Getting Untangled: What My Dog Teaches About Grace

Glimpse Ahead:  Sometimes the most profound teachers walk on four legs. In this reflection, I explore what my dog Dahlia has taught me about getting unstuck when life’s leash gets wrapped around our legs. Her graceful approach to untangling offers insights about patience, movement, and the soul’s response to being caught.

Dancing Out of the Tangle

I’m hiking a trail with Jaxyn and Dahlia, my two Springerdoodles, tethered together on their dual leash system. Inevitably, as we navigate roots and rocks and the occasional interesting smell that demands investigation, the leash finds creative ways to wrap itself around legs, under bellies, and through the spaces between eager paws.

Jaxyn is taller and brown. Dahlia is stockier and black. Jaxyn is more athletic, energetic, and I can depend on him to listen. Dahlia is less interested in balls and frisbees,  mellower, and less obedient. Jaxyn is the leader. When they are tethered together, I can depend on him to make sure Dahlia doesn’t wander off following some chipmunk or whim of the moment. Usually she (Dahlia) is the Zen one; he (Jaxyn) is the problem solver. So how they deal differently with getting tangled up is surprising.

When this happens to Jaxyn, he pulls first. Sometimes he spins in the wrong direction, making the tangle worse. Then, realizing his strategy isn’t working, he stops and waits for me to help him. Over time, he’s learned to stop more quickly and look to me for assistance rather than struggle endlessly. It’s not a bad approach, but it’s not independent either.

But Dahlia, she’s different. When the leash wraps under her feet or gets caught around her leg, she seems to pause for just a moment. Not a panicked freeze, but a brief assessment the situation. Then she begins what I can only describe as a dance. She steps delicately, shifts her weight, moves forward a little, backs up slightly, turns just enough, or spins completely around to untangle herself.

She works with the tangle rather than against it. Within moments, she’s free, the leash loose again, ready to continue down the trail. It still amazes me how proficient she is at this. She’s a master at dancing around and unencumbering herself. And watching her, I can’t help but think this is a skill for all of us.

What We Do When We Get Tangled

Life has its own version of leash tangles. Relationships get complicated. Work situations bind us up. Old patterns wrap around our feet. Financial pressures, health challenges, family dynamics, the weight of expectations, both others’ and our own. We find ourselves caught, restricted, unable to move forward with the ease we once had.

What we do when we get tangled certainly says something about our strength, our character, and our soul.

Some of us, like Jaxyn, try force first. We pull harder, thinking strength will free us. We spin in circles, often making the situation more complex than it was before. When that doesn’t work, we stop and wait for someone else to solve the problem for us. It’s better than endless struggling, but it limits our growth in handling challenges ourselves.

Others freeze completely. The discomfort of being caught paralyzes us. We stay stuck not because we can’t get free, but because we’re afraid that any movement might make things worse.

But then there’s Dahlia’s way. The way of the gentle assessment. The patient dance. The willingness to work with what is rather than fight against it. I can imagine her saying to herself “It is what it is” and then just doing what needs to be done.

The Grace of Small Movements

What strikes me most about Dahlia’s approach is how refined her movements are. She doesn’t need dramatic gestures or forceful yanking. A step here, a shift there, is enough. She seems to understand that untangling often requires subtlety, not strength. Patience, not power.

This is perhaps the most important lesson she offers. When we’re entangled in life, our instinct is often to make big moves, dramatic changes, to cut through whatever is binding us. But sometimes the most effective response is the gentle one. The small adjustments. The patient dance of working with the tangle rather than against it.

Maybe it’s a conversation instead of an argument. Maybe it’s a boundary instead of a battle. Maybe it’s a pause instead of a push. Maybe it’s asking for help instead of insisting we can handle it all alone.

Movement as Solution

The other thing Dahlia teaches is that staying stuck is a choice. It may not seem like a choice, but it is nonetheless. The tangle is temporary, but only if we’re willing to move. Even small movements. Even uncertain ones. The solution isn’t in finding the perfect response immediately. It’s in the willingness to keep dancing, keep adjusting, keep working with what we have.

What’s remarkable about Dahlia is how unphased she is by the trial-and-error process. She doesn’t judge herself when the first step doesn’t work. She simply tries another approach. There’s no self-criticism, no frustration with the process itself. She takes the challenge in stride, learning through experience without making the tangle mean something about her worth.

Every time I watch her free herself so gracefully, I’m reminded that getting tangled isn’t a failure. It’s just part of walking the trail. The real question isn’t whether we’ll get caught up in something, but how we’ll respond when we do.

Will we struggle and then wait for rescue? Will we freeze and stay stuck? Or will we take a breath, assess what we’re working with, and begin the patient dance of getting free?

Dahlia makes it look easy, but both dogs have had plenty of practice getting tangled. The difference is what they’ve learned from their experiences. Jaxyn repeats the same patterns. Dahlia has focused on what works and refined her approach. She’s become skilled not at avoiding tangles, but at the art of getting untangled.

Questions to Consider:

When you get “tangled up” in life, what’s your usual response?

What would it look like to meet your current challenges with Dahlia’s patient, dancing, grace?

Where in your life might small movements serve you better than big, forceful changes?