When I was little, I often heard that getting your period was a rite of passage. “It means you’re becoming a woman,” they would say, in that half-whispered tone adults reserve for things too complex or awkward to explain properly. It sounded both terrifying and magical — a secret club you weren’t part of until your body sent you the official invitation.
Later, during my teenage years, the idea of cycles and synchronicity came up in a different way. In the locker room or between classes, I’d hear girls quietly mention how spending time together seemed to align their periods. It wasn’t spoken as a joke — more like something strange and fascinating about our bodies that no one had fully explained. There was a quiet sense of awe, maybe even vulnerability, in those moments. As if our bodies, without asking, were sharing in something deeper, something ancient and invisible that science hadn’t quite pinned down but we all somehow felt.
Fast forward to adulthood — where my companions are not teenage girls, but two fluffy, four-legged creatures with stubby legs and Viking hearts: my beloved Västgötaspets.
One day, I stepped outside and called out, “Time to come in, boys!” No response. I called again, louder. Still nothing. A little annoyed, I went to check — imagining some squirrel drama or neighborhood conspiracy had captured their attention.
What I found instead were my two Vallhunds, lying next to each other in perfect harmony, eyes closed, breathing in sync, like some kind of fluffy meditation cult. It wasn’t just cute. It was… eerily synchronized.
I stood there, blinking. That same strange teenage feeling bubbled up. Was this… hormonal? Cosmic? Was I witnessing the dog version of a menstrual myth? Did my boys just invent a new ritual of manhood I’d never dared imagine?
I backed away slowly and whispered, “Nevermind…”
Because honestly, some synchronizations are best left unexplored.