Twenty-Third Time’s the Charm

Let me start by saying I’m not a dog person. I am a happily catted cat-person.

That being said, here’s the story of how a dog got me.

My wife and I both struggle with depression. In 2015, my wife had a major mental health crisis and she’s still fighting to find her way back to having more good days than bad. For a while she was extremely agoraphobic on top of the depression and anxiety. Leaving the house without me was impossible, and on especially bad days she couldn’t even go into our yard if I was with her. Some days she could barely leave our bedroom. It was really tough because I obviously had to work so I could feed us and keep a roof over our heads, but her mental health took a serious hit when I wasn’t around for long stretches of time.

But she really wanted to move past that and be able to go out on her own. Nothing was really helping—not medication, not therapy. She finally suggested that we try fostering dogs, because a dog would need to go out for walks every day and give her something to do, especially while I was at work. I’ll admit, I was reluctant (see above re: cat person) but I could definitely see this helping her and of course I wanted to be supportive.

We received our first dog. He was a puppy, and he was also close to being our last dog. Luckily, my wife has much more dog-patience than I do.

And then we got three dogs at once. (We actually almost kept one of those, but he wasn’t quite right for us. But we still dog-sit for him sometimes! And he’s my second-favourite dog in the world).

We helped find all of them loving homes, and we got more dogs. We fostered so many dogs that they all blended together (at least for me. My wife still remembers most of them). Some of them were great. Some of them were…less great. None of them were right for us—which was fine, because we Weren’t Looking for a Dog.

But they did help! Just as my wife had suspected, the dogs helped her get outside, without me. She was able to start being more independent again.

I was already in bed when our eventual foster fail arrived. It was after midnight, and my wife brought him home and put him in bed next to me. He immediately curled up against my side, and ok, I’ll admit it, I was touched. Most of them weren’t that cuddly right away. Sometimes never.

Ok, we thought. Friendly dog. Won’t this be a treat?

The next day we took Friendly Dog for a walk, and it quickly became apparent that no, he was actually Scaredy Dog. He was terrified of everything and everyone, and we were so confused—where was the cuddly, trusting dog we’d met at home? As soon as we got back home, there was Friendly Dog again.

Houston, we have a problem. This dog has bonded with us.

Even then, I think all three of us knew it was inevitable, but the two humans tried to be in denial.

We reminded ourselves (and him) over and over that we weren’t looking for a permanent dog. We were only keeping him until he got adopted.

Which quickly became, if he’s not adopted in a month…it’s fate and we’re keeping him.

It doesn’t help that he’s the perfect dog for our home. Low-energy, cat-avoiding, affectionate. Pleasantly dumb. Food-motivated and eager to please. He fits right in.

We were still waffling when I got a text at work from my wife: I’m at a street festival. An old man saw the dog and said he looked just like his old dog. I told him the dog is adoptable, but he just looked me in the eye and said, No. You’re going to keep this dog.

I got goosebumps. I’m not foolish enough to ignore a message that clear. I guess we have a dog, I texted back.

Now, the real work began. For starters, you’re probably wondering about this dog’s name. When we first got him, his name was Spot. Which, while technically accurate, was just shy of naming him Dog, as far as we were concerned. We went through a series of names (he was very close to being named Lobster) before my wife finally thought of the perfect one: Ouija. His collar tag is a planchette. (We have several Ouija-themed items around the house now, including a welcome mat, socks, a mug, and a pillow.)

Ouija had no idea what stairs were. We had to carry him up and down the stairs whenever we let him out for the first little while, and then we had to painstakingly teach him how to climb them. We actually started to wonder if he’d never been outside at all.

The next issue was one of geography. The newly christened Ouija was brought to Saskatchewan, Canada from California. It gets noticeably colder here than what he was used to. Luckily for him he came in September, so he had a month or two to adjust before he was plunged into winter, but he was clearly Not Happy once it got cold enough to snow.

And then his knees started popping out, and it happened more and more often the colder it got. Luckily for him, we live in a city with a dog hydrotherapy centre (or, as we like to call it, swimmies.)

When we got him, his leg muscles were so atrophied from lack of exercise that they were concave. Over the course of our first winter together, we took him to swimmies twice a week (sorry, Ouija!) By spring he’d built up enough muscle to keep his knees in place, and the weather warming up helped, too. We helped him lose some extra pounds. Now, as long as he gets regular walks and we keep an eye on him, he’s good to go.

There’s a large off-leash dog park that we go to whenever we get the chance. The first time we brought Ouija, he was perfectly happy…until we took off his leash. Then he just…stopped. Like full-on dog.exe has stopped working error. He just shut down completely. It scared the hell out of us. We put his leash back on, and then he was fine. We walked for a while, and then we decided to risk taking his leash off again. He didn’t shut down, thankfully, but he would only walk between the two of us. He didn’t leave the path to go romp and play with the other dogs.

He’s come a long way since then.

He loves going to the dog park, especially to the beach. He runs off the trail and explores a little, chasing the other dogs and barking before coming back to us. He loves going for walks by the river near our house (although he is still scared of children, especially boys.) He’s active and he loves running up and down stairs and jumping on things while we’re on walks. I never would have imagined he’d want to do those things willingly, just for fun!

It’s been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life to watch his progress from a chunky, terrified little creature to an almost fully functional dog. He’s still very dog-reactive when he’s on-leash, but we’re working on that and he’s improving every day.

I’ve also gotten to see my wife regain her independence because of him. The two of them have blossomed, bringing out the best in each other and working through their fears together. I owe him so much.

He’s still a work in progress. But, hey, aren’t we all?