You Are My Person Forever

August 11, 2014 is a day that will forever be etched into my memory. It was a soggy and humid rainy Monday in Chicago, and it was also the day legendary actor Robin Williams died.

I had been volunteering with a dog rescue for about a year when I got the call that we had an intake that was currently in a bad situation, and was being surrendered to the rescue that afternoon. I would be fostering this dog while a better forever home would be found for her. I didn’t know much about her except that her name was Kaya and she was about 3-4 years old. She would be my third foster pup, and I knew the drill at this point.

Typically, dogs sent to rescue organizations are taken from shelters, but sometimes dogs are surrendered by the owner for a myriad of reasons. In this particular situation, I would have to go to Kaya’s current home and she would be surrendered to me. I had been warned that her current owner was a bit ‘eccentric’ but that the process should go smoothly.

That afternoon, I loaded my three kids into the Volvo, and we made the 45 minute drive to the home; listening to talk radio trying to make sense of the tragic death of Robin Williams. It was a surreal car ride, to say the least.

When we arrived, I handed my phone to my oldest and gave her the instruction to call the police if I wasn’t out of the home in fifteen minutes. The home was a typical suburban home without any signs of something sketchy going on, but my gut pinged that I might need backup in this situation.

I knocked on the door, and a man answered. Again, nothing of note, but my intuition was sending S.O.S calls to my brain. The vibe was off. Really off.

We exchanged pleasantries and small talk, and I had braced myself for an emotional goodbye between this man and his dog.

What I got was something completely unexpected…

“Let me show you how well she is trained!” he said proudly as he laid a beach towel on the ground. Kaya obediently laid on the towel and sat as still as a statue. I nodded that it was quite impressive.

“Do you know how I did it?” he asked.

I braced myself already knowing what the answer was, and as an animal lover, it was horrific. From puppyhood, Kaya would be discouraged from leaving her towel through painful stimulus.

I’ll leave it at that, because I can’t even type it out.

“You can’t touch her face because of it or she will bite you, but you can tell her she’s good by rubbing her chest,” he continued to demonstrate proudly while my internal screams became louder.

He also informed me she was food aggressive because food was also used as a reward system. You know that old chestnut, “starve them until they comply.”

Wonderful. I am about to load a ticking time bomb into my station wagon with three children.

However, Kaya was very sweet and eager to please. She took to me immediately right there in the living room as if she knew I was her ticket out of there. I hooked her to the leash and loaded her into the car with my kids. It was a nervous ride home for all of us.

When it came time to introduce her to our family dog, Kina, the two became bonded at first sight. They ran through the backyard together in the rain for hours until they were exhausted. Kina happily waited while Kaya ate and drank from the food dish which was odd for Kina, but she too seemed to instinctively know that our new friend needed a lot of space.

Exhausted from the day, Kina plopped herself on the floor to sleep, but Kaya wouldn’t lay down. She nervously scoped the house looking for a place to lay down, and at that moment it occurred to me she needed a towel to lay on, so I fetched one out of the closet for her and laid it on the floor vowing to phase this out of her life entirely. Dogs deserve soft places to sleep and most importantly, feel safe.

Over the next month, Kaya blended into our family seamlessly, and while she had her quirks, I just let her be and took notes of what we could and couldn’t do around her. Perhaps as a trauma survivor myself, I knew that the best practice was to work with what I had rather than try to change her. She would lead, and I would follow.

Soon she was placed with a foster family that seemed like a great fit. A home and family with kids much like ours, and I felt very confident Kaya would thrive there.

Except she didn’t.

Her new family didn’t understand her trauma and didn’t know how to deal with it, either. So on a cold and cloudy December day, Kaya came back to our house, but I wasn’t prepared for what greeted me that morning.

When the truck bringing Kaya back rounded the corner and she saw me, she began to howl so loudly, you could hear her from half a block away. She almost broke down the door to get to me, and when she did, I was tackled with hugs and kisses like we had been separated for years and years. Kina came to the fence when she heard all of the commotion, and they too reunited like long lost best friends. It was a very happy day.

However, I was not prepared to have two large breed dogs permanently. I had only wanted to foster. My life was in a transitional place, and I simply didn’t think I could shoulder more responsibility. I agreed once again to foster Kaya until we could place her in a better home.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and Kaya was still with us without any issues at all. She was a sweet, docile baby, and I couldn’t figure out why she was misbehaving so badly when we would try to place her. Nobody could figure it out.

In March of 2015, I had a significant event in my life that required me to move from Chicago to Atlanta almost immediately. I wouldn’t be able to take Kaya with me, so I contacted the rescue and let them know someone would have to take over fostering duties for me. Since we are all so experienced with the ‘misunderstood’ dogs that came to us, I knew she would be in capable hands that would make her feel safe.

Except… Kaya had decided that I was her person, and that was that.

72 hours after I had left Chicago, I got a phone call that no one could handle her. I was literally the only person on the planet that she was okay with. It was so bad, they offered to fly her down to Atlanta for me.

On April 11, 2015, Kaya officially became mine because she chose me and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

The next few years would be the hardest for me personally as I built and navigated a new life, but Kaya kept me going because she needed me. I couldn’t self-destruct. She barked me out of bed every morning, fiercely protected me when I was alone, and stood watch when I would have emotional moments. Kaya was never letting me out of her sight again. I am here today because this dog simply would not let me fail her.

The last seven years with her have been an adventure, that’s for sure. Last April, we lost Kina to a long battle with cancer, and when I came home from the vet that day, I vowed to make her golden years her best life ever. She is now an almost 12 year old princess who only sleeps on the couch with her head on the finest goose down pillows, and everyone spoils her like the queen she is.

I guess you could say that Kaya is proof that you just have to find the people who radically accept you and give you a safe space to heal and be who you are. I’m glad she persevered until she found her way back to me, because I couldn’t imagine what the last seven years would be like without her.