It's only been a month today which isn't the most impressive of anniversaries but I thought it worth revisting how much has changed since that fateful day I brought the big white one home. Back then, he would only lie in the car, afraid to stand up or look out, whining softly. At the time, I thanked the gods that he wasn't throwing up all the way home or pacing or screeching at the top of his doggie lungs. Now, he races to the car, hops in and sits up between the seats, watching with interest, that fascinating, less scary world passing us by. And god forbid I even think of leaving him at home. My driving notwithstanding, he takes everything in stride and there is nor more whining or melding into the floorboard.
Then there was the growling and barking at anyone who dared set foot in the house. Not just men. Oh no, any intruder from the "outside" was worthy of a wall of sound. Just a few days ago a friend came over to fix my computer (what did I tell you? I am hopelessly inept) and he uttered not a sound. In fact, when she was safely seated, he sidled up to her and licked her hand, no doubt hoping for another lure, ahem, positive reinforcer, for being so gregarious. We have actually PROGRESSED to him growling at people in the park now, showing an interest and approaching, even if he decides he'd rather not be petted thank you. It's a step above running blindly the other direction.
Then there was the hallway issue. When he came home those early days, he was terrified of the deep dark hole that was my long claustrophobic even for me, hallway. I lured him down with a tasty piece of meatloaf and suddenly his fears floated away. This was significant because my old 1960's house is comprised of a small open living space and the entire rest of the house branches off the hallway so he had effectively cut himself off from almost 1000 sq feet of living space. Three days later, and a few random tasty reinforcers later, his fears were conquered. He is now asleep at my feet, under my desk in his favorite spot while I waste away the hours on this baffling computer.
And of course, there is My Father. This is worthy of capitalization because in the scared dog's world, My Father IS capitalized in a giant font kind of a way. He was the big question, the big hurdle, the hope being that he would not revert back to his behavior with R, M's husband. The first day we visited the parental palace, he was wary but quite relaxed, no doubt because those long hallways and tight spaces are missing in their significantly larger abode. The circular rooms with numerous doors (read escape routes) didn't hurt either. By the second or third visit, he would nonchalantly wander within vicinity of My Seated Father, and although somewhat put upon by the look on his face, would allow himself an ear rub or a butt scratch. Somewhat later, his response resembled something more like alacrity should another of the mutts have beat him to The Hand that is attached to My Father. Many positive reinforcers were doled out during this time with varying degrees of success.
The fateful day came when I had to have some minor surgery and he was left overnight with My Father while my mom and I were at the hospital. And what do you know? Turns out he actually didn't mind that hand that fed him, or walked him, or adored him. My Father still cannot stand or move his hands too quickly without getting a wayward look and slinking away. But we are up to voluntarily approaching and resting large, fluffy white head on lap and then pretending vaguely like it was a sheer twist of random fate that said head ended up on lap. I can leave him freely to be babysat by adoring grandparents now and know he will be just fine, almost a normal dog. Until of course, I come home, when the whole act is resurrected and I am suddenly the only safe person in the house. He doesn't have me fooled...I know when I am being played for sympathy.
In his absence, I sometimes breathe a sigh of relief. It isn't until I have only Hudson, the large black monster whose personality is diametrically opposite, that I realize how much stress I still carry over the big white boy. I'm not quite sure why as he is truly an easy dog with a few distinct issues but there is still a feeling of being stretched rather tautly. Yet, when I return to him, I find I have missed him so deeply and his quiet nature hides a depth and presence that so profound it leaves a rather gaping hole in its absence. What a leap we have made in a month. If only I could make a leap like that myself. On that note, I gazed back tonight and the photo above is what I saw. The best bedroom in the world. I'll sleep there again some day. In the meantime, I have one dog to restrain and one to push out into the world.
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