I have three requirements that I would like Bella to meet.  Just three.  If she meets these three, the rest will be gravy.  First, I want her to take decent walks with me.  She is beginning to meet that requirement.  With encouragement, we are walking longer.  On the first walk of the day, we turn right at the road and walk just past the neighbor's house.  Bella pees, and some 10 to 20 paces after that she does a quick about face and we return-she for her breakfast, and me for my coffee.  For the second walk of the day, a couple of hours later, we have resumed the loop.  We take a left outside the driveway and walk several blocks in a wide circle.  For our reward, we get to see the lake glimmering between the trees.  After, and during this walk, Bella pants a great deal.  She needs to be nudged and encouraged, but she accepts this challenge.  Later in the morning, or in the afternoon we take a couple more walks for bathroom purposes.  At twilight, we walk to the bridge, if Bella is willing.   It is quiet at dusk, and Bella seems more comfortable than she does during the day.  With each venture, I encourage her, but I don't insist-if she tries to turn back more than twice, I yield.

The second requirement that I have for Bella is that she learn to ride in the car without sheer panic.  When I return from my trip, we will work on this challenge.

My third requirement is that Bella learn to accept a bath.  Every two weeks would be wonderful, but I will work with every two months.  I can't see bringing her to a groomer; she would probably believe she was being tortured!  For now, I accept the pee -soiled tail and the dirty white fur at her neck.  I have visions of a cuddly, clean bear shaped dog dancing in my head.

I note each tiny change with hopeful optimism, all the while recognizing the truth that Bella has changed very little since she has come to live with me.  Yesterday she seemed to regress again, reluctant to leave her bed to eat her breakfast or dinner.  I found myself sprouting rationalizations like some kind of springtime weed.  Perhaps the rectangular dish seemed strange, or, since I bring her pills to her bed in something extra tasty, she holding out.  Maybe she is simply coming to expect breakfast in bed.  Dark fears set in.  Had I made a mistake?  Had the Ativan been doing something after all?  Really, Bella, this just isn't going to work if you can't meet me half way.  

I watch her as she pants on her bed, the stain from her drool dark under her head and chin.  Deciding to pet her one last time before bed, I kneel next to her and began stroking her head.  Just as I begin rubbing her neck under her collar she wags her tail!  Up and down, three or four times the white tip of her tail softly brushes the air.  There is enjoyment in there somewhere.   Just a little, but enough to help keep me going.  I can make the effort for a little longer.  Ah, Bella, you read my mind.  You knew I really needed this.

This morning Bella ate as usual, getting off her bed like it was no big deal.

I weaned Bella off her Ativan.  She is on Paxil only.  I couldn't tell that the Ativan was helping.  It was expensive, and inconvenient to obtain.  Perhaps her longer walks are partly the result of the ending of a sedative effect of the drug.  I am not sure, but I believe she is doing well.

This morning, Bella came out from the bedroom as usual when she heard me moving around.  She began her bumbling pre-walk dance; wandering up and down the hall a little bit, looking at me inquiringly, glancing toward the front door. As I walked toward her, she moves as if she wants to go back to her bed. I began to pet her, centering her in quietness; helping her make up her mind about what to do.  She stands still, her big brown eyes concerned but calm, and allows me to pet her for a several minutes.  Yes, this time I'm sure.  She is changing.  Good job, Bella, good girl! 

We are taking longer walks.  We've been walking to the bridge and back-something we haven't done for almost 2 months.  This is a vast improvement for me, making our walks more enjoyable, and offering a hint that perhaps my efforts will be rewarded with an exercise companion.  

Around others, Bella is distinctly fearful.  Whatever comfort she is starting to feel with me, it is not transferable.  When I bring her into the living room on the leash, she will cooperate, but very reluctantly.  If someone is there, she sniffs the air and looks very worried.  I encourage her, just to her limit, because I want those new neural pathways to form.  When I unhook her, she quickly returns to her bed.  The next time, even when no one is there, she needs encouragement to come out.  She darts furtive glances toward the living room and the kitchen, until she determines that no stranger is hidden, camouflaged in stillness among the chairs and plants, waiting to surprise her. 

​I can only hope that when I take my trip west, she will adjust.  Perhaps, when I return, she will greet me like an old friend. 

Something is just a little different this morning.  I woke up late.  When I was in the bathroom, Bella came to the door of the bedroom and looked at me.  (There is a direct line of sight between the bedroom and the bathroom.)  I went to her and petted her head.  She stood for it, and then looked meaningfully down the hall.  Ok, Bella, let's go for a walk, I said.  She comfortably allowed me to put on her halter, and we did our first short walk of the day.  I'm not sure I've been able to approach her and pet her indoors like that before-most often she turns around and goes back a few steps as I approach before gaining the courage to walk down the hall to the foyer.

Inside, after the various pills and treats and cat feedings were done, I sat at my computer.  Having set the last portion of Bellas breakfast in a bowl behind me, I began to work.  Her dry kibble mixed with water comes after the pills in liverwurst, and the pulverized pills in wet food.  Shortly, Bella gets up to eat her kibble.  My cat Circe comes in to investigate, so I turn to watch.  Meeting my eyes briefly, Bella paused and then continued eating.  She did not return to her bed because I looked at her.   I watch intrepid Circe continue to try and figure out this big, nervous bear looking animal that has come to live in her midst.

I have been feeling just a little bit better about Bella recently.  Whatever behavior changes there may be, they are so subtle that I would have a hard time describing them.  I simply have the sense that she is living with me, and is not just my captive.  It's in her eye contact, and the way she perks up when I say the word, walk.  Sometimes she will get up when I go to the bathroom and look at me from the bedroom, as if checking to see if it is time for a walk.  At night, she usually gets up right after I lie down.  She proceeds to saunter into the hall, and even to the threshold of the living room.  Nose down, she scopes out the treats, and even sometimes takes a second round to be sure she hasn't missed any.

We continue our work with eye contact.  I tell her, Look at me when I treat her, and she does, easily.  I continue to pet her regularly, for very short periods, offering her a treat afterwards.  She does not turn away, nor nervously lick her lips or pant-she just doesn't offer me the coveted tail wag.

Concerned that Bella develop new neural pathways, I am continuing the challenge of bringing her into the living room for very short periods when a calm "stranger" is there.  For just a couple of minutes, a few times a week, Bella allows me to bring her out on the leash.  She doesn't like it, resisting gently with a worried look in her eyes, but she will come along.  She understands the leash and is an extremely cooperative dog.  Bella is also very pretty, and of course, with me, looks are everything ;) .  After the short challenge is over, I let Bella return to her corner in my room.  She makes her way around the couch, the chairs, and the kitchen table-moving with purpose away from me and the stranger who sits near me.   I hope I don't slow her progress, but with a necessary trip coming up, Bella will need to accept the care of two friends who will alternate staying here with her.  I want to show her that nothing bad will happen when she meets others.

I tried to treat her in the living room.  Bella made it clear that she is not ready.   She refused the treat, and refused to take it from my hand back in the bedroom.  Alas.  She has been regarding me with suspicion since this little adventure this morning!

Since I have nothing to loose, I am challenging Bella more.  As with all things, she is cooperative and fearful.  With me, I think she is feeling increasingly more relaxed by very small increments.  With others, she is polite and anxious.  

I have extended her easter egg hunt further into the hallway.  In the morning, all the treats are gone.  I am bringing her into the living room again on her leash for very short stays.  Early on in our acquaintance, I did this, but as I recognized her degree of fear, I stopped.  Now I am trying again, both when no one is here, and when one person is here.  She tolerates it, but looks at me as if to say, Mommy, I want to go back to my room.  After a few minutes, I tell her ok , go ahead.  Bella then returns to her bed quite efficiently, but without a tucked tail. 

She is much better with petting.  I have been petting her regularly and respectfully.  She doesn't turn away, or pant.  She doesn't show that she likes it, but nor does she show that she doesn't.  I reward her with a treat, and she likes that.  The other day, for the first time, Bella accepted a treat in the living room in the presence of another person.  She did it only once, but it inspired me to work with treating her in other spaces. If Bella will accept treats away from her bed, I can start teaching her.  Maybe I have even inadvertently encouraged her to be a patient by always treating her in the bedroom.  But in the beginning she wouldn't accept a treat at all, or even look at me, so bedside treats were the only option. 

This morning, at dawn, I let Bella off her leash at the beginning of our walk and followed her.  As I expected, she kept exactly to the routine.  With a very quick trot, she found a place to pee on the edge of the road, continued to trot another 20 feet and then made a sharp u-turn to trot home.  I watched for cars, keeping to the middle of the road where I could be seen by a driver if necessary.  I didn't expect traffic at this hour.  Bella looked back at me periodically, as if to be sure I was near.

Bella smiles by looking at me with bright eyes and perky ears.  Her smiles are enough to encourage me, for now.  It seems to me that my insistence that she look at me when I give her any form of food has been helpful in anchoring her to me.  Bella is beginning to learn specific words and commands as I make the effort to be consistent and instructive.  I think this is helping.  Learning engages her doggy mind, dulled and trapped by years of senseless containment, and lures her out toward the world of human/dog companionship.

Bella, I need to know that you want to live.  You are smiling at me today, and you are learning a few things, so perhaps you do want to begin a new life with me.  We've been working on little get acquainted lessons, and I think you are responding.  When I give you a treat, I bring it to my face first and say look at me.  This way I am really sure that you will make eye contact with me and associate me with your treat.  When we walk, I sometimes stop and say wait!  When we resume, I say ok.  I do this at the door, too, where you stand, off leash-having trotted, hurriedly, on your own, the last several yards of our outing.  You have begun to pull less, so I think the exercise has been having an effect.  

You are also doing a bit better with your easter egg hunt.  Last week, it seemed as if you had lost interest.  Treats lay scattered on my bedroom floor, ignored.  But just now, when I showed you how I laid the dried salmon bites around our room, they were gone when I came back in 15 minutes.  Good job, Bella! 

You are a bit difficult with all the pills I give you.  Your clever tongue detects them in a swirl of creamy cheese and ejects them almost cheese free.  I understand it may be a bit much, all these pills.  There are 21 of the Ativan and 3 of the Paxil!  So we have a bit of a contest, you and I-I bury the pills in soft, gooey treats, and you search them out, avoiding them with your big but sensitive tongue. Once, with a remaining pill, I even opened your mouth and pushed the pill firmly to the back, tilted your head up and stroked the underside of your throat.  You cooperated like a normal dog, and I didn't loose any fingers.   As you can see, I usually win after a few goes.  Keep that in mind as we tussle for your future.

So Bella, I want you to meet me, if not half way, at least come an 1/8th of the way.  I promise you a good life.  We will walk gorges and you will get massages from my hand.  We'll be friends, two middle aged (or better) ladies enjoying the parks of Ithaca, and evenings reading or watching a show.  Speaking of shows, you need to show up for me.  Let me know you like all this-move that tail, even just the tip of it, so I will know that you're in there, trying to come out.

Love, Mommy

Today Dr. Sarah consulted with Dr. Shana Gilbert-Gregory, the behaviorist.  As a result, I have given Bella her first dose of Paxil.  None of us know if this medication will help.