Anyone who comes to see me for help with anxiety quickly learns The Cardinal Rule: don’t avoid the things that scare you. It’s human (and animal) nature to flee from danger. But avoidance only makes fear worse in the long run. That is, unless you find yourself in a dark alley with a knife-wielding thug on your heels, in which case—and I’m certain my professional liability insurance carrier would want me to make this perfectly clear—you should run like hell.

I wouldn’t feel right about pushing other people off the high dive, metaphorically speaking, unless I’d jumped myself. So I look for opportunities to get up close and personal with discomfort.

One activity really does the trick for me. And, as a bonus, it nudges my Australian Shepherd Freddie outside his comfort zone (which, admittedly, doesn’t take much). It’s called Canine Musical Freestyle, or doggie dancing.

Go ahead and laugh all you want. This is a legitimate sport. If you don’t believe me, check it out for yourself. It’s amazing to watch, but also extremely silly — especially if you’re the one doing chorus line kicks alongside a dog. I decided to take a Freestyle class because I knew it would make me feel ridiculous.

Freddie and I had already tried one canine sport, Agility. Most Aussies are naturals at it. Whip-smart and agile, they navigate the timed obstacle course with ease. Not Freddie. Sure, he had no trouble learning how to dash through tunnels, prance across balance beams, and jump through hoops. But we spent most of the time huddled in a corner, trying to avoid the other dogs. After only the second lesson, Freddie mistook a miniature Schnauzer for an errant sheep and got us kicked out of class.

So with great trepidation, I signed us up for Freestyle. I was very nervous. I started sweating before I even walked in the door, knowing I’d have to keep Freddie calmly focused on me while we passed through a room full of hyped-up Border Collies and Aussies. Then there was the matter of the dancing itself. I’m spatially-challenged; I can barely tell my left foot from my right. Embarrassment was clearly in the cards.

But who knew? Freddie turned out to be a dancing fool. His enthusiasm made me forget my awkwardness. It even helped him ignore all the barking and whirling around him—except once, when he chased down a Chihuahua who was performing an intricate balancing act on his owner while she did a series of yoga poses. I suspect that Freddie, who has a highly evolved sense of right and wrong, viewed it as unseemly canine behavior and was taking it upon himself to put a stop to it.

I spent weeks searching for the perfect music, finally settling on Frank Sinatra’s, “I Won’t Dance”—a classy standard that was just the right tempo for the choreography I’d been obsessively working out in my head. I imagined Freddie looking suave in a bow tie if we ever actually performed in competition (and if I could ever actually get him to wear one). When it came time to present our routine for the class, Freddie debonairly grasped an umbrella in his paws, kicked up his legs in perfect step with mine, glided sideways across the floor with me while I tried not to trip over my own feet, pirouetted on his hind legs, and finished with an elegant bow.

Too bad nobody could see us. After the Chihauhua incident (which thankfully didn’t phase our wonderful teacher Carolynn, herself the owner of six Aussies), I decided to play it safe and work behind a screen to obscure the other dogs from Freddie’s sight line.

But by the beginning of the second session, we were able to emerge from behind our barrier. Freddie can watch quietly now, relaxing by my side while Carolynn’s retired champion Freestyler, Rafe, shows us his moves. We’ve even demonstrated a few of our own.

Facing our fears made Freddie and me much more confident. And so did having that show-off Chihauhua drop out of class.

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