My Canine Therapist

If you're not a huge pet lover, feel free to ignore this post.  I'm about to get real sentimental about my dog, and not everyone can get down with people who love their pets as much as I love mine.  Fair warning, what you are about to read is sappy and a little cheesy, but oh-so-true.

For those of you who haven't met our dog, this is Scrappy.  

Scrappy Von Groff.  

We adopted him the day I found out I was pregnant (happy coincidence).  Our journey with Scrappy has not been a walk in the park.  He's part Doberman and part Corgi, and he very much has the Dobie temperament.  He thinks he's about 4x the size he actually is (which is all of about 18lbs, by the way).  He's very much of a watchdog and he's incredibly protective of me.  It probably didn't help that the first 9 months we had him, I was pregnant, because some of his protective behaviors intensified during that time.  We took him to extensive training ("Doggy Boot Camp", as we refer to it) over the summer, in preparation for introducing a baby to our household, and the training was life-changing for him and for us.  During training, he learned some basic obedience stuff (although he's a pretty smart dog and already had the basic commands down), as well as some new habits for calming his anxiety around strangers.  The trainer also taught us some important skills for redirecting him and regaining his focus when he gets worked up.  The training was as much for us as it was for him, since we both grew up without dogs and were ill-prepared to deal with such a "high needs" dog.  After training, the trainer emphasized the importance of consistency, being firm with him, and giving him the structure he needs to prevent some of his problem behaviors.  We were on the right track and doing a really good job with that.  And then we lost Virginia.  And poor Scrappy lost his firm yet loving parents for a brief amount of time.  Consistency and structure went by the wayside.  Chaos became the new normal.  I especially became quite detached, and Pat took on a lot of the responsibility of caring for him while I was lost in my deep grief. During that time, Scrappy did a major backslide.  He fell back into his old protective behaviors, which were intensified even more because he could sense that something was not right with both of us being home all the time and rarely leaving the couch, let alone the house.  Yet he was still faithfully there everyday, wagging his tail and jumping on me, excited to see me every morning when I opened the door to his crate.  And when we started to venture out of the house a little more, he was still my loyal pal, excited as ever when I'd come home from running errands or walking to the mailbox.  Everytime he'd see me after us being separated was like the happiest moment of his life; he would sometimes even tinkle a little bit (which he hadn't done in months).  Slowly, as life began to return to a normal level of functioning and Pat returned to work, I began spending more and more time with Scrappy, playing and rolling around on the floor, throwing the ball for him to chase, and taking walks through the neighborhood.  There were days I wanted to just stay in bed (more often than not, that was how I felt).  He would sit next to the bed and just stare at me, or curl up in a ball on the floor next to the bed.  Sometimes, he'd rest his head on my lap while I cried.  Or he'd sit at my feet while I bawled and screamed and got angry at the world.  Other times, he'd sit and stare at me and just cry himself.  I began to realize that Scrappy needed me to do more than just exist, he needed me to start living again.   He needed me to engage him, even if that only meant petting his head or playing tug-of-war for a few seconds.  Eventually, I began to emerge from my haze.  He pulled me out of a really dark time. There are so many days that, had it not been for Scrappy, I would have stayed in bed, curled up in a ball and shutting out the world.  He gave my life purpose and meaning during a time when I wasn't sure my life would ever have either again.  He was my reason for getting up, for putting on clothes, for getting out of the house.  He was like my own little canine therapist.  Just by being him, he brought me back to life.  I am certain that my grieving and healing process would have been much different if it wasn't for him.  I have since had many conversations with my friends who are fellow pet owners about how intuitive and therapeutic pets can be, and although Scrappy still has his problems (one of my friends calls him "misunderstood", which is very fitting), he has helped me in a way that nobody else in my life could have.  

To my Scrap-Nasty,

I promise I will spend the rest of your life being the best pet owner I can because you deserve that for what you've given me.  Thank you.