Gotcha Day #7

 

I used to love going into Petco or Petsmart, reading labels, talking to dog and cat rescue volunteers on the weekends, browsing the cat toy aisle. Then the pandemic happened, and at my daughter’s suggestion, I began using Chewy.com. Besides saving me money and allowing me to stay home and stay safe, the folks at Chewy actually sent Thomas a birthday card. How cool is that?

We count his “Gotcha Day” as his birthday. Sort of. I have no idea how old he is, but he’s definitely a senior boy now. Seven years ago my vet said, “Maaaaayyyybe six-ish…,” so that would make him at least thirteen. Wow. How those years have flown.

Seven years ago, I brought home a dog who wanted nothing to do with me. The first time I actually touched him was the day after I adopted him, after he’d been neutered and I had to pick him up from the vet. In those first moments, I wondered if I’d lost my mind. I couldn’t walk him. I had to corral him in the garage in order to get a leash on him. He was afraid of everything—people, cars, motorcycles (the sound of a motorcycle starting up blocks away would send him into a panic), cell phones. The cats.

The first five days were dicey. Then he adjusted to the routine, allowing me to catch him and walk him (though he kept his tail tucked the entire time). For months, he spent his days curled in a tight ball in a corner of the back yard, and he spent his nights restless and pacing. We walked every day, and I sat with him at night before bedtime, petting him and brushing him, but he would flinch every time I touched him.

Seven years later, he still flinches when I touch him. Every. single. time—except in the wee hours of the morning, when I lean over the side of the bed, reach my hand down and stroke his head if he’s having a bad dream. Then he sighs and settles, stretching his legs and drifting back to sleep.

About a year and a half ago, he decided he actually liked being petted and having his back rubbed at night (something I’ve been doing just about every night since bringing him home). He realized that my bedtime ritual meant he was going to “get love,” and he started his new habit of plunking himself down on the bedroom floor just outside the bathroom, wagging his tail and watching me brush my teeth. When I finish, he moves his head excitedly from side to side, sort of pointing to his back with his nose, if that makes sense. When I sit on the floor beside him, he immediately flops over on his side. As I rub his back and scratch his ears, his entire body relaxes. Sometimes he falls asleep there on the floor. Sometimes Purrl gets jealous and bites his toes, at which point he jumps up. But he never retaliates. Such a good boy.

Around the same time that he started that habit, he created a game called "come-and-get-me-because-I-would-much-rather-get-love-than-go-for-a-walk." At least that's how I think of it. Every single morning when I lift his collar and leash from the hook by the back door, he bounds away into the living room, wagging his tail, woofing quietly and doing dog bows. When I get within three or four feet of him, he takes off down the hallway to the bedroom. Once there, he flops on his side in "get love" mode, refusing to get up until I rub his back and his belly as he rolls from side to side, kicking me with his feet in a fit of playfulness that is amazing for a dog his age. It is the only time he is playful, so I take full advantage, and we sit on the floor like that for a good five minutes until I finally trick him into getting up by walking away down the hallway, at which point he will get up and acquiesce to going for a short walk.

Lately, we have been doing fewer walks out in the hills together. His joints are old and creaky, and he hates doing hills. (So do I, but they are necessary in order to maintain fitness. As a dog, he doesn’t care about all that.) I have a new supplement on order, and I’m hopeful it will help him with that, but even still, he’s not enjoying the walks out there, so I’ve had to go by myself.

We still walk, though, every morning after he’s eaten half his breakfast, usually around 5:30. Sometimes we leave the house late enough to see the first glimpse of the sunrise. We do a lap around the block, and then he finishes his food. In the evening, I take him ‘round again, just at sunset. He hates to walk when there are people still out and about, but he has learned that part of being a good boy is to tolerate what I ask of him.

After all these years, he never overtly shows me affection, and he’s still learning to trust me. His bout with pancreatitis a year ago and another day-long ordeal in the emergency room for stomach issues in December have drawn us closer, however. He is always so relieved to finally return home and feel safe again that it strengthens his bond with me. He knows that when he hurts, I will help him.

Seven years ago I went to my local shelter looking for a 30-40 pound friendly female dog. I came home with a 60 pound feral problem child with severe fear and anxiety issues. And I’m so, so glad I did.

Thomas today, January 16, 2021.