Anonymous asked:

I’m so sorry for your loss Mr B

I know there’s not really much anyone can do about it to help but we all care about you and want to see you smile

We’d love to listen to your stories, if talking about him would help

My heart is more than broken. A chunk of it is missing, and isn’t coming back.

[painting by @sublunaryorchid]

He was in the last cage.

There were something like twelve cages in the shelter, all full. The first one held a very pretty husky who we were told had mange and seemed to have Seen Some Stuff. At the end of the first row, there was a mom with pups, and she was raising hell over her kids’ forced proximity to all these other dogs.

I didn’t really want a dog. It was 2009 and I still wasn’t over the loss of our last dog —to old age— a couple years back, and the subsequent, unexpected passing of our cat a few months before. So I wasn’t enthusiastic when we reached that final cage.

He looked so damned sad. And scared. But not in a shell-shocked way like the husky, or an angry, defensive way like the mom-dog. He sat on his haunches and looked up at us with big, nervous eyes and laid-back ears. Even with the dirt of weeks —or more, we would never know— of street-living on him, he was a handsome boy.

And quiet. Always quiet. Whether he was in pain, or filled with excitement, or bubbling in joy, he was quiet. He only got noisy when trying to warn off strangers he could hear but couldn’t see, or when someone was threatening his mom.

Anyway… I was skeptical. But he was picked, almost instantly. “He’s the one.” I wasn’t sure why. He seemed nice and I’d grown up with (one of) his breed(s), so I didn’t have a problem with him, but I didn’t see anything special.

We took him out and walked him around a bit, and I remember saying, “Okay, I’ll admit, he’s a nice animal.” He was healthy and strong and submissive without cowering. He certainly wasn’t a bad dog. I just didn’t think he was the right dog.

I was assured I was wrong, and we took him home.

He was very young, and didn’t have the best judgment. He gnawed on the corner of a wall one day, then chewed a chunk out of the bed frame. I’d put him out to do his business, and when I’d call him in, he’s just stare at me in confusion. He was more engaged with his new mom, but his anxiety overwhelmed even his affection.

Turned out he was into trauma-bonding. His relationship with his mom changed one day on a walk, when a yard-full of dogs were barking at him and he instinctively took off running to their fence… he jerked Mom off her feet and made her hit the ground hard. The breath was knocked out of her, and he instantly knew he’d fucked up… he turned and hovered over her until she could stand. From that point on, he understood that one of his primary jobs in life was taking care of her… and he did.

We went to beginner obedience classes, and made some progress. I finally figured out how to summon him, and he learned how to respond. It was good, but not great. We didn’t get on the same page until one night, in a storm.

He asked to go out right before the weather turned suddenly foul. I went to the door and called him in, but at that moment there was a flash of lightning, followed by a clap of thunder. As with fireworks, he was scared of noisy storms, so he froze. A torrential rain began to fall and he just stood there, looking at me as the sky opened up on him.

I said “fuck it”, put on some slippers, and ran out into the storm. I tried to nudge him toward the door, but he wouldn’t budge. I ordered him to get moving as rain ran down my face, and he refused. So again, “fuck it”. I reached down and scooped him up. It was awkward ‘cause he was a good-sized boy, but I hugged him tight, carried him on to the deck, and back into the house.

That night we found an understanding. He never ignored me when I called again.

From that understanding, grew trust. And from trust, love.

…

I’m going to stop here for now. I don’t want to spend the rest of the night crying.