (sc)

ISBN: 979-8-7652-5556-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2024919229

Balboa Press rev. date: 11/06/2024

CONTENTS

Preface

Chapter 1 From Fear To Trust

Chapter 2 What Is Coaching Anyway?

Chapter 3 The Problem With Courage

Chapter 4 Being There

Chapter 5 Sleep

Chapter 6 In Your Flow

Chapter 7 Thoughts Are Like Fleas

Chapter 8 Fear. Running Doesn’t Fix It

Chapter 9 Holding Space

Chapter 10 Authentic Happiness

Chapter 11 In The Moment

Chapter 12 Kayaking: A Lesson In Letting Go

Chapter 13 Dog Or Rain Or Mouse?

Chapter 14 A New Word; Not A New Concept

Chapter 15 Fox Hunting

Chapter 16 Who Stole My Killer Instinct?

Chapter 17 I Died On A Cloudless September Night

Post-Script By Herself

PREFACE

Seriously, do you think dogs think?

So do you want to know how I think before you dive into this book of mine? You’re a bit suspicious about the authenticity of what’s in this book because I commissioned my own personal person, Herself, to write it for me. Do you suspect she’s just using this as a way of not taking accountability for her own thoughts and theories?

Let me introduce myself to you. My name is Farley. I think I was named after that famous Canadian writer and naturalist, Farley Mowat. (he’s the guy who experimented with counter-marking Northern wolves’ pee-marking their boundaries by donating his own, to the same spot.)

I’m what they call a Parsons Broken-Coated Jack Russell Terrier. It means I’m a dog, for those of you who aren’t so into distinguishing between dog breeds, and maybe prefer cats anyway.

It means I have short legs a longish body, bushy tail and eyebrows and my broken coat means that it is always curly and untidy. According to the books and my own self-knowledge, I’m smart, inquisitive, energetic, lively, playful (yes, balls are a thing in my life).

My breed of wolf - yes, you probably already know all dogs are wolves. Even the ones that look like foxes. All dogs are human created, from original Asian wild wolves who mooched around the edges of the campfire when those ancient humans had a BBQ. They didn’t know about genetic engineering back in those days, but they did learn that selective mating over generations can sharpen some aspects of the animal and eliminate others.

Well, anyway, my lot were bred for hunting, particularly foxes, allegedly. I don’t know about that. I’m seriously into hunting rodents, but that stand-off I had with a fox that I’m going to tell you about: well, let’s just say it was a stand-off not a death. And of course, if we are into foxes and rodents, then digging comes with that. And chasing (hence my love of balls).

Then of course those early humans wanted to make sure their specialty dogs would come back home, and so we were selectively bred for our ability, or is it proclivity, for forming strong bonds with our people. And that means, also, strong in protecting our people’s stuff and territory.

As for this ‘broken coat’ thing: Who knows why this was chosen as our ‘look’? I have a combination of smooth and rough fur. I look 100% scruffy 100% of the time. The advantage of that is I’m called a ‘low maintenance dog.’ No salons and elite nonsense for me. I’m a working hunting dog. I have what Bette calls tonnes of doggality (maybe you realise it, but it is a play on words – from persons who have ‘personality’ – get it?)

I think one of the things that appealed to Herself about me is that despite my looks I’m fearless and confident. I’m also seriously independent. I think it works for a woman who was insanely in love with Siberian huskies for three decades. She likes independence in dogs, but she also likes the dog coming back and not taking itself for three day runs by itself. But huskies – no, don’t get me started on that. Because then I’ll have to tell you about Molly. (I might still do that, but later….)

And then they say we Parsons Russells (who can say ‘Broken Coated Parsons Jack Russell’ every time you refer to us, anyway?) are people oriented, ‘social but selective.’ So yes, I have some stories to tell about lessons learnt from my relationship with other dogs and with people. About selectivity, yes, I might tell you about how Baz didn’t really like me, because I didn’t fall for his ‘come here, Farley, any dog of Herself’s is a dog of mine’ (THIS, after they’d been divorced for decades, and he lives about 4000 kms away anyway). But that didn’t stop him from eventually….no, I’m getting ahead of myself. Stick to the introduction!

Well, I don’t know everything, but I can tell you a bit about what goes on in this furry brain of mine. Yes, I think. I dream. I ruminate (not like a cow, but in mulling over ideas and trying to come up with the best answers to my own questions). I can’t tell you when it started, but it certainly escalated when I moved in with Herself. She keeps providing piles of food for thought.

Now about my thinking: It’s not like I’m solving maths problems or anything, but I’ve got my own way of processing stuff. What might help you understand is that my brain is kinda different from yours – I have a way smaller frontal lobe than you do. You humans use that prefrontal lobe all the time with your fancy problem-solving activities. My thoughts are more about instincts and feelings.

And so another thing is that I have social smarts. Generally dogs do, but I’m particularly talented in this area. I excel at reading your vibes. I can tell when you’re happy, sad, and especially when you’re about to give me a treat. This is something Herself is not good at. It seems that she doesn’t realise the meaning of treats and so I have to settle for the routine of meals at breakfast and supper time, and for a spot of mooching off Bette, Ria, or Claudine when Herself isn’t looking. On the other hand, she’s not bad in reading human and dog emotions. She even thinks she understands the squirrel.

I’m sure you’ve heard of those dogs that go and comfort people? Some are better at it than others. I’m fairly good, but not enough for a professional gig. But Herself’s moods merge into my spirit kind of like sand sifts down through the water to the bottom of the lake to create a stable foundation for the water to rest on. It may take me a while to fully understand, and it’s not all at once, but when I get it, I get it. In fact, it is one of my talents that She’s been able to use in her work at a coach. I have this solid emotion-supporting foundation.

When I’m allowed to attend a coaching session (sometimes, not always), I quickly zero in on the atmosphere – my cues are from Herself first, because I’m more attuned to her than anyone else, and SHE picks up on the state of mind of the client. Thereafter I then follow that flow of empathy between her and the client and come to understand what’s going on for the client. I sense the sadness or even the worry. I then quite often will jump up and go lie down on the couch, next to the client. I only do it with people who accept and trust dogs. Those other people, who are uncomfortable with dogs, they just have to figure it out for themselves.

So you might think that isn’t really thinking- it is feeling. I have a huge pile of empathy that’s easy to dish out. True, but there is thought. I consider what’s right before I do it. I consider whether Herself would appreciate it if I stepped in. Now, admittedly I didn’t come up with this all by myself. I learned from her response when I would go to sit with a sad client. And I know to look at Herself first. We make eye contact. She does a slight nod of the head and the left hand side of her mouth does that tiny little upward curl, then I know.

I get the signal from her, I’m up there in a flash. But even there I’ve learned: I don’t immediately jump onto the seat. I go stand by the person’s legs and try to make eye contact. If they’re not looking at me, I might gently touch my nose to their leg. Depending on how they respond I then most often will jump up and snuggle against them on the couch.

Then there’s words. I have a surprisingly good human vocabulary – for a dog. And not just the basics like come, sit, DON’T, supper! And my favourite d’you wanna… followed by anything from go for a walk? to drive across the Causeway? to Have the window open? to chase the ball? and other stuff. I know many words. I also know that they mean different things, depending on the tone of voice they’re said in, and to a certain extent, what words they’re combined with. That requires thinking. All of it. I’m a thoughtful dog. That’s it.

So when I’m on my red cushion in Herself’s office, attending a coaching session, I hear some words come up regularly. Repeat them often enough I get to understand what they mean. But before I get to understand them, I think about them. I puzzle. I test my theories of what they might mean. Throughout it all, I pay attention and observe. On that basis, I’ve taken on quite a few common coaching words that I’ve tried to grasp - you will find them further along in the book, like ‘in the moment,’ ‘holding space,’ and others. You go figure out whether I’ve understood those words correctly, and by all means, come and tell me about it on my Facebook page.

What else might be on my mind? After all, we do only so many coaching sessions a week. The rest of the time we do other stuff.

Well, I have a lot on my mind. And the older I get the more there is of it. For example, I’m always curious about my surroundings. Is there a squirrel outside? Is it the same squirrel or a new one? What’s that smell? Is it a strange dog intruding into my territory? Is it that nasty porcupine? And, when we go for walks on the trail, wow. Talk about smells. I compare the experience to Herself going to the library. There is just so much information I can browse all day long and come back full of thoughts and plans.

And of course there’s protecting my boundaries. But I will talk more about that later too.

Since this preface is about introductions, and I keep referring to ‘Herself’, let me introduce her to you, too.

Herself is an old lady who adopted me when my second family could no longer keep me. She has always had dogs. She can’t imagine life without them. And yet, for a few years before we got together, she had been without her own dog, for such reasons as moving from one country to another and having to take time to settle in and find her feet. So I was significant in her life – a move back to having a canine companion. No longer alone.

Herself’s full and real name is Delphine du Toit. She came to Nova Scotia as an immigrant in the mid-1970s, from South Africa, with her husband Baz, their two sons Eric and Nik, their dog Wollie, and her cat, The Motel (pronounced Mottle). I’m not going into her family history here because I don’t need to know. Relevant bits and pieces you’ll pick up in my narrative.

I call her Herself for some reason I can’t explain. It just feels right.

And then, Herself is my ghostwriter. My instructions are explicit. This is MY story, from MY perspective. Don’t insert your rationalisation and explanations unless I instruct you to do so. So if you have any issues with anything in this book, take it up with me, Farley Moffat. (Mind you, seeing as I can’t use a computer and my spelling would probably confound the logic of the machine -and my loose shaggy fur jam up the keys, not to mention potential mud stains on the keyboard and nose prints on the screen- if you do contact me, Herself would be reading and writing my responses, in my voice, under my direction. OK?)

So here we are. You’ve read this