Dr. Sarah came to my home on Monday to draw blood from Bella.  Although it is unlikely that there is a health issue, it seemed wise to rule out anything underlying that might be contributing to Bella's seeming lethargy.  Of course 4 1/2 years in a cage might be responsible, but not every former puppy mill dog is like Bella.  

Sarah was very gentle with Bella.  She and I spoke for a while in the living room first so that Bella could hear her voice and not be shocked when she came back into her room.  As Sarah drew the blood, I stroked Bella's head and comforted her.  Bella was 100% cooperative as she always is.  Sarah obtained her vials without incident.  We already know that the blood work came back normal aside from the thyroid panel.  We are still awaiting those results.

Generally, Bella seems better to me.  She is alert and seems to even enjoy some pets.  I have been told that if she is stiff when I pet her, she doesn't want it, whereas if she is floppy, she does.  Bella is somewhere in between, but definitely not stiff.  I feel that she enjoys it a bit, and certainly enjoys the treat that comes after.

I also think that the composure pro suggested and offered by Susan Wiser from the Cayuga Dog Rescue might be helping.  Each little movement toward doggy-ness is welcomed.

Perhaps the best news of all is that her pet sitter, Valerie, and I were able to give Bella half a bath!  (We just did the top and rear of the girl.)   Most dogs don't love baths, of course, and Bella is no different, but she tolerated our gentle ministrations on the warm, warm day we chose.  Thank you, Valerie, Sarah and Susan!

Many people have shared their thoughts, experiences and philosophies in connection to my effort with Bella.  I am grateful to each of them.  Several people have offered jewels from personal experiences.  Some have implied their own impatience with Bella's progress by saying in exasperation, can't you just put her in the car, or close the door to her safe place so she has to learn?  The answer is no, I won't force her.  Nor will I stop urging her to try something new, gently tugging her leash so that we walk a new direction, or petting her softly even if it challenges her.  She likes the treats I give her afterwards, and I have to believe that the gentle pressure I exert helps her form new neural pathways.  But throughout this process the most helpful reflections I have been offered are simply the ones that are optimistic and encouraging.  This optimism trickles down to my moments with Bella.  When I feel hopeful, or better yet, unattached to outcomes, I think Bella can tell.  She studies me with those big brown eyes of hers, learning the language of my moods, perhaps attempting to decipher them and anticipate what it will mean for her.

With human illness, I have often felt that a necessary optimism should inform the efforts of healer and patient alike.  We don't know what pattern the future will hold, and our attitude will play a part in its unfolding.  To what degree, we may never know.  There are times, of course, when a graceful surrender may be necessary.  But not today, Bella, not today.  Today we will try to take a longer walk, and then stand next to the car to practice feeling calm by the big, scary vehicle.  We'll see if you will take a treat in the living room, or at least eat your breakfast further from your bed.  Who knows, maybe this time next year we'll be walking the gorge.

I invited Megan over with her pup, Queenie, to meet Bella.  I wanted to get an idea of how Bella would behave around a puppy.  Megan kindly brought Queenie into the house and let her wander at my request.  We humans sat and talked for a little while before going into Bella's room.  I've learned to let Bella get an initial read of what is transpiring in the outer rooms before I bring someone back.  I know she listens intently.   After several minutes, Megan and I went into the bedroom.  Megan then sat in a chair just out of Bella's sight and avoided making eye contact with her.  I sat in a chair where Bella could see me, while Queenie, a 4 1/2 month old rotty/shepard/lab mix female, explored.  I spoke reassuringly to Bella, and and offered treats to each dog in turn.  The treats were no problem for enthusiastic Queenie, who inhaled them from my finger tips.  Happily, Bella also accepted treats from her safe position on her bed.  Sometimes Bella looked at Queenie, but at no time did she move from her spot, wag her tail or show any signs of actually trying to interact with the puppy.  I felt pleased when Queenie bounded over to me with puppy enthusiasm.  See Bella, dogs love people.  You can, too, sweetie.

Bella didn't hide, or pull her body away from the action.  On the other hand, she made no attempt to touch noses or tails with Queenie.  But I did learn that Bella can tolerate a pup, or at least this particular pup, for a brief period.  There were no negative consequences from the visit later that day; Bella had no problem coming out for a walk immediately after Queenie's departure.  When she is strongly displeased or fearful, Bella won't come out for a walk without urging and reassurance.

Bella, my dear, we need to figure this out!  How can I help you be a happier dog?  Sometimes you remind me of humans; the way you still think you need to be in a cage when there aren't any bars enclosing you.  Humans will do that, too.  Even when the loved ones in their life are good to them, they sometimes recreate old habits using their new companions as props to enact old themes.  Let's you and me show those silly humans that we can break out of mind cages!  

Hey, you know what?  I think I am going to get you a doggy companion.  Months ago, for a magical period of about three days,  you played joyfully with other dogs.  How about I find a friend for you, someone who loves humans and can show you the ropes.  What do you think?  Tell me about your doggy dream date, Bella.  I'll see what I can come up with...

Ok, I admit it.  I was very hurt that Bella didn't wag her tail when I came home.  I had imagined, that after 4 months together, she might feel connected to me.  I imagined, that when I returned from a week away, we would have a reunion and Bella would suddenly realize, Yes, this is my human and we are a team.  That she looked fearful and alarmed and turned her head slightly away-well that just really hurt.  It's a two way street, you know, Bella.

But then again.  It was late when I got home, and not a time she was used to being disturbed.  No one had been sleeping in the same room with her as I usually do.  (The guest room is down the hall and it seemed too much too soon to have someone sleep in my bed, someone who Bella knew slightly and was even less ready to befriend than me. I pictured some sort canine/human version of wife swapping and it just didn't appeal. ) When I came in to greet her,  Bella was probably startled. 

The next day she remained cool, and I felt like we were starting over.  The corner of my bedroom weighed on me during the day.  A heap of sadness lay there, sadness spawned by human cruelty, indifference and probably faulty genetics as well.  I hungered for a healthy being.  A dog who wags its tail and loves its humans.  You know, the dogs from the story books and our childhood memories, that one.  

Nevertheless, over the next couple of days Bella seemed to figure out that it's me, or so I like to imagine, and our routine resumed.  This time, though, she has shortened her walks all over again.  It's taken several days for her to accept the  challenge of walking the loop that begins by turning left outside my driveway.  Bella is, however, allowing pets, looking for her treats, staring at me with perky eyes, and divining who is in the living room, aka counseling space.  As she ambles down the hall, she looks warily toward the kitchen and then the couch.  Her scanning of the space is quicker and more efficient then it was in earlier days.  I've learned not to surprise her with "strange" people in the foyer.  Newcomers will be discovered outdoors.  Generally, she moves around the space a bit more.  She retraces her easter egg hunt several times before bed incase she has missed something, or to go back for a couple more bites of the kibble I leave out for her in the kitchen.  Her body habits remain healthy and consistent.  I pet her comfortably when I choose, rewarding her with treats.  She is accepting of my touch and I am sure she doesn't mind it, though it also doesn't appear that she likes it.

Oh, the oh so slow little dance of Bella's progress...

Another stranger!

Were it up to Bella, I think she would have asserted that one pet sitter was plenty.  But for various human reasons, she had to contend with two!  She quickly made her preference known by refusing several walks; first by ducking back into her room when she realized her next walker was even less familiar, and then by refusing to move from her bed at all.  Treats were still acceptable, but not from this second person's hand - only if laid in front of her.  This went on all day until pet sitter #1 returned.  

Several days later, we tried again.  This time Bella came after just a few attempts.  She walked with me almost comfortably until she decided it was time to turn around, at which point she crossed the street like it was her mission, pulling me along swiftly.  For a moment I forgot who was in charge.  We made it back to the house just fine, but her tail began to tuck as we got closer.  She knew exactly where she was, but she seemed nervous to enter the house, and nervous about remaining where she was, as if once again there was no safe place for her.  Eventually she walked through the door and scurried back to her room, anxiety in full force.  

The following day when I called her (both pet sitters present), she seemed much more certain about what to do.  She glanced back at her bed, but then trotted down the hall with encouragement.  We (Bella included, I think) all felt relief!  A walk with Valerie (pet sitter #1) was her reward for coming willingly.  

All in all, I would say Bella did very well with this confusing modification to her company and routine.  It seems that her fear about what could happen still trumps what is actually happening, as if something bad or scary is always just around the corner.  But to go from coming out for one person to coming out for three people is 200% improvement, and who wouldn't celebrate that?!  I trust that if we keep at it, Bella will continue to get more comfortable, and to know some people as kind and trustworthy.  For Bella - just like the rest of us - to recognize what is, instead of looking for what we fear (or what we wish), is one of the hardest tasks of all. ​

From Valerie:
​
I had the privilege and challenge of being pet sitter last week.  I am an avid animal lover, though my way of approaching animals is often to “love them up.”  But I have also been an avid “Bella’s Journey” blog reader and I know that Leslie has found that Bella is so traumatized that my way of being over the top loving and excited would not work with Bella.  Much better to be calm, and to err on the side of less emotion.  Be nice -yes, be gushing -no.

The first three days when I implored Bella to come for a walk with me, it might take 45 minutes of cajoling for her to come to the front door.  Or sometimes, for the second walk of the morning, despite hours of cajoling, she would not come at all.  Man, that puppy can hold it.  The first three days she went 12 hours between first and second walk.  Poor sweet Bella.
Then the morning of the third day, I awakened early and went to the foyer and laid my hand on the leash.  And there Bella was, trotting down the hall for walk time.  A big smile on my face with much warm praise “good girl Bella!”  And then it was all different.  She came every time I called her for a walk with just a sneak peek into the kitchen and living room to make sure no one else was there.  The last few days, we had 7 walks instead of only three in the first few days.  Now I call that progress!  Bella was able to transfer the trust she learned with Leslie to this stranger in only three days.  Atta girl, Bella!

Bella also very often took treats right from my hand and I happily got to experience first hand what Leslie called Bella’s “butter muzzle.”  Other times Bella would eye me with suspicion and then turn her head.  I would put the treat in front of her and tell her that was ok and I’d walk away.  Then she’d eat it and I came back and tried to give her another from my hand, which often worked.

It was hard for me not to constantly think about Bella hiding in her corner in the back bedroom.  I kept thinking of what would make her happy, when our next walk would be or when it was time for the crunchy pig’s ear to give her something to do besides worry.  I gave her a lot of treats just to help her think about trusting me.  This last week made me have great admiration for Leslie and her patience, love and perseverance with this traumatized sweetheart.  My whole being was more and more filled with an inner cheerleader that I hoped Bella could somehow hear “You can do it, sweet Bella, you can do it!”  That along with “wag that tail of yours for your mama!!!”

​

Although my dream that Bella would give me a tail wag when I returned from my week away did not come true, she is acting pretty much as she did when I left.  She doesn't seem to be traumatized in any way by my period away.  I know that my pet sitters did make headway with her during the week so that at least one of the two women experienced very close to what I experience with Bella after several days.  Bella is able to adjust to new caregivers.  She ate, walked, went to the bathroom and otherwise survived.  This is good.  I was of course hoping for some sort of recognition that I am special to her.  If I am, she seems to be keeping that information to herself.

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.