How I Met My Dog

How I Met My Dog
How I Met My Dog
"Help me! I’m homeless!"

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It was early December when I got the phone call about a Pit Bull whose owner had died of a drug overdose. The caller, a concerned neighbour, had heard I was sympathetic to the breed and that I might be able to help them, being that I am an animal communicator. If the dog didn’t get moved quickly she would be put to sleep.

I went to visit the dog and assess her mental state. The neighbour’s uncle took me into their barn to a stall that was serving as the dog’s holding pen. I could see this sweet female looking over the partition, desperate to get out. When she saw me her tail wagged out of control, her hips moving back and forth like they were hinged at her waist. As I lowered my hand to her, she found my fingers with her tongue and licked them hysterically. Her name was Cuddles.

“Help me! Please let me out! I scared,” she wordlessly told me. “Help me! Please help me!”

I made a dozen phone calls and came up with a course of action. The next day I would rescue the dog. She would go to a Pit Bull rescue.

The morning of the rescue was beautiful. The sky was blue and the air was crisp. My friend Suzanne volunteered to help me transport Cuddles. When I arrived, Suzanne had already removed the ginger girl, who sat quietly in the sun in her crate. I looked at this beautiful dog and she stared intensely back at me. I smiled at her and put my fingers through the bars. She gently licked them. Her eyes were full of grief and sorrow, her brow furrowed in worry. In spite of her obvious fear and grief it was easy to see she had a heart of gold.

“I’m going home with you,” she said. “I’m yours. I know this, and I’m coming home with you. Let’s get out of here! Please! Take me! I love you!”

I had no intention of adopting a dog that day. I already had two wonderful dogs at home and was not looking for another. I looked at her and told her I was very sorry, but I was just her transporter; I was not her forever home. It broke my heart. Her wagging tail continued to beat a riff on the metal crate. It punctuated every sentence as she spoke to me.

“I’m going home with you. PLEASE!!! I’m good. I love you! Don’t leave me! Let’s go!”

It was her mantra. My heart ached for her. I could feel her love. She had already been through so much and now she would have to adjust to rescue. My heart sank a little further. This was not going to be easy.

Soon we had her secured in the back of my car and off we went. As I drove I sang to her hoping it would help to settle her nerves. I could feel her relief to be out of the barn, but I could also feel her fear of the unknown. I kept a positive banter going with her the whole way. She needed to hear she was going to be okay. I told her over and over: don’t worry we’ll keep you safe.

We were almost to the Pit Bull rescue when she jumped into the front seat with me. She put her forelegs on the console, smiled sweetly, licked my cheek, then turned her back to me and watched out her window.

My first job was to take her to the veterinarian for spaying. The doctor’s office was filled with cats, dogs, ducks, and peacocks. Still the dog behaved perfectly; she didn’t even bark.

A few hours later, we got the call that the surgery had gone well and that the dog was waking up. I entered the office; she was lying on a crib mattress with her eyes closed and tail wagging. She was just opening her eyes. She was very happy to see me. The vet told me that she was perfect.

“You’re not going to take her to rescue tonight now are you? he asked. “She could really use a couple days in a quiet environment. She’s such a nice dog; I would keep her if I could.” I swear I saw that dog wink at the vet.

Cuddles did come home with me. I tucked her in for a sound sleep; she was still under sedation and needed rest. When I came back a few minutes later to check on her my husband was spooning with her on the floor. She had found her forever home.

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