OkcPets Magazine January 2023

22 OKC Pets • January / February 2023 ly drained and defeated. She was by no stretch of the imagination a purebred Dal- matian, but this dog pulled at my heart. I loved her before I ever gave her that first reassuring pat. Her name became Tansy, a nod to her rescuers who also tended to the beauti- ful flowers at the gardens where she was found. The veterinarian’s exam quickly re- vealed that the legions of ticks she endured had left her with an unwelcome gift in the form of ehrlichia, a tick-borne disease. Her aches, pains, and lethargy had a catalyst, one that now identified, we could resolve. Tansy settled into a kennel at the vet- erinary hospitial to begin her journey to good health. And there, I could see she felt safe. She had everything she thought she needed. A space of her own, soft blankets, people who spoke kind words to her, fresh water, and good food twice a day, every single day. And with that, a few of the cracks in her tired heart began to fill. A week later, I returned with a leash. As soon as I slipped it around her neck, she habitually turned toward the door that led out to the kennel yard. But this time, I urged her toward a different door, the door that led out of the hospital. Sweet Tansy immediately stopped. Her eyes clouded with concern, her head and tail drooped low. Again, I could feel her speaking to me. She was afraid to leave. The unknown, the “what next,” had never been her friend. She had no reason to trust any- thing on the other side of that hospital door. I coaxed her, I encouraged her, I made her so many promises about good things to come. Reluctantly she followed me to the parking lot and allowed me to help her into my car. Her resignation escaped in a long, deep sigh as she laid her head down, staring blankly into the back of my Jeep. I concentrated hard as I drove, trying to send her feelings and mental pictures, just as she had done for me. I thought about my house with all the soft dog beds and dog-friendly furniture. I envisioned our big backyard and how beautiful the view is at sunrise when dewdrops on every strand of grass sparkle like precious gems. I thought about the resident dogs out romping and playing, then coming inside to stretch out in the air-conditioned comfort. I thought about how dogs in our home didn’t have a care in the world. Could she hear me? Did she feel the peaceful images I was trying to send to her? I could see her in the rearview mirror, head still down, unmoving, but maybe I did sense some little glances my way. Per- haps a little desire to trust was blooming in her own mind. We arrived home and she peered out of the open car door tentatively. As I helped her to the ground she sniffed a bit, taking in more information than any of us can imagine with each small inhalation. We walked toward the house, and I could feel her uncertainty mounting. There was not much I could do for her beyond offering my own calm demeanor as her guide. Once inside, she was met by a few of our calmer dogs. Oh, poor girl. She wanted nothing to do with their inquisitive sniffs or their wagging invitations. She sat quick- ly in a “please go away” gesture. Her back curved, her ears pressed flat with worry to the sides of her head, her lips ruffling slightly in protest if any of the dogs tried to come toward her face. “Too much! Too much!” the feelings cried. And so, I listened. I let her scurry into a large crate covered on three sides by a blanket so she could take refuge. I gave her some fresh water and a little snack. Then I just let her be. She needed to pro- cess. She needed to just be a spectator. The other dogs in the house, and there are quite a few, came to the front of the crate to meet the newcomer. They were met with furtive glances and quiet, grum- bling protests not born of aggression, but rather of fear. “Not yet,” the feelings said. “Please let me be invisible.” Their initial curiosity over the newcomer satisfied, the other dogs of our household, both our own dogs and our foster dogs, moved on. There were toys to be chewed, birds to be chased, and sunbeams that begged for nap partners. One hour passed. Two hours. I helped her make a visit outside to relieve herself, and then straight back to the crate. Her idea, not mine. “Not yet.” Three hours, then four hours passed. I left the crate door open. “Up to you,” I thought. That evening, with all the other dogs snoozing around the living room, I heard a little rustle. From the corner of my eye, I saw her tiptoe out of the crate for a brief, cautious look around. “That’s fine,” I thought. “At your own pace, in your own time.” She slept the whole night in the open crate. Her trips to the yard were still at my side leashed and protected from prying noses. But as night gave way to morning I saw it — that undeniable little glimmer called hope. She stepped quietly out of the crate and