This month is Skye’s third year anniversary of coming to live with me (see previous posts Night Skye, A Celebration of Skye’s First Year and Rescue Dog: For the Love of Skye). I wasn’t going to mark it on the blog but something quite amazing has happened lately: Skye is letting me touch her.
This may not sound like a big deal to most of you but Skye has been so fearful for nearly three years, that she would bolt anytime I walked too close to her, anywhere in the house, or any time of day, with one exception.
She would let me CAREFULLY pet her when I tucked the dogs into their beds at night–but not too much and not too close. She was, I should note, very comfortable with the other dogs, Kelee who raised her, and the newer-comer, Finny. She adores them both. I was another story, however. Definitely not a member of Skye’s comfort club.
But, as I said, things have changed. I can actually sit with her, now, and pet her anyplace anytime. I massage her ears and her muscles, I scratch her back and tummy and chest (she favors her chest and lifts her front paws so I can get in there), and I stroke her–long, luxurious, caresses from her nose, down her back, to the tip of her tail; under her soft mouth and chin, her sweet neck and dulaps. She gazes up at me in wonderment and rapture. And I say to her, “You see what you’ve been missing? The DOGS can’t do this for you, can they?”
And that has made me think and wonder: What do I miss by being fearful? What would I be amazed by if I wasn’t bound up by old restrictions? What protections do I hold onto that are no longer necessary?
And honestly, I don’t know. Do you?
On a daily basis my little Skye presents herself to me now…
… asking for the attention, the love, that’s been available to her all along, that she’s been too afraid to accept.
And I ask all of us: What are we missing?
A nod to Skye’s brother dog, Kelee, who brought her around from feral to possible to probable to doable. Dear Skye has done the rest.
Love to you all,