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I rescued my dog, Shelby, on Memorial Day weekend, 2019. I was celebrating my recovery from a stroke that had occurred the previous Memorial Day weekend and impacted my left side and my cognitive abilities. At that point I’d recovered physically: I had progressed from a wheelchair to a walker, to a cane, to being able to walk on my own. I was still working with a rehabilitative neuropsychologist on regaining my executive functioning, which was what had been most affected by the stroke. I was back to work part-time but would not return full-time until January 2020.
I was also celebrating the progress I’d made regarding my emotional well-being. Years prior, I’d told my brother I wanted a dog and he suggested, not unkindly, that it would be better to wait until I was sure I could stay out of the psychiatric hospital. In 2019, I’d been out of the hospital for five years — and showed no signs of needing to return. As I approach March 2024, it will be 10 solid years.
Shelby came to me from a kill shelter in Mississippi by way of a foster home in New Jersey. The day I brought her home, I agreed to meet the foster mom at a halfway point, which was the parking lot of a supermarket in New Jersey. I got there early, parked in a far spot, and waited.
After about 30 minutes an SUV pulled up and a woman got out with a dog. I approached her. “Andrea?” she questioned, and I said yes. “Thank you for taking her.” At the time I didn’t wonder about her choice of words. She gave me a quick hug as she handed me the leash. Shelby jumped up almost eagerly into my back seat which I’d outfitted with a blanket. And we were off.
Once Shelby started to settle in, it became apparent whoever wrote her bio on PetFinders had lied. She did not get along with other people, with other dogs, with cats. When it was just her and me, she was so sweet, but put a third party into the picture and she became aggressive. It got so bad that my neighbors complained to our building's board, and I received a letter informing me I might have to get rid of her. The trainer I was working with at the time suggested I put her on a low dose of Prozac and the medication worked wonders. She was no longer aggressive with other people, but she continues to be reactive towards other dogs.
She clearly has been abused. She does not like to be petted by people she does not know. She does not like to be touched on the top of her head. When people pet her on her flank and she is not expecting it, she flinches. When we are in the elevator with other people from my building and they ask if they can pet her, I have to tell them no, she’s a rescue and she’s skittish. I always appreciate when they ask.
According to the Colorado LINK Project at the University of Denver’s Graduate School of Social Work, “People abuse animals for a variety of reasons and with varying levels of harm. Some acts of animal cruelty are the result of ignorance about humans and proper care of animals or impulsive actions stemming from unmanaged emotions.”
About a year ago, I noticed that when Shelby was on the bed with me and sleeping, she twutched and shook in her sleep. Her eyes rolled back in her head, until all I could see was red. Once I made the mistake of trying to wake her up and she startled so abruptly she scared me. Now I just let her go through it. She makes whimpering sounds.
I don’t know for sure, but I fear she is having night terrors. Perhaps she is reliving whatever abuse she endured. I feel sad and helpless watching her go through this night after night. She has been in her forever home now for almost five years. I don’t know if there is any association between feeling safe and loved and a possible reduction in the night terrors. I would like to think so.
Mammals, like humans and dogs, have lengthy periods of REM sleep, allowing ample time for vivid dreams, including nightmares. Dogs may also experience night terrors, and possibly REM sleep disorder, in which they would act out what they experience in their dreams, leading them to twitch and bark even as they continue to sleep.
Now people from my building and even from my neighborhood stop me and tell me what a drastic change they see in Shelby from when I first brought her home. They praise me for my patience with her and the love I have shown her. They tell me that a lot of people would have given up on her.
What they don’t know is that Shelby and I were meant to be together and somehow, we found each other. We were both broken, and we healed each other. She was on Prozac, but only for about six months; I am still on Pristiq, among other meds. That is one bond we share. I was emotionally and verbally abused, but it appears she may have gone through much worse. I’ve given her a safe place to land, lots of love, and a forever home. I know she knows that.
