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Posts Tagged ‘abused dogs’

When i first got Buddy, it took a month for him to look me in the eye.  I was, at first, a complete stranger to him – he came to live with me about two hours after we first met.  He had been with his previous person for eight years – and she had a philosophy that Buddy did better if you didn’t give him too much attention.

Over the last 17 months, Buddy has progressively sought out my eyes more often and for longer duration.  I believe that he is trying to create a more intimate relationship with me: to know that i am really there for him, that i love him, that i am not going to go away.

And it only occurred to me today – goofball that I am – that at these times i need to take my glasses off, to let him better see my eyes.  When i did so today, Buddy went on a little binge of eye contact.  In between these bursts of looking deeply in my eyes, he didn’t just lean against me – he pushed himself against me.  He laid his head on my chest.  He gave my hand and leg little love bites.  He sighed deeply.  Sometimes it takes me forever to figure something out that is really kind of self-evident: if you’re gonna make eye contact, make your eyes available!  Goof.

A guy told me once that, as he was driving his 13 year old dog – riddled with cancer – to the animal hospital to be put to sleep, his beloved doggie friend sought out his eyes the entire drive.  He felt sure that it was his long-time companion’s way of saying goodbye.

For Buddy with me, it’s his way of saying hello.

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Tonight, after having treats – nice stuff I feed him to get him to take his meds (for hip dyplasia – Omega-3, glucosamine, and an inti-inflammatory drug that i hope eventually to get him off of) – Buddy, as usual when treats are done, wanted to go back outside.  He went to the back door like usual when he wants to go out, but when i slid the screen door open, he just stood there.  Usually he does that if it’s raining or cold and he’s not really sure if he actually wants to go out after all.

But there was no reason like that for him to just be standing there.  I was tired and wanted to get through the dishes and stuff to get my butt to bed, so i guess my patience wasn’t all that great.  So i did something i have never done with Buddy – I gave him just the lightest tap on the butt with my shoe.  Oh boy, he tucked his butt under and almost jumped through the door – then turned around and looked at me, i think shocked and a little scared.  Well you can guess how totally crappy i felt.  I immediately ran out the door and gave him lots of reassurance, incuding rubbing his butt – and he said, “Apology accepted”.

Buddy’s last person got him from the pound at about six months, and feels sure that he had been physically mistreated before that – and probably by a man, based on how scared of them he was (and still was eight years later, when i got him).  And this extraordinary, totally unexpected reaction caused me to believe that he must have been kicked in the rear end.

How is it that this trauma, if my hypothesis is correct, is still lingering after nine years now in which i feel sure that he not been physically mistreated (slightly neglected by his last person, i think, but never harmed), still lingering?  They say that people who have been physically abused at early ages never completely heal.  I guess it is the same for dogs.  Lots of love and safety over the last 15 months have tremendously built up Buddy’s confidence and reduced his skittishness, though that scared startle reaction still shows up in a variety of ways, like his running away if i drop anything on the hard kitchen floor – and, if it’s something loud, really running away.

I’m prepared for him to always display some fearfulness at times, and to still need lots of reassurance when this happens.

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Every night, before i go to bed, i tuck Buddy in: i sit next to him and give him a big dose of love, usually for about 10-15 minutes, sometimes longer (especially if he is tense, traumatized by thunder – or, on a couple of horrible occasions, by having been attacked and terrorized by an aggressive dog – or otherwise seems to need it more than usual).

I started this practice shortly after he came to me, about 15 months ago.  He was, back then, so scared and depressed that i wanted him to feel especially safe and loved before he slept all night.  These days, he doesn’t “need” it as much as he did back in those early, traumatized days – but he still gets so ecstatically happy, and then so wonderfully peaceful, that i continue the practice.  I do it no matter how late i come in or how early i have to get up.  In 15 months, i have only missed a few nights.

Frequently, as Buddy gets very peaceful and relaxed, he will let out a big, loud, deep sigh – a sure sign that he has really let go.  Sometimes he will fall peacefully asleep – and i usually continue to stroke him for a few more minutes, believing that when he is sleeping the love and reassurance goes straight into his unconscious, creating a deep foundation of security and contentment.  Sometimes i sing to him.

Many months ago, i got it that this little ritual is as good for me as it is for Buddy.  i get peaceful, i feel wrapped in love.  You can’t give love without it moving through you first.  Sometimes i picture that Life is stroking, reassuring, loving me the same way that i am giving these things to Buddy.

I think I’ll keep it up.

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Cleo did not like men.

A three year old Golden Retriever, Cleo lived with Jo and her 7 year old daughter Phoebe – each of them awesome people.  But smart people sometimes make stupid choices, and Phoebe’s dad had not been a nice man.  He at least terrorized all three of them – and i think also sometimes hit them – for years, until about a year before Jo had finally split with him and this time made it stick.  But all three of them carried scars from those bad years.

At this point, Cleo actually hated men: partly, I’m sure, because of what this guy had done to her – but also, I believe, because of what he had done to Jo and Phoebe.  And I’m a man.  My wife Sandy had a very strong friendship with Jo and i would occasionally try also coming over to Jo and Phoebe’s apartment.  Cleo always reacted the same way to my entrance into the apartment, the same way she responded to any man’s presence: she barked ferociously at me and would not stop until i left.  So i finally stopped going.

But at some point Jo and Phoebe needed to move in with friends – and Cleo was just too much for that family and home to accommodate.  Cleo had to go.  Jo and Phoebe were extraordinarily conflicted: the move was something that they really needed to make, but they both loved Cleo tremendously.  They would let other families take Cleo for trial visits, but again and again it either did not work out for that family or Jo came up with some reason why she thought it wouldn’t work.  She needed to let Cleo go, but couldn’t.

All this instability was causing a lot of stress for Cleo.  She became skittish and withdrawn and developed a bad case of mange.  Sandy also loved Cleo – and Cleo loved her.  So Sandy convinced me that we should give Cleo a try, to see if it could possibly work for her to live with us.  We were moving to the country, our dog Darby seemed lonely – it seemed like a great idea, except that Cleo hated men and seemed to hate me.  But we decided to take her for the weekend and give it a try anyway.

Friday came: Jo and Phoebe were leaving town and Sandy was at work (I had a flexible grad student schedule), so i needed to be the one to pick Cleo up.  This seemed not very strategic, but we couldn’t come up with another plan.  Sandy and i figured that it might be a good, direct test: if this didn’t work, then Cleo probably would not work for our little family.

When i arrived at their door, I felt some real trepidation: what might make this encounter any different from every previous encounter i had had with Cleo?  Why ever would she be willing to leave with me?  And if this trial visit did not work, like all the previous ones had not worked – and moving day was drawing close – then what was going to happen to her?

I knocked on the door of their apartment and after a few moments Jo opened it.  And Cleo – who was following right after Jo – came out the door, swiveled to face the same way i was facing, and sat down, right next to me.  No barking, no trying to scare me away.  She planted herself and quietly sat right there – and did not move.  She barely left my side all weekend – and thus began a long, wonderful friendship.

I will never quite understand how Cleo knew that i was her best shot and finding a good home.  But she did.

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