My heart breaks every time Penny flinches.
An arm raised to throw a ball, a leg raised to tie a shoe, a hand above the head to give it a little pat.
She flinches or cowers. It falls to the ground and flies away.
Has improved.
“Better,” anyway, in the sense that she cowers and flinches less, and I know she’s only been with us a short time — not even three months — so we celebrate every improvement, every ounce of confidence.
It’s still.
When I hear my 6-year-old daughter reassure her, “Penny, don’t be afraid. We will never hurt you.” Oh, how it breaks my heart.
Not just for Penny and the life that has led her to expect harm, but for the innocence Violet has lost as she grapples with the idea that people abuse animals. Even Astrid, even at 4 years old, still can’t grasp its nuances. She just knows that Penny needs a little extra love when she’s scared of her. Or a cookie. Astrid is a pro at running to the cookie jar and handing out treats.
My job, as their mom, is to help them overcome these challenging thoughts and feelings. I can’t fix it for them. I can’t take away the animal abuse or Penny’s flinching, but I can help them understand how they feel about it all.
My job, as an adult human being, is to help Penny not only be safe, which she is, but feel confident, which it doesn’t do. Not always, however. He’s making great strides, though. There is a huge chasm between being safe and feeling safe right now, but we are slowly building a bridge across it.
(As an aside, would anyone be interested in a post on the differences between being safe and feeling safe regarding our pups?)
It’s still.
I feel angry.
I feel sad.
I feel frustrated.
A couple of days ago we spent a beautiful fake spring day. Penny found a soft place to lie down in the yard and watch the girls play. Much later, after the girls had gone inside, I went out to get Penny for dinner.
I called her with a wave of my arm and she ducked and ran.
I’m not sure why it happened in that particular case, but it brought tears to my eyes. I stood in her doorway watching her run away from me while I cried.
And, of course, I know it. I know we have made giant, huge strides. Most of the time she comes into the house alone now, when in the beginning it was a big challenge.
Dinner in the hallway headed towards the kitchen instead of the bedroom.
She goes up and down the stairs herself whenever she wants, whereas previously she had to be carried up and down the stairs. (My back is grateful for this progress!)
Penny has made amazing progress.
We have so much hope for her and pride in all she has accomplished.
Overall, it’s all so positive and a true testament to the incredible nature of our dogs.
It’s still.
As I keep reminding girls (and myself): It’s okay to not be okay.
It’s okay to be sad about his past and hopeful about his future. We can hold multiple emotions at once.
It’s okay to be furious about the state of animal welfare in this country and how animal abusers can inflict such devastation and harm, while also focusing on all the ways we can help this dog overcome what he has been through. We can contain multiple ideas at once.
It’s okay to not be okay for a while, and then it’s okay to focus on a little glimmer of light, no matter how small, to find a way to move forward.
For Penny, next time we will work on Karen Global’s relaxation protocol. (If you’re curious, I can write a post about that too.)
Plus, every day we expand his world a little: new parks, new toys and games, another group exercise class that started last night.
Piece by piece her world grows and with it she too. 소액결제 현금화 정보 공유
