Luna came into our lives a year ago this month. An earnestly goodhearted young creature with giant bat like ears and endearingly bright amber eyes; Luna was from the New Mexico desert and newly landed in Utah, rescued from a cull by Rescue Rovers and now adopted by us.
Sweet little Luna, her beseeching eyes nearly came out of her head on that drive home. I sat with her, as she shivered and her cries trembled out of her throat. On the way home, we stopped for a new collar and treats. She politely took them but could only cough them back out of her dry mouth.
We introduced her, on leash to Charles, but our caution proved unnecessary. She was too scattered and only briefly touched her nose to his. We showed her the house, introduced her to her crate, toy box and last to her bed next to ours.
Luna inherited Sal’s giant bed; this bed sports a large yellow egg shell foam core (to cuddle my Sal’s achy bones), topped with a soft giant quilt folded in four and pillow. I had de-furred and thoroughly washed this deluxe set up and added a stuffed animal I had been sleeping with.
Tidal waves of anxiety were rolling off of her. I sat down on the floor and patted her bed to encourage her onto it. She heavily sighed and walked her trembling self onto it. She let me cuddle her close and pressing my forehead to hers I whispered she was safe, how excited we were to get to know her -I know she could not comprehend my words but dogs can innately pick up the tenor of our tones.
I stoked her shoulders and face until the shivering abated and decided to leave her unleashed overnight.
She slept the sleep of the dead and didn’t move once. I didn’t bother to get her up the next morning as I left for work either. My sweetheart did get her up later and let her out in the yard. She ran her heart out exploring and as he went to retrieve her, (so he could go to work) he discovered the difficulty of recalling a little desert dog who did not have a name, much less any understanding of human words.
An hour later he did get her back into the house after bribing with lunch meat and other tasty treats.
Overwhelmed by the onslaught of terrifying noise (cars, garage doors, blow dryers, microwaves), she trucked through the first three months by sleeping… a lot. I started tracking and I think she actually slept about 22 hours out of every 24.
We took her for long walks every single day. I constantly pulled her tucked tail back up and kissed her face. I inundated her with treats, using the words I wanted her to learn; Luna, treats, watch me, potty, outside, inside, leave it, walk, ride, go ahead, go to bed, go to kennel…
Four months in she began to wake up. At this time we were flooding her with toys to give her outlets as she graduated from being kenneled when we are gone. Overcoming her fear of the car was a game of patience. As she grew to trust me, I would sit in the back seat and coax her in with treats.
Now, the words, ‘Let’s go for a ride’ results in a ballistic dance of happiness.
Looking back over this year, quite a few people have said she thrived because of our patience and the time we spent working with her. While that is true… she was incredibly patient with us too.
Yesterday, someone complimented her and I offhandedly replied, “Yeah! It has been a lot of work” they kinda paused and said, “I know you say that but every time I see her, she seems so gentle and focused on trying to be good, trying to understand”
I paused and ruefully agreed.
I have been holding back. I loved my Sal dearly. Just typing that, I could bawl for an afternoon.
Little Luna and I went for a walk yesterday and a few minutes in she came bounding up, to say hello, to check in, to kiss my hand and then dart off with lightning speed.
I stopped and she froze. Many yards away, she froze. She was listening for my steps and paused when she didn’t hear them. I knelt down just as she looked back. And in that moment, she launched at me, hurling her slender self with such velocity she couldn’t stop in time and I didn’t get out of the way. We collided in a mess of tail wagging and snow covered laughing.
Sweet little Luna, her beseeching eyes nearly came out of her head on that drive home. I sat with her, as she shivered and her cries trembled out of her throat. On the way home, we stopped for a new collar and treats. She politely took them but could only cough them back out of her dry mouth.
We introduced her, on leash to Charles, but our caution proved unnecessary. She was too scattered and only briefly touched her nose to his. We showed her the house, introduced her to her crate, toy box and last to her bed next to ours.
Luna inherited Sal’s giant bed; this bed sports a large yellow egg shell foam core (to cuddle my Sal’s achy bones), topped with a soft giant quilt folded in four and pillow. I had de-furred and thoroughly washed this deluxe set up and added a stuffed animal I had been sleeping with.
Tidal waves of anxiety were rolling off of her. I sat down on the floor and patted her bed to encourage her onto it. She heavily sighed and walked her trembling self onto it. She let me cuddle her close and pressing my forehead to hers I whispered she was safe, how excited we were to get to know her -I know she could not comprehend my words but dogs can innately pick up the tenor of our tones.
I stoked her shoulders and face until the shivering abated and decided to leave her unleashed overnight.
She slept the sleep of the dead and didn’t move once. I didn’t bother to get her up the next morning as I left for work either. My sweetheart did get her up later and let her out in the yard. She ran her heart out exploring and as he went to retrieve her, (so he could go to work) he discovered the difficulty of recalling a little desert dog who did not have a name, much less any understanding of human words.
An hour later he did get her back into the house after bribing with lunch meat and other tasty treats.
Overwhelmed by the onslaught of terrifying noise (cars, garage doors, blow dryers, microwaves), she trucked through the first three months by sleeping… a lot. I started tracking and I think she actually slept about 22 hours out of every 24.
We took her for long walks every single day. I constantly pulled her tucked tail back up and kissed her face. I inundated her with treats, using the words I wanted her to learn; Luna, treats, watch me, potty, outside, inside, leave it, walk, ride, go ahead, go to bed, go to kennel…
Four months in she began to wake up. At this time we were flooding her with toys to give her outlets as she graduated from being kenneled when we are gone. Overcoming her fear of the car was a game of patience. As she grew to trust me, I would sit in the back seat and coax her in with treats.
Now, the words, ‘Let’s go for a ride’ results in a ballistic dance of happiness.
Looking back over this year, quite a few people have said she thrived because of our patience and the time we spent working with her. While that is true… she was incredibly patient with us too.
Yesterday, someone complimented her and I offhandedly replied, “Yeah! It has been a lot of work” they kinda paused and said, “I know you say that but every time I see her, she seems so gentle and focused on trying to be good, trying to understand”
I paused and ruefully agreed.
I have been holding back. I loved my Sal dearly. Just typing that, I could bawl for an afternoon.
Little Luna and I went for a walk yesterday and a few minutes in she came bounding up, to say hello, to check in, to kiss my hand and then dart off with lightning speed.
I stopped and she froze. Many yards away, she froze. She was listening for my steps and paused when she didn’t hear them. I knelt down just as she looked back. And in that moment, she launched at me, hurling her slender self with such velocity she couldn’t stop in time and I didn’t get out of the way. We collided in a mess of tail wagging and snow covered laughing.
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