After watching a documentary on Grounding, I thought it might be just the ticket for my old pug. The concept is that by planting your bare feet on the ground you can start to heal yourself from all of the earth’s manmade electrical energy and reduce inflammation. We have disconnected from the earth, they declared, and just 15 minutes of bare skin contact with the earth can bring every system in your body back into balance.
Worth a try, I figured. So much so that it sounded good for both of us to partake. I figured I would take Old Pug’s food dish outside where he could stand on all fours on the ground while I planted my barefeet beside him on the earth. In theory, though, pressing as much bare skin onto the earth as possible was best. I wasn’t going to go naked into the yard, of course, which is the minimum amount of decorum expected in a townhouse unit with neighbours nearby, but my swimsuit would do the trick. What could possibly go wrong?
The kibble bowl was set out on the grass, fully moistened for Pug’s few teeth to muster, and everything was set for our shared journey of renewal. I carried him in one arm and held onto my iced tea in the other, and settled us both onto the life-giving but prickly early-spring grass. He went with gusto after the food, never once aware that his feet were grounding at all. I had just shimmied onto the grass the length of my lily-white body when he became disconnected from the ground and began rolling stealth-like down the tiny grassy knoll toward the cement patio.
I bolted upright, choking on my iced tea at the same time, as he Rolie Polie Olied his way headlong down the gentle slope. Trying to head him off at the pass, I jumped to my feet and knocked over his food bowl in my haste, which set off a leg cramp. Hopping on that foot to iron out the cramping, coughing on the tea and spinning to catch the dog sent wet kibble flying into the air and plastering down the front of my swimsuit and along both legs. Well, all six of our legs, actually.
By this point, the neighbour had run out to his backstep to assess the situation. Me twirling the dog in the air, food covering us both, slight mayhem in my tiny yard.
“Dinner and dancing tonight, is it?” he asked.
That did it! Humour is what keeps me grounded, apparently, thanks for the reminder.