I'm sure I have mentioned it before that we adopted an abused dog. I'm not sure what happened in her past, but the symptoms have been there all along. Extreme skittishness at a door closing too hard. Fear of men, especially as night falls. Did she come from a house where a man started drinking at dusk, becoming violent and abusive? She runs to us excited, then ducks and cowers. I've been told that it a sign she's been hit in the head.
Sometimes, we call her and she goes the other way. Kurt came out of the bedroom talking to me while finishing getting dressed. He was carrying a belt. The dog froze, shaking. We comforted her, and he finished dressing in the bedroom. She also once froze up, terrified, on a mountain trail, when two large men approached, hiking in the opposite direction. I took her and backed up until I found a place where I could get her well off the trail to let them pass. The list goes on.
But most of all, she didn't seem to give. Dogs are warm. They lick you, press against you, jump on you unless you teach them not to. They exude love. Sadie likes being petted, but she never gave back. I told myself that she was an empty vessel. We needed to patiently fill her with love before she had enough to give back.
I feel like we've crossed that line. We are her pack, her family. She doesn't jump or lick your face, but she leans on us. She paws the people she loves. It's her own expression of endearment, one that wasn't beaten out of her. She wants to spend time with us, because we are her people.
It's a subtle change, but I can tell. We're her family.
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