My husband and I recently adopted a rescue dog. He had had a rough life by the time he came to live with us. The crowning event was being mauled by another dog in his household. He was rushed to surgery with his jugular vein exposed. When we read the medical report, we could only shake our heads that he had survived at all, that the owner had been able to reach the hospital in time, that the veterinarian had even decided to operate.
When he came to live in our house, we observed how little will he exhibited. He seemed to have no sense of wanting anything. Mostly he tried to stay out of anyone’s sight lines. When he was offered food, he approached it cautiously. He took one step toward it and another step back, as if he were certain he would be punished for his audacity. A few minutes later he would approach his food bowl again, take a piece, and run away with it. He found a hiding place under the dining room table where he stayed for hours at a time.
Gradually, day by day, we built a relationship with him. We fed him at regular times and didn’t interrupt him when he tried to eat. We offered him comfortable places to sleep. We spoke to him gently. We took him on walks. But the main thing was that, as he allowed it, we petted him. And this is how we watched him come back to life. With touch, his will has returned, and with his will has come the capacity to experience delight. In the mornings, our new dog dances and sings. He twirls. When he sees my nephew, to whom he has become attached, he almost does backflips.
