Our neighbors are celebrating Fourth of July a little early and setting off some fireworks. I took Charlie out on the shorter leash so that I could keep him close to me in case they made him antsy.
Not only did they make him antsy, but he went into some serious anxiety - tail curled between his legs, walking low the ground, pulling harshly on the leash to get away from the noise. I just sat there and held him for awhile as I tried to calm him down. Then I attempted to walk around a bit to see if he would realize that he's safe and it's OK. Mom was there with us and she was extremely helpful as well, but he wouldn't budge. So I carried the baby back pretty close to the house - though it was tough to carry a 30 pound dog in from the fields. So I put him down, also at the suggestion of my mother, and he high-tailed right onto the porch and sat down in front of the door.
It makes me sad to know that noises like that frightened him as much as they did - God only knows what sorts of things he experienced to make him respond like that. We were talking with the vet earlier, and mom asked, "Well, and maybe we don't know, but do you think they remember? Y'know, the bad stuff?" And without hesitation, the vet responded, "absolutely." And I'm sure he'll have moments, such as tonight, where he has a panic attack and falls back into his former life. But I also know he's beginning to have moments of clarity - moments where he realizes that he's safe and loved now. And I am so, so grateful that he knows that our house is safe and that he knows that's where he should be.
Now he's following me very, very closely around the house. This also makes me grateful - he's realizing that I will keep him safe, and that I'm his person. I was just in the kitchen cleaning up the leftovers from dinner and I look down to see Charlie sitting just a hair away from me, staring intently outside. It's such a strange array of emotions - I get teary eyed for so many reasons: that he was treated so fucking poorly, but that I also get the chance to give him a new life, and that he's already turning into a new, happy, playful dog. It sounds so cheesy that I get weepy over this, but I can't help it. A friend of my categorized me pretty well the other day: not so rational but very emotional - and that's not necessarily a bad thing.
I have a lot of work ahead of me, but it's a blessing that I get to do this for this dog. And it's a blessing because he makes me so happy and full.
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