We all enjoyed the stories about the two special Bulgarians in Canada – the two-legged Louie (ex Little Mook) and the three-legged Jeff (ex Negarcheto). Now, when a third dog of ours was adopted at the same home, it is fair and a pleasure to introduce to you Life with Annie (ex Joan of Dark), again written and experienced by our dear friend Tom Chesser.
After four weeks living with Annie, I think I can say, if I want to be fair, that she is a miracle.
One would think that surviving her ordeal would be enough, but it seems the spirit inside her little body just can’t be crushed. Her will, and ability, to recover from whatever life throws at her is extraordinary. She can still be frightened, even terrified, but when given the tiniest comfort she will restore herself from a quivering mass to a quiet, relaxed puppy.
And knowing she will take that comfort in my arms is truly humbling.
I suppose everyone knows that she began her journey to me after Animal Rescue Sofia saved her from the most inexplicable and horrifying abuse. I won’t explain beyond saying that when I look at her x-rays, it makes me cry. Enough of her past.
I picked her up from Jochen Langkeit who had very kindly brought her to Cape Breton from Frankfurt and we arrived home at about 1:30 in the morning. Concerned that a frightened little dog like Annie would grab any chance to hide in a hole, I carried her, still inside her shipping create, into the house. It’s a pity there was no one there to watch the comedy of an old geezer trying to move a crate that only barely agreed to go through the doorway, and still not upset the little one inside. I was too tired to laugh, but someone should have.
Once inside, I took the leash that Jochen had provided, (thanks, again, Jochen), and got down on my hands and knees to remove her from the crate. This was a little dog that had been hideously tortured by someone, didn’t know me, and had a mouth full of razor-sharp puppy teeth.
I made sure I had plenty of Band-Aids at hand.
I took a deep breath, partly to convince her I wasn’t concerned, but mostly to convince myself, and opened the door.
Nothing happened.
Annie was as far back in the crate as she could get, doing her best to convince me she wasn’t there.
Wonderful.
Reminding myself where the bandages were, I reached in with the hand I thought I would be least unhappy to lose, found her collar, and attached the leash. She didn’t resist, but she certainly wasn’t going to help, either. I dragged her close enough to the door to pick her up—and felt really foolish about the Band-Aids. Annie very calmly accepted my embrace.
I took her outside to the enclosed pen and set her down, and Annie really woke up. She tried to run in every possible direction except toward me. I walked slowly with her, and eventually she gave in to nature’s demands and peed. When she finished, I quietly picked her up, took her inside, and put her back in the crate. Then I struggled, (more comedy), to move crate and pup into the room where the pack sleeps, and placed her where she could, or would have to, look at me. Again, she was trying to blend into the back wall. After considerable sniffing by the other eight inmates of my little doggy asylum, we all went to sleep.
To be continued…
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