I’ve taken in a rescue dog. It happened unexpectedly, but he needed a home and I was in a position to be able to give him one with me. When we met for the first time, the people were astonished that he didn’t bark at me. When I arrived he simply came and met me with a curiosity that reminded me of my own.
In our time together I’ve been reminded of how things come to be. It now seems quite serendipitous. I’m the perfect person for him. And he is the perfect dog for me.
He’s had a past. One of which I’ll never know. But there are signs that it wasn’t good. He hides it. Like me, he fawns his fear behind good behaviour and being pleasing. His anxiety can easily be mistaken for happiness and excitement. The more I see him, the more I see myself. And in a way, caring for him is teaching me how to care for myself. He needs tenderness and kindness and gentle encouragement. He needs peace and comfort and stability. It’s a challenge for me to provide these things predictably and consistently. But I’m learning. He reminds me to be soft. Open. Gentle. To not try to force outcomes or hold expectations as though they’re a “cure all.” Acceptance of what is, instead of what I hope. I’m realising that he’s saving me just as much as I think I’m saving him.
Dogs have an uncanny ability to find their way into our heart. They work their way around our walls and nestle themselves into a space in our lives that makes you wonder what it was like before they came to be there. There’s a magic in that. A wisdom. He is reminding me how much I value being a safe space, both for myself and others… but he’s forcing me to learn to actually put that into practice. What a beautiful gift. Seeing him content feels like such a reward. I can only hope he feels the same way.