The Little Pack

I love coming home to all my animals. Sometimes I can see Cheyenne’s silhouette from a half mile away, her ears visible even at that distance. Sometimes Jackson is in the yard. When he sees me he rejoices, and takes a wide lap around my car. He runs around to the driver’s side door and I open the door and he sails into the car, over my lap and lands in the passenger seat, tail a-wagging and we drive into the garage. I am greeted with barks and yips and a cacophony of celebratory sounds from the other side of the door. “Hold your horses, I’m coming!!” I say. As soon as I open the door, there are more tails wags, hops, kisses and wiggles and regardless of my mood, it is absolutely impossible not to feel joy at this welcome. The cats soon seem to appear out of thin air, weaving in and out of the dog’s limbs, looking up at me with their sweet faces and it is in these moments that I realize how blessed I am.

We adopted Cheyenne three years ago this week and I am finding it hard to believe that:

a)  She is four years old.

b) It has been three years since that fateful day.

I will never forget that day as long as I live. We went to the adoption fair thinking we would adopt a puppy. They were australian shepherd mixes, and of course they were cute. But we didn’t bond with any of them. We had noticed Cheyenne because of her unusual markings. She slept in her kennel and we ruled her out since we couldn’t evaluate her personality. We left and came back countless times, and finally the last time she was out of the kennel, a huge smile on her face and we both looked at each other and agreed she was the one. We took her over to a field and tried to play with her, but she pretty much stood there looking bemused with us, slightly interested, but mostly confused. That’s okay, we thought, she’s nervous, this is a stressful situation. We discussed our fear that she was “too calm.” Could we have possibly tempted Fate any more?  On the way to the car, she sat down in the parking lot and refused to move. Apparently, this was foreshadowing for her favorite ways to embarrass and frustrate us.

Three years in has me musing about how quickly time flies, how far we have come with her and how far we still have to go, grateful for every minute I have spent with her and privilaged to be sharing my life with this crazy, brown spotted hilarious dog.

Chey Before

Talk about inappropriate nicknames! Archie became the Little Guy when he was just a kitten and was truly a little guy. It stuck with him, even after he clearly outgrew its meaning. Archie greets me every morning. I get up first and the dogs stay in the bedroom with my husband. This is our time together. When he first sees me, he purr-coos and will often meow (actually it is more of a cry) to tell me how he missed me. (I will leave out the part that this seperation is self-induced. He could sleep in the bedroom too if he so desired.) He rubs against me and follows me everywhere I go. I turn the facet on for him and often spend several minutes holding him as I try to make my breakfast. He clearly cherishes this time. As a general rule, I hate mornings, but I do look forward to these special moments everyday.

The before picture is out of focus and taken with a lesser quality camera, but even so the changes in Cheyenne are obvious. She has put on 10 pounds or so in the time that we have had her, just solid muscle, and the forlorn look is gone. She has learned to trust and love us, and she is finally content. The confidence is visible. She has almost grown into her ears. When we adopted her we were told she was full-grown and not expected to grow any more, but I could tell that she wasn’t done growing yet. And sure enough with consistent guidance and unconditional love (and trust me, she has taught me the meaning of that one) she has grown, not only physically but emotionally as well.

When I think back, I am amazed at how far we have come together. She used to gulp her food down as fast as she could swallow it. And she would wolf down anything edible that came her way, as though she did not trust when her next meal was coming. A few years later and she has now realized she has the luxury of being picky about what she eats, daring even to turn her nose up at her dish if it isn’t to her liking. To me, this is proof-positive that she has accepted us fully and completely and has opened her little heart to us, knowing that we won’t hurt her.

For a long time after she came to live with us, if we approached her or moved in an unexpected way, she would immediately flinch, cower and begin trembling. She would tuck her tail and the demons she was battling came to the surface. The only thing I could do was to wrap my arms around her and try to love it out of her. And I did every single time. This went on for 2 years, and she was only a year old when we got her. Over time it has happened less and less frequently and has been about 6 months since the last incident. The only consolation was that each occurrence was an opportunity for healing. I have tried to see it that way, but I can’t begin to tell you the ways in which my heart broke every time this happened.

Over the years there have been so many behavioral difficulties with her, and I have to admit that I was not at all prepared for what I was getting into. As frustrated as I sometimes feel, the pictures offer a wonderful reminder of where we started and how many victories there have actually been. They prove that true progress has really occurred. I am proud of the rapport we have built together. She has tested my patience and resolve and in the end, taught me more about myself and faith than anyone. I am confident that those sad days are behind us and that she will continue to surprise and challenge us. Although I am sure the sailing will not always be smooth, I am sure that journey will be well-worth whatever struggles lay ahead.

Tonight Cheyenne obeyed my (almost) every word. She sat every time I asked her to sit down, laid down every time I asked her to  lay down and even went to the door when I asked her to go inside. Better yet, she was extremely excited when I told her she was a good girl. Of course, she celebrated by chasing down and smashing the kitty. But no matter. She cared what I thought. Outside, when I used my serious voice, she stopped in her tracks and sat. And when we came inside she was submissive to me–she laid down and rolled over without me asking. Is this the beginning of her wanting to please me?