Street Dog Family

The apples in the trees have grown fat and shy, all red cheeked and sweet. I think how they grew under my nose, hidden in green leaves and suddenly appeared, a little bit like my family. It grew throughout the summer, unbeknown to me, until suddenly the house was full of new life.

I think about our first days together, how unsure I was, how you became my teacher. I think how different it is for Freya, how confidently I teach her the things she needs to learn.  Our little family has come full circle. You taught me the things I needed to know, and now I teach Freya the things she needs to know.

You grow a little older still and I think that sometimes you struggle. You are a little sterner with Freya, but then again she is a little sillier, she has grown to like affection and sometimes she comes for fuss when you’d rather be the only recipient. She has also grown less respectful of your space and doesn’t seem to understand that you only let her push you out of the way of an interesting scent, because your balance isn’t as good as it used to be. I love you for the patience you are showing more every day. I never knew you had it in you. I wish I had played more with you when you were younger. I see you looking wistfully at us girls rolling in the carpet of autumn leaves. You were so serious sometimes, I didn’t teach you enough about fun and games. I know we played but we never played as much as I play with Freya. I am not sure anymore: was it because you were uninterested or because I didn’t know how? I think I didn’t know how, Freya taught me how, but I am sad it came too late to really share it with you.

When we go for a walk and people approach intrigued by the two of you, I tell them I live with 2 of the seven dwarves: Grumpy and Shy. It is who you are to strangers, and it keeps you safe. What they don’t know is that living with you is full of love, happiness and laughter. You, my old boy, are the soothing, loyal friend, who changed my live beyond recognition. You are the solid ground beneath my feet, my bit of wisdom in the world. She is laughter, uncontrolled and truly joyful, she is youth recaptured. I am whole now for the first time.

My world is so full of colours, and although I am tired and I see you more tired still, I realise you rely on me for all those colours. I am happy, you are happy, it is all we need.

Under the sunshine, we walk and smile at each other. But you walk so slowly, I worry.

I spend my days, walking with you, going to kennels, and taking you to the vets. But your eyes still shine brightly, and when you run in the garden, I know that puppy I never met is still there.

Meanwhile at kennels, I fall in love. She is the funniest lady I ever met. All gangly legs and anxieties, but as we walk and talk, I see this funny, playful and affectionate girl wanting so badly to come out. She looks somewhere between a saluki and a shepherd. Rough hair of black and white tufting out of her, not wanting to be tamed into a shiny coat. Big ears and a slightly screwed up smile, the result of a broken jaw as a young pup, she is stunning nonetheless in a tomeboyish way. She gets scared easily and sometimes she won’t even look at me, and it breaks my heart. She refuses to walk if my attention is elsewhere, if I am on the phone. She needs me to be her look out. I falter and hesitate, worried about you. I take you with me to work, you could use a bath and a groom anyway and we go for a walk. You don’t seem to mind, either of you. Mostly you ignore each other, but still I worry and hesitate. An application to adopt her comes in, and even though it isn’t right for my shy girl, I realise I cannot let her go and it’s time to take her home and see.

I have known Freya for many years. I remember her so well at the shelter back in Brasov. She was so scared, for many months I only saw a glimpse of her face. She hid in her kennel and only came out to look at new onlookers when she thought no one could see her. With my phone in hand, I could manage a few stollen images.

They called her Freaky at the shelter, and I guess it suits her. She looks at the world and see nothing but threats. I watch her grow up for two years back in Romania. And all this time, I only catch little impressions of her. The minute a stranger comes into the compound, she hides in her wooden kennel. Eventually the staff at the shelter take her out for us to see. she hits the ground and refuses to move. Her carer picks her up despite her weight and legs everywhere, and carries her on. She hangs in his arms, frightened dead weight, but she has waited long enough, we want to give her a chance at a happy ever after. She is at least able to travel, so we call her Freya and wait for her to arrive in the UK.

In the end, she waits nearly two years with us, before I get to know her and she starts to trust me, before I give her a home to call her own.  

The new bundle arrives, finds a box of toys, and never looks back. I am sorry my Tups; I know you find it annoying. Squeaky toy noises permeate the house and you slink away. But you give her confidence and show her that it’s ok to let me kiss her and you don’t seem to mind all of her other antics much. It doesn’t take many days, before belly rubs are requested daily, and those long legs kick and swim in the air with excitement.

Every evening, we open the gate to the big garden beyond the terrace and walk down to the river together. Freya runs to and fro in the long grass, whilst you and I take a more sedate pace and follow her crazy antics. You cling to me like glue, but I notice you run more and roll in the grass with abandon more often. We all feel younger for the new injection of crazy in our lives. We laugh and smile and take care of each other like never before. I know you sometimes wish it was still just you and me, so we spend the late evening, the two of us, watching the bats fly in the twilight. Thank you my boy for understanding, and for allowing me to love another. I think you know I will need her, when you leave.

A whole winter has come and gone. It has left as much in my memory as it has in my diary. An invisible season.

Green shoots are bursting everywhere. They promised a quick, fertile spring, then late frost came and spring has suspended its progress. Green shoots are bursting everywhere, and in a most frustrating way, seem to carry on bursting without ever fruiting more than those early forays. Spring has frozen in time. Every day I walk outside and look at the pots on the terrace. Hyacinths sit huddled in small grapes just above the soil. They continue to huddle everyday, like frightened tadpoles in their eggs, unwilling to crack their soft shells and grow towards the sun. I feel a little angry at them, as if they alone are holding back the seasonal changes. I wish they would have the courage to lead the rest of the garden towards its leafy, colourful abundance

Work is difficult. That is an understatement. We need to find new kennels for all the dogs in our care. An angel appears and agrees to take all 50 dogs looking for homes. But my role changes from office based to primary carer overnight. The move is difficult, it steals sleep and rest, and I am left feeling breathless and tired. The bags under my eyes become worlds inhabited by whole civilisations. I am so tired and sad, I think I may disappear in a black hole, sucked into oblivion. If you’re weren’t around, I think I might succumb to the temptation to let it all go.   You and I go into the garden. You seem to know that something is terribly wrong and play like a puppy, throwing yourself into jumps and runs. You have not behaved like this since happier, carefree  and younger times and I appreciate you are doing it for me. And for you, I break into a run also, and allow myself to forget my troubles for a while.

You were right, happiness lies somewhere after the storm.  Spring still slowly unfurls its wings. It is slow, and it feel as though it is giving me time to catch up to hope.

Today the world is long and wide. Today the horizon has shifted. I look up and see such a big world. It is enormous!  Yesterday, my life ended somewhere right in front of my eyes. My head was so full of realities, I could not see beyond a few meters. Tupilek lay on the terrace and whined. I sat down next to him and caressed his fur. Such softness, and such trust, it made me feel alive and loved.

Today is the start of a new world and I juggle my life between the kennel babies and you. We go for a walk in the morning, and it’s never long enough for you I know. But I also know you cannot walk the miles you used to love. You creak and groan your bones as we go. You take breaks in the middle of the road and I am thankful we walk in quiet neighbourhoods.

I leave you sleeping and make my way to kennels and get to know the boys and girls still waiting for their families. It is the start of a new job. I used to only take pictures, write profiles, edit little movies. I didn’t get to spend much time with all these homeless dogs.  They explode with peronalities and I wonder how I have only known them for a short while.  We walk together, cuddle in kennels and try to learn new things. I feel my world expand with each new discovery, my heart opens up with each new kiss. I marvel at the resilience and gratitude of these new found friends, and find that I have even more love, even more hugs for you when I get home

Today we wake to a curtain of rain. It suits me. It keeps the world at bay. It falls like a protective cover, raising steaming fog from the ground, and I dream of our house and garden, like a castle in the clouds. Floating away from the world, inaccessible, our home is a warm glow in the mist.

I know today is a good day to go for a walk. Other people, even other people with dogs, are fair weather walkers and we will have the fields to ourselves.

Later the  sky clears a little  and I open the garden door. You lift an ear and get back to the business of resting. I leave the door open anyway. As I sit at my desk, a robin flies in and sits atop a branch in my house plant. He takes one curious look at me and flies back out again. I feel a hot spark  of happiness and wonder if it is a message from a loved one. I think again and realise it is time for me to fill the bird feeders. Come on my boy, let’s go out and feed the birds. A few ducks are pecking at fallen apples in the garden, and I feel pleased that you don’t chase them away. You find interesting scents to investigate on the other side of the garden, and all of us cohabit happily for a while.

I spend the rest of the day occasionally looking up from my desk to watch busy squirrels, emptying the feeders faster than the whole migratory clan could manage. I will have to buy more seeds.

Today is just an ordinary day, mostly full of ordinary things. But magic still underscores the mundane. The magic of a moment in time when a bird comes to ask for seeds; a bright second like a shooting star . And the magic of us, the Milky Way of our shared existence. Full of moments that would mean nothing, except that they could so easily have not come to pass. What an extraordinary story we have. How did I come to meet an old carpathian shepherd cross nearly 2000 miles away?   It is our bedtime story.  It feels so right, it must be written up there somewhere, where stars wink at us.

You are a world and you became my world. So I write to let you know that I am consumed and saved by the breath of you. So stay with me for as long as you can, stay strong, stay upright.

I look out onto our view, onto what is ours alone.

The trees in the garden are different shades of slumber, some crimson, some ochre, some already naked as I am when I crawl under the sheets. Autumn flowers and a few spring green branches cling onto the memory of summer. I wish I too could sleep the coming season away. Yellow tits sit and dance by the window, I must put out some seeds for them

The sun is streaming through the diamond shaped window panes and I hear you shuffle in your sleep. You are dreaming, chasing wild things. I wish I could join you and chase wild thoughts away.

For a moment, I wish you could chase people away, but then I remember that you do. That only scares me for the danger it puts you in. I wonder if you chase people away because you sense I wish them away too, or perhaps we are the same you and I, and we know that sadness, sometimes evil lurks in the company of these other folks. I know you’ve seen your share, and I have imagined worse. Somewhere in our heads, there live forked tailed demons. I don’t know the faces of yours, but I know you remember them well. I can guess sometimes at a resemblance in someone that sends you to a dark room in your memory. I know the faces of mine, they are all shades of myself. And among them one angel, who looks just as I look to you. I am never happier than when our eyes meet and we contemplate each other. Whatever else happens, we will always be perfect to each other.

Look my baby, how tiny insects gleam in the sunlight, how they catch the light as they fly weightlessly to and fro. If only you and I could lose ourselves in those dainty moments, those wispy joys. Now the sky has clouded over and the air is empty. Where teaming life was revealed perfectly by streaming sunbeams, there now seem to be none. Abundance has become invisible in the shade, life disappears under the clouds in our minds.

A red kite lifts the tips of his wings and lands right at the top of our tallest pine tree. I may think of the tree as mine, but the kite knows the way the land looks from its summit. He knows the feel of its rough branches, too high for me to reach. My fingertips can only touch its bare trunk. He knows the way the pine needles stroke the warm skin between his feathers.

People may think of you as mine, but you have a whole life before me. You have a past I know nothing about, fears which origins are a mystery, battles I never witnessed. You are with me, because you chose to be. Yes, I was happy to reciprocate, but I know whithout a doubt that it was your choice. It was a gamble you made, though you didn’t understand the ramifications. You gambled on love, and I responded in kind. But you are not mine. You belong to yourself alone, and I am priviledged to share your golden years. This is a lesson I carry to all my relationships, whether they be with human folks or other species.

Although… it strikes me that perhaps you only confirmed this for me. I already had an understanding of this as a child. I gave my first cat both a first and last name. It came to me in a dream. Jeff Peterson was his name. It wasn’t odd at all that he should not share my surname. He was family of course, but he was his own person. And, whilst I understood that my neighbours might object, it never seemed odd to me that I should build relationships with their cats. They were free to make choices, they were their own masters.

But you left me in no doubt that I should leave you room to be yourself, to express yourself. There is no greater joy than to see you blossom, and I wanted you to have the time and space to deal with the baggage you carried.

When you first came, you were afraid of anything stick-like. If I picked up a carving knife, or a wooden spoon in the kitchen, you would cower and break my heart. One fine afternoon, we visited my mum, and spend time in her garden. We were collecting dead wood and branches under the apple trees, and you went from quietly watching us, to sheer terror in seconds; the moment we held those wooden sticks. I can’t recall when it stopped. It just went from everytime, to a few times a week, to once in a blue moon. One day I realised it had been months since you cowered. You never learned to accept ball throwers though. I never used one, but you would stiffen on sight of one during a walk and get angry. I could understand it: from afar, it looked like a beating.

Are you mine? In a way you are. But it is your choice, and I hope I never give you cause to choose otherwise.

A sky, slightly clouded maybe, nothing out of the ordinary. Yet the blemished silvery sky that means home, exactly this, the comfort of the ordinary. The uncertainty of the whereabouts of sun and storm. The curious road of loneliness, where footsteps neither raise dust nor leave ashened traces on the radiant asphalt. This image used to scare me, of a long road, full of twists and turns, travelled alone. But you came into my life and changed everything. The ordinary left, chased by winds filled with the scents of the Transylvanian mountains. But home it was. In fact, it was more home than ever before.

Our first day as an official family, our friends from the shelter drove us to Bucharest Airport, where we had booked flights for 5 of us. Three street dogs and two girls, as yet completely unaware that everything was about to change forever. We disembarked in front of the terminal and waited for the travel crates we had booked for you all. For the first time, I was in charge of a large, ungroomed, very smelly, overweight dog, whose strength was superior to mine, in a place filled with people. I hadn’t really noticed before just how much you smelled, how big you were, how much dead hair was sticking out everywhere in your fur. I tried to look calm about the fact that you went from being my love at first sight (when I met you at the dog shelter), to an ideal far away (as I waited to return to Romania and collect you), and now suddenly to a complete stranger. It struck me really forcefully for the first but not the last time, that you were now my responsibility, and I knew absolutely nothing about you.

As we waited on the pavement, my sister handed me a brand new collar she had bought as a gift for us. I put it around your neck, and attached the lead to this new symbol of our bond. I went to undo your existing leather collar, an old tattered thing, and as I touched it, it fell apart in my hand. The metal buckle just fell off, the dry leather seem to disintegrate under my fingers. It only struck me much later how symbolic this moment was. Your old life breaking apart just before the start of our journey together. At the time, I only thought of how stupid I had been not to check it before. How awful it would have been to lose you this close to departure.

You panted heavily in the crowd. The only sign you were uneasy. You lifted a leg in the middle of the crowd and missed a well-dressed gentleman’s trouser leg by only a few centimetres. You then proceeded to have the longest pee of your life! I squirmed and continued to pretend to be calm. The crates arrived, yours was huge, but I still felt a tinge of guilt about leaving you alone in a cage, for what was surely going to be a bewildering and stressful voyage for you.

The journey turned out to be eventful. Cancelled flights and stop overs meant we arrived at our destination a day before you did. We had decided that you would finish your quarantine in Switzerland and there we waited for you. I worried and paced, anxious to see you safe with me again. You finally arrive and another overland journey later, we arrived at the little flat where we would spend the next week looking for a temporary guardian for you.

It had been two stressful days, waiting for flights, arguing with taxi drivers and we are all exhausted. The flat sits on the 3^rd floor next to a small castle by lake Geneva. It has two beds, a kitchen and bathroom but no other furniture. There is a tiny old elevator or a wide curved stone staircase to go up. And then we realise you are terrified of doorways. I cannot remember how we all got to the flat, but get there we did. We made a million mistakes, partly because we had so much to learn, and partly because we were all so tired. We eventually put one dog in each bedroom and you in the open living room and kitchen. We then went outside, sat on the wall of the castle and cried. It was a release, but also a realisation that it wasn’t going to be easy.

Having surrendered the second bedroom to Tom the collie, I felt I ought to sleep in the same room as you. We dragged the mattress to the living room and I prepared to spend my first night with you. Sleep? What was I thinking. I settled for the night and listened to you pace the flat. You approach the mattress and stood over me, a big furry head right over mine, breathing heavily. We both just remained there, me looking up and you, legs straight, tongue just above my forehead. This was the moment I realised you could make any decision you pleased and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. This is the moment I got frightened but stood my ground, and this is the moment you became my guardian. Clearly we experienced this first week of our nightly ritual very differently. If I could have my time again…then again, I couldn’t have wished for a more patient and loving teacher, so lets not waste time on speculations. You were my teacher and I am grateful.

I had fleeting dreams of having a dog as a child. For a time, I dragged around a plush toy in the shape of a miniature mountain dog. I made my parents buy me a real collar and lead at the pet store. It was bright red, and as I tried it on my toy at the shop, the ladies behind the counter must have thought this the first step in a lifelong love of dogs and smiled. My parents bought me a guinea pig and eventually a cat and I forgot all about that red collar and matching lead. We were not a dog family. We were, in fact, a cat family. Much was made at home of their independence, their individuality and intelligence. We implicitly understood that their relationship to us was just that: a relationship. They didn’t exist to enhance our lives alone. We enhanced each other’s lives. They were cats, they were themselves and they brought what they chose to bring to our family. Dogs couldn’t do this. Dogs did as they were told. They needed people to tell them what to do, they were simply not …cats. I moved to London and there I always found feline friends. They chose to come to my house. A succession of mildly annoyed neighbours were convinced they came for food. Food was never part of the equation. They came because I played with them or allowed them on the bed, or simply because I was there to stroke them when their owners were at work. Then came the day when my most frequent visitor and most treasured feline friend became very ill. The time was fast approaching for good byes and, whilst my neighbours were kind enough to let me know how he was, they could not bring themselves to let me see him and kiss him for the last time. It broke my heart and I realised that I could no longer just borrow these relationships. It was time to visit the local cat shelter and adopt a friend of my own. I bought a cat flap and had it installed and started imagining the day of my visit.

But it was not to be. I fell in love with a Romanian street dog. And I have never had a relationship quite like this one. When I decided I couldn’t leave him behind, when I made a slightly whimsical, completely crazy choice to bring this big old shepherd in my life, I only thought of love. And then I had to wait for months, it may as well have been years, for him to share my life. Plenty of time to imagine life with him. We would go to the park, go to the pub. We would take trips to the country. I would have my camera in tow and I would take the opportunity to photograph nature. We would meet other people with dogs, and I would make friends. He would sleep at my feet, whilst I worked in my office in the garage. I only thought about how he would enhance my life. Rescuing him from the abyss was all I could imagine to bring to his life. And it seemed a good enough deal. I did not think further.

When he finally arrived, I realised I knew nothing. We looked at one another and I think we were both utterly shocked to discover that neither of us had a clue. He would drag me down the street and I would need every ounce of strength to keep him from running across the road to chase squirrels. I’d get into trouble with resident as he lifted his leg to a decorative pot. I had to hunt down just the right shape and size of bush for him to do more serious business, as he wouldn’t go otherwise. He didn’t like strangers coming into the house, other dogs seem to take an instant dislike to him. The list goes on and on. Everything I had expected was turned on its head. And suddenly…I had a giant cat at home. He was independent, he was an individual, he was intelligent. He was himself. He had come into my life and unloaded a load of baggage and I was acutely aware that I had no tools to help him. But I loved him and once I realised this, I could make every compromise needed to make him happy. Love, in the end, was enough. I never did take my camera with me on nature trips, I rarely did take him down the pub. I never made friends with fellow dog walkers. In the end it didn’t matter, because I had him in my life.

I now have five Romanian street dogs. I know nothing else, and I know very little in general. What I do know is this: never invite a street dog in your home, unless you are prepared for them to change your life. Don’t expect them to adapt to your life and not adapt in return. Live for them and they will live for you. Whatever the shape of your dream of having a dog is, be ready for them to come into your life and reshape it. It is not a one way street. It is a long walk with a dog, who will take you down unexpected paths. It is a conversation.

I often take the time to look at them, and reflect on how their lives have changed. If you can accept the rough with the smooth, this is the happiest thought you can have. I like to reflect on how incredible it is, that we are able to share our lives with a completely different species. How amazing it is, that we are able to communicate in our own imperfect way.  How privileged we are to have these relationships. My first dog changed my life beyond recognition. I will be forever grateful to him and I will miss him always.

There it is: the involuntary flicker of the ear, the occasional glance my way to check I am still here. Content and safe, his legs stretch long and long in the air, and flop back down on the floor, ready to snore once more. I wonder what he dreams, as his paws dance and prance in his slumber. In the first few months, he used to growl and whimper in his sleep. Now he runs and runs, soft sleepy barks punctuating his adventures. I wonder what the limits of his imagination are. Can he picture himself soaring through the air like an eagle, or are his fancies constrained by his experience? I determine once more, to stretch those limits with new joys, new happy memories. He wakes and checks on me again, a quick peek, and he puts his head back down for another spell in the land of make-believe.  My favourite night in …is to watch my rescue dog safely sleep.

Tupilek! It’s cold, dark and wet outside, just perfect for a walk!

Come quick, we’ll put on your harness with blinking red lights and you and I are heading out.

We walk down the road to the park, open the creaking gate and the world is ours. Nobody in sight we can do what we like, we race like children and together we laugh. You are running around lit up like a Christmas tree and I don’t have to worry, as I know where you are.

The tip of my ears are numb with the cold, that’s a feeling I call ‘happy to be alive’. You sink your toes in the cold mud with joy, because you know you have a warm home to call you own. The rain is great fun, when you don’t have to wait for the sun to feel dry.  I stick my tongue out and you find muddy puddles, it tastes of heaven!

On the way back, your hair stands up in spiky wet peaks, I tell you you’re the most beautiful boy in the world.

We are back home in the warm, and the house feels cosier for having been out in the cold. Thank you gorgeous boy, for turning bad weather into an adventure.