a girl and her dog

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The following post is dedicated to Russ and Sue. You’ll know when it’s time.

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Once upon a time, there was a beautiful little girl whose mother loved her more than anything – even salty french fries on the beach, and if you knew this mom, you’d know that, well, that’s A LOT.

Life wasn’t always easy for this mother’s little angel, but  it was obvious to anyone who met her that there was nothing that she couldn’t do if she set her mind to it.

This tiny heroine had a number of challenges. She had autism, you see and for her autism came with crippling anxiety. Lots of it. And that pervasive anxiety came with some specific fears that went far beyond the typical scope of childhood worries. These fears were quite literally paralyzing.

The little girl was terrified of dogs. Not afraid of them – TERRIFIED. She would climb the nearest human like a koala when a dog came too close. She would hoot and holler and cry. She would dig her fingernails into her protector, doing anything she could to get as far as possible from the source of her terror.

Her mother wrote often about her daughter’s debilitating fear. She wrote about it HERE and HERE and HERE and well, even HERE and HERE and HERE. And probably in a whole lot of other places that she can’t currently find. Her daughter’s fear of dogs was well-known to all of those who loved her. And even those who knew her in passing. Particularly those passing with a dog.

One day, this little girl’s life would change forever. She would meet a particular dog. Despite her reticence to get anywhere near him, she would declare her desire to bring him home. Her mother would nearly pass out, then compose herself and set off on a mission to find a dog that they could indeed bring home. Not just a dog, but the right dog. A dog that would somehow understand.

And so she searched. And she searched and she searched and well, she searched.

And then one day, through the kind of twist of fate that only happen in stories like this, a dear family friend would call to tell her that the search was over. That the mother could rest. She didn’t need to find the dog because the dog had found them. And as it turned out, he needed them just as much as they needed him.

Their world would never be the same.

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Winston came into our lives in April. The first two weeks were hard. The kind of hard of horror shows. The kind of hard that makes you question every decision you’ve ever made. The kind of hard that forces you to wonder what the hell you were thinking bringing a dog into the home – and the life – of a child who is saddled with a morbid fear of animals. The kind of hard that leaves you in tears as your daughter jumps from chair to sofa to coffee table, too afraid to set a single foot on the ground of her own home for nearly two full weeks. The kind of hard that makes you wonder who in their right mind would follow the lead of a seven-year old – even though somewhere down deep you still knew that if she wanted this, she could do it. The kind of hard that makes you wonder if you might have to break four hearts (five?) and ask the dear soul who brought this sweet boy into your life to take him back and find him a more suitable home. The kind of hard that you are convinced won’t ever end.

But then one day, there’s a breakthrough. She touches his back with a toe as he walks by.

You write and read the social story to her, day in and day out - My dog’s name is Winston.

Then another breakthrough. She feeds him a treat, throwing it out onto the floor to him, still too afraid to get close.

You haul out the old baby gates and create safe spaces in the house, where she is free to roam without fear.

Then another breakthrough. She lightly touches his ear with a single finger.

She helps get him his water. She is taking care of him. He needs her.

Then another breakthrough. She slowly, gradually alights from the furniture and comes to join the family on ground level.

You let her come to him in her own time, in her own way.

Then another. She sits on the kitchen floor with him and lets him sniff her as he walks by. She doesn’t scream.

You let her hold the leash with you as you walk him.

Then another. She asks to pet a dog in a store.

Little by little, step by step, you start forgetting to mark the progress. Suddenly, it just is.

And one day you take out your camera when she’s not looking and snap pictures of what could only have been described as a miracle just five months earlier. And as you look through the lens you suddenly remember where you were. And you can hardly believe what you see.

Just a girl, her dog and a tenacious love – a love far greater than fear.

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To Miss A and her mom, Miss K who entrusted us with Winston …

You have changed the life of this little girl. We can never adequately express our gratitude. We love you!