Learning How to Heal

What Loving My Dog Taught Me about Self-Care

When our story began, I was the subject of the sentence, the one who had done the rescuing. Oliver had shown up one day, emaciated and afraid, a stray who wore all the signs of having been dropped off in the neighborhood. At some point in the days preceding his lonely wanderings, a human had considered his fate and decided to let it be determined by whomever took mercy and let him in or, worse, by whomever didn’t.

As if abandonment were not enough, Oliver had also been abused. He shook in fear. He cowered. Around men, his fear grew into self-preservation: a snarl, a growl, sometimes a snap in one’s direction, though even then, he never bit. To let teeth hit flesh was more than was necessary to say he feared for his safety, that he needed space in which trust could be earned.

To care for Oliver was to earn that trust, providing comfort and shelter until he began to feel safe. To love Oliver was to be patient and understanding, salving wounds he could neither point to nor vocalize. To extend compassion in this way was also to take a risk — there was no guarantee that he would come to reciprocate what I had offered — but in time, he began to let his body grow soft next to mine, and later, he began to seek out the warm comfort of cuddling in my arms. With the passing of more time, the trust he forged with me began to extend outward to include those he knew I trusted. I witnessed the ripple effect of love.

At the moment Oliver appeared, I was only beginning to emerge from the aftermath of an exploitative relationship. I, too, was experiencing the deep pain of distrust and fear, of bearing wounds that others could not see. I, too, had my own ways of cowering or of scaring off those extending their hand to me. When the hand that has fed you has also hurt you, it’s hard to resist the temptation to bite, or at least to pretend like you will, if that’s what it takes to keep yourself safe.

My empathy for Oliver was of the sort that can only come from deep knowing, from experiential understanding, and as I helped him heal, I learned a great deal about what it would take to heal my own wounds. I would have to extend to myself, at long last, the patience and understanding that I had been able to give to Oliver so easily. I would have to extend to myself love.

Over seven years have passed since Oliver came into my life, but now when I tell our story, it goes a little differently: One day a little dog showed up. He was abused and emaciated and afraid. I took him in, and though I did not know it then, he had come to rescue me.