The first time we met, he growled at me when I reached to pet him, and he would only grudgingly accept any treats I offered. Otherwise he sat cautious and unmoving in the grass, leaning hard into his foster mom’s hip to put every millimeter of distance between him and me that he could. Now, if I sit down to watch TV or read, he’ll jump up beside me and either snuggle in or start tapping me with his paw if I don’t begin to pet him quickly enough.
The first times I took him outside meant gently slipping the harness over his head while he sat on the love seat. Our first walks were explorations of our small yard; one lap around the house would take at least ten minutes. He’d cautiously watch me and I’d carefully make sure I wasn’t stepping too fast, since he’d jump in surprise if my foot ever did anything he didn’t expect. When he felt safe he’d sniff the grass to gradually learn about his new home. Now he’ll race to the front door when it’s time for our morning walk. He’ll sit on a floor mat and wag his tail while I put him in his harness and then we’re off, heading down to the stretch of sidewalk where all the neighborhood dogs seem to stop and visit. He’ll happily trot for the half-mile or so of the walk, only occasionally stopping to when he picks up a scent, which he’ll sniff and follow with the tenaciousness of a cartoon dog detective. At first he leads me with all six feet of his leash but will settle in to walking at my side, matching my pace closely enough for the leash to hang loose and drag on the sidewalk between us.
When he first moved in, he spent nearly every waking moment curled up on the one section of the love seat close enough to his crate for him to decide was a safe place. Now when we return from our walks, he’ll wait patiently for me to take off the harness then he’ll zoom into the living room and hop up on that same love seat, standing on his hind legs and wagging his tail so he can have his good morning scratches. Then he’ll race into the kitchen for his breakfast. He’ll scarf it down so quickly I barely have time to put the food bag away, turn on the news, and sit down before he bounces back into the living room and demands more petting.
He brought two favorite toys from foster care — a half-chewed rawhide bone and a heart-shaped squeak toy pillow. He ignored them both for at least two weeks, even when I put the pillow in his crate at night, thinking it probably had familiar smells. Eventually he started playing with the rawhide, enough that big pieces started falling off and I eventually had to throw it away before he swallowed one. I offered him one of the bone toys that my parents’ dogs, Shamus and Butch, will play with when I’m dog sitting. He wasn’t interested at first, but soon started gnawing away at one, and then another, and then began carrying his pillow around. I also bought him a Kong, which I fill with treats when I leave the house. When he sees me filling it he climbs into his crate, then starts working out the treats out as soon as I set it in and close the door. He’s recently realized the Kong also works as a toy, and will sometimes toss it up in the air to see where it will land. Sooner or later all of his toys end up in the sun room, where he likes to keep them clustered together all within a foot of each other.
After he eats his supper and takes his evening walk, right around sunset, he settles down to relax in one of his favorite napping spots. He’ll usually take a big drink after walking; in his first days he would barely eat or drink, and I would almost choke up with relief at the sound of his tags bouncing against the water dish while he slurped away. Now it’s normal enough I’m only aware of it. I turn off the lights and bring his crate back to the bedroom at bedtime. He’ll follow in not a minute behind me, stepping in and nesting down in his crate blanket, usually with his squeak pillow close by. It’s not a bad life.
A lot of this description might be surprising for some who have met him, since he still reverts back to nervous and cautious when unfamiliar people are around. He’s making progress, though; people who were here to see him in his first days and have visited more recently have commented on how much more relaxed he seems. I don’t know for sure since there are big gaps in his pre-foster history, but it seems pretty clear from so many of his cautious and nervous behaviors that he probably endured some form of abuse before going into foster care. His foster mom suspected the same thing, as did the other people who saw the fear he carried in his first days here. I feel happy knowing he’s overcoming whatever dog nightmares there are in his past, both from his time in Texas Animal Control and whatever led him there in the first place.
After so much time spent in so many shelters, he now has his pick of comfortable and sunny places to nap. He has an entire shelf of my kitchen cabinet devoted to dog food and treats. He gets all the petting and scratching he can stand, and still gets time to himself when that’s what he wants. He feels safe and happy. Knowing how difficult of a transition it was for him when he first arrived, I feel both proud of myself and relieved for helping him settle in as quickly as he has.
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