The Dog Who Changed Me

As a passionate dog lover, it amazes me that I had been terrified of dogs for...decades. When I was very young, their sharp, loud barks were my fear triggers. I recall my older sister tying my red wagon to the back of her bike for a trip-around-the-block adventure. While careening wildly behind her, my anxiety rose when an unfamiliar German shepherd came bounding towards us. Always quick to think, my sister hopped off her bike, untied the wagon, and rode home as fast as she could. I sat, paralyzed with fear, as the dog circled and sniffed, but then went on his way. Relieved, I ran home, dragging my wagon behind me. Later, I found out that when my sister had arrived home and was questioned as to my whereabouts, she'd replied, "Oh, she's coming. She's right behind me."

Things didn't improve. A childhood friend, convinced she would end my fear of dogs once and for all, brought me over to our neighbors' yard. Their large, impressive boxer stood in front of their porch.

"First," my friend advised, "Just say the dog's name quietly." She looked at the dog. "Hi, Val. Hi, Val." She turned back to me. "Your turn."

"Hi, Val," I said with completely unconvincing friendliness.

"Now," my friend prepared me for Step Two, "Slowly hold out your hand for Val to sniff it, to get to know you."

She held out her hand and, in a split second, there was a sudden lunge, scream, and blood as Val neatly bit into my friend's stomach. I don't even remember getting help, but I know I did. My friend was actually hospitalized for days. And I successfully avoided dogs well into my adult life.

Then, I became a mother. And when our son was about six years old, his greatest desire was to have a dog. I invented all kinds of conditions when I noticed my husband also warming to the idea.

"It can't be larger than a cat when full-grown," I would begin, "And it has to be a puppy so we know it doesn't have a history of aggression."

After every empty-handed return from the shelter, I was relieved. Then, the shelter's director called me.

"We have the perfect puppy for you. He's adorable! Just five weeks old."

"What kind of breed?"

"We can't be positive, but we think he's a beagle-chihuahua mix. He's white with black dots...you have to see him!"

Dutifully, we drove straight to the shelter. And we saw, truly, the most adorable little puppy. Pretty much like the one illustrated in the old Pokey Little Puppy book. When I cautiously stared into his eyes, I could see nothing but an abundance of sweetness. He'd already won the approval of my husband and son.

"Okay," I agreed, "Okay."

The little puppy was named Wallace aka Braveheart. The tiny "beagle-chihuahua mix" somehow grew into a 105 lb. setter-dalmatian-pointer mutt. And, ironically, he became My Dog and constant companion for 5 years. Whatever room I was in, he was there. Anytime I walked somewhere, he was by my side. I've tried, but I still cannot bring myself to write about his unforeseen illnesses and untimely death. But, he was the sole reason for my switch from dog-fearer to dog-lover.

I remember being shocked at the silence of our house with Wallace's absence. And now our current wonderful shelter dog, Abbey [whom I have promised will get her own blog entry], has him to thank for her new home.