What I learned from losing my dog
What I learned from losing my dog
This is Wally. From day one, he was the best — calm, confident, and smart. Catching cottontail rabbits and coyotes were his top bucket list items but he never got to cross them off before his life on earth ended from prostate cancer at 10 years old last October. But he did live a life filled with walks, naps, going on trips with us, and watching my two kids run circles around him and invite him to tea parties – formal dresses and crowns required. He’d sit there patiently, so gentle and sweet.
I’d give all my money to someone who could tell me his backstory so I can understand how he became this cool before he joined us as a 4-year-old rescue. During one of his routine checkups an X-ray revealed he had been shot with a shotgun, pellets still stuck in his behind. Not even bullets in his butt stopped Wally from being composed and collected.
When we adopted Wally, I was treading water after I already completed a marathon. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep my head above the surface. My daughter was a little over a year old and I was falling apart from postpartum depression. I had a stressful and demanding job. I worked from home and was chained to my desk, with almost no social life, in a new town in which I knew no one except a few neighbors several decades older than me. I felt empty and hormones made me want my world to end and so I’d sit and hug Wally while rivers lined my cheeks. He was fully in, sitting there patiently, so gentle and sweet.
When he died, it cut deep for me and everyone in my house, including our two cats, who kept looking for him and acted odd for weeks after the sudden lack of his presence gutted a huge hole in the root of our home.
There’s a million ways to grieve. I decided to fill the emptiness by looking for another dog about a month after Wally died. Was it too soon? Probably.
Who needed rescuing?
Over the next several months, I spent a lot of time researching dogs, applying for dogs, meeting with organizations and arranging meet and greets. It’s tough to find an adult dog who is good with kids and cats. Puppies weren’t an option for us, with no desire to raise another “baby” in our already full household.
We did trials with two dogs, took them home, and had to return them. One dog wanted to chase and eat our cats. Then I needed to save another dog who had recovered from being chained to a pole, leaving her to starve with her litter. She bit my husband twice and I wouldn’t take the risk around my children.
Defeated, I decided to buy a trained dog. If I couldn’t “rescue” one, I’d throw money at my problem of finding the perfect dog. I was in a rush to replace the wound from our lost dog(s) and I was obsessed over making this happen.
All the while, I didn’t realize my depression was slowly yet heavily creeping in on me. From the moment our fully trained 2-year-old labrador entered my home, I hoped he’d be something right in my life because everything else felt like rubbing my skin on sandpaper.
The 6 weeks we had him was a confusing nightmare. I believe he sensed the mental load that was brewing in me and he reacted to me. He was desperately trying to help me but didn’t know how. Instead, all this time, I was trying to “fix” our dog, he pooped and peed in our house consistently, he barked in his crate (a typical safe zone for him), he couldn’t be left alone for a second, he barked and growled at people and small children who came to visit. The issues got worse and he started growling at me too.
Our home was a rubber band, stretched too long.
My own mental issues mirrored the same trajectory, combined with hormonal swings. I went through a time intensive and expensive alternative treatment for my depression. The band inched further out as I tried to survive going through each day. Our dog’s behavior continued to decline dramatically and I feared either he or I would snap so I arranged for his trainer to take him and help him.
We’d be leaving to go on a summer trip in a couple months anyway. We’d deal with finding another dog — if I even felt like I could do this to myself or to our family — after getting back.
When we least expected it
Our trained dog left and some of the dense fog in the house lifted. The thick air continued to burn off slowly as I took the time to focus on getting myself better, mainly working with my psychiatrist and OB-GYN on new medication plans.
I hadn’t realized I had been depressed for months, catapulted by Wally’s sudden death. A trip away with my family helped me continue to heal.
Midway through our nearly three week trip, I received a text from my neighbor.
Did you guys ever get a dog? We are fostering a 4 year old female white shepherd. “Maeve” is a doll, good with cats and so so so sweet. She’s quite overweight at the moment but beautiful and will be an amazing family dog. Just thought of you guys….
When I showed my husband the text, he was shocked. He had a dream the night before about a white german shepherd. Was it a sign?
To me, it was an epiphany. It’s like trying to find yourself a boyfriend. You’ll never find the one when you’re looking. He’ll come when you least expect it, catch you off guard, hair disheveled and with no makeup on.
After months of scouring the internet for dog profiles, filling out multiple-page applications, vetting with organizations and breeders, this one fell into my lap. Since my mission to find another dog started in November, every single step was forced. I pushed. I trudged. I wanted to fill the void so badly, I forced this into our lives. None of it worked. Let that be a reminder, in so many aspects of my life.
Making Maeve
We met Maeve, conveniently fostered 4 houses down the street from us. It allowed us to have her over for play time, walks, and hanging out before officially adopting her. Unfamiliar with german shepherds, I wasn’t used to a dog who chose one person. She chose me and stuck to me, like velcro, everywhere I went. Bathroom breaks and changing in my closet were no longer zones for privacy. She played ball only if I was around. She twisted and turned with my every move, from the two steps down the hallway to the two steps the other way around when I forgot the thing I needed in the living room.
It seemed like my kids, my husband and my nephew were bummed that a bond wasn’t happening so easily with them. All her time was with me. She only willingly came to them when a treat was involved. I felt responsible for making this dog perfect for everyone because, after all, I failed the dogs before her, and I failed to find the right dog for my family.
So I left a part of me aside. I tucked it away like an avocado in a paper bag hoping the next time you open it, it will be ripe and ready for everyone to enjoy. If I didn’t get too attached, maybe Maeve will find a bond with her other humans.
I’d leave her in the house with my nanny and kids while I worked in my office. I’d be sort of pushy with everyone to play with her, pet her, practice her tricks of “sit, shake, lay down.” I encouraged my husband to walk her instead of me. I even tried to bring a friend’s dog over to see if having another dog around would help her.
Most of these were great ways to bond. None of it truly worked and it was because her person, who she needed the most, wasn’t fully in.
Who needs who more?
I decided to take her with me out to a coffee shop in Oceanside last week. She did great and was happy to be with me. People loved petting my furry gentle ball of snow. Then we moved to another coffee shop and something I’m unaware of triggered her. She cowered underneath my table, she would pace only as far as the leash would take her, and then she began to shake and pant heavily.
In the middle of this coffee shop is when I knew that Maeve needed me, not just a slice.
Maeve needed what Wally did for me when I was alone in my office crying 7 years ago. She simply needed me to completely participate by sitting there patiently, so sweet. I opened up that paper bag and let Maeve hop right in with me. Doing so wasn’t a huge difference in my actions toward her but it’s the little things that make a big impact, like how I hug her, how I pet her, how I really embrace my moments with her.
Maeve and I are two ripe avocados, ready to make guacamole for everyone to enjoy. I can tell she’s slowly better bonding with my crew. After all, if I’m the pack leader, I need to show how it’s done. It may not be obvious to others but I can see her finding more confidence when she can find safety in me. She deserves her person to fully commit.
I lost Wally but learned what it means to truly be present for Maeve. I couldn’t save every dog but learned that pushing, or in my case, forcing, something to happen may lead to a lot of heartbreak.
Maeve has been with us for 5 weeks. Research says it takes 3 months for a dog to acclimate and understand this is her home. I hope she’s starting to figure that out with us more each day.
