a gentle place

Posted By Harry on October 26, 2010

Today I find myself in the Veggie Patch writing this post.

MacBook on a tree stump - my Veggie Patch office

Spending quality time with 2 dogs. Yes, TWO dogs.

Chelsea & Abbey in the Veggie Patch

Abbey’s arrived at Avondale and, while already far less anxious than she was on arrival 4 days ago, she’s still very uncertain of humans, including us gentle Avondalians. Should her new-found pack-mate, Chelsea, not be right by her side, she’ll run and hide in some almost inaccessible-by-adult-humans place: on Friday night we extricated her from a tightly woven bush after pulling it half apart; on Saturday morning we lifted the floor of an old shed so that we too could reach the sub-floor area that she had discovered; on Saturday afternoon we staged another rescue by attacking a second innocent bush … So now our time with Abbey is limited to maximum security areas like inside the house, in the large, well-built but seldom used chook run or, preferably, here in the larger walled and fenced Veggie Patch. And if I have to endure a warm Spring sun bathing me in its rays, then so be it.

We know only a little about Abbey. She is one of the 55 dogs that Emma, of Brightside Farm Sanctuary, rescued from a puppy mill and hoarder 2 weeks ago. Cockey, as she was initially named (her nature is anything but ‘cocky’), was petrified of humans from the start, and after being with another family for a few days was returned to Brightside with the concern that her continued extreme state of anxiety was perpetuating the cruelty she’d endured in her life thus far. “Harry, Sue, if she doesn’t settle at Avondale, she won’t settle anywhere. You can always bring her back to Brightside and she can live her life here,” Emma assured us. Heaps of unintended pressure in the first sentence; intentionally none in the second.

Since before Plato’s death we have known that we would have another dog join Avondale’s family. For dogs, like most animals, must have company and prefer it be of their own kind. Despite how special we humans believe we are we don’t fit the bill quite as well. Chelsea would need a new canine pal and, when the time was right, we’d assist in her finding one. Was Emma’s recent rescue of 55 dogs a sign?

Chelsea, like Sue and I, grieved. Frighteningly open at times. And then early on Wednesday night I noticed Chelsea laying silently at the gate leading to Platos’ grave. She bounded down to sit by his grave when I opened the gate, and stared into vacant space for 4 to 5 minutes. No looking around, no checking on what I was doing, no changing posture. She just sat and focused ahead. Never before has Chelsea bounded through that gate without heading straight to the river for a swim. This time she went nowhere near the river; when she was finished doing what she had to do, saying what she had to say, she just headed back through the gate, once glancing back at me as if to say, “C’mon Harry, let’s go inside.” That was the night before she met Abbey …

Driving down to Brightside on Thursday morning Sue repeatedly informed me that we were heading down only “for a look”. She was still grieving Plato’s loss and any pressure from me (or poor Emma) would not be looked upon kindly. I listened. And after a brief chat with Emma and Eliza, and a quick introduction to a few of the rescued dogs (including Abbey), I headed off up the hill to be with the pigs, goats, miniature ponies and horses. On returning to the main shed Emma joined me and together we watched Sue, Chelsea and Abbey as they got acquainted in one of the pens. Before long they were clutched together as one body.

Some of Brightside's rescued pigs and a young kid enjoying Spring

Emma and I talked about pigs and shipping containers as possible pig homes, about tractors and shed floors, and about all the work she’s done at Brightside, for as long as was needed for Sue, Chelsea and Abbey to get to know one another. I then heeded the call, “Babes, can you help put her in the car please.” Sue and Chelsea had decided. “For a look” had become a bit more.

We’ve had enough animals join our family for me to know that us choosing a dog to join Avondale’s family was unnecessary. In some Universal way the dog would be the one doing the choosing. And so I contentedly picked Abbey up, whispered gentle assurances to her, and carried her shivering being to the ute. Halfway home Sue asked, “Are you alright with this?” You bet I was.

The rearview mirror revealed what seemed a comfortable Abbey in the back of the ute with Chelsea, but the moment we reached home and took Chelsea out she cowered in the corner, wet herself, and defaecated.  If we approached she’d lift one eye slightly above the horizon of the mat to watch our movements. Then return to trying to squeeze right through that corner into some less-fear-provoking world.

Abbey trying to hide from the unknown

After an hour and a half, once she had sat up and was showing interest in her surroundings, we picked her up and introduced her to Avondale’s front lawn. And Thomas who bolted out through the kitchen door determined to meet her.

Thomas joining Sue and Abbey on the lawn

It’s sometimes difficult to differentiate between a dog that has been physically abused, or just sensory deprived (or both). Having spent her life up to this point (6-7 months) in a cage and small run, Abbey probably falls into the latter category. The effects are just as devastating; very comfortable around other dogs (albeit subservient) Abbey’s terrified of humans. Fortunately Chelsea has rapidly become her security, her “blankie”. With Chelsea by her side, she appears a confident dog – tail out and in the air, jaw relaxed with tongue hanging out, even digging up leeks and onions in the Veggie Patch. But without Chelsea by her side a simple walkby in the house can lead to her scampering for the corner of the bedroom, or bolting into the bathroom where she’ll wedge herself between the toilet and the shower, shaking, her espresso-brown eyes filled with fear.

Abbey wedged between the toilet and the shower

We try not to positively reinforce that fear response, and we continue to “live” normally around her. Sometimes though, it just seems to go on too long. And we extricate her from that place of fear and, together with Chelsea, sit with her until her anxious state subsides. On first approaching her she recoils more, wedges herself deeper into whatever her chosen hiding place is. She doesn’t fear bite … she just tries to shrink away from what is to her an extremely scary world.

We’ve got a long road ahead but each day we are enjoying small steps of progress. From night 2 she’s slept on a mat in our room. Last night she watched – and I mean sat up and watched – television with us. On day 3 we got her walking on a lead – provided Chelsea is on one with her. We can now pick her up without an anxiety-driven bladder leak. And once or twice she’s even taken a snack from our hands. All this in only 4 days and with minimal casualties: a few leeks, a bed of lovingly nourished carrot and onion seedlings, and a broccoli plant or three. Soon she’ll be digging up the entire Veggie Patch just like any other pup!

Abbey amongst the chamomile just in front of me as I write this. Nervous garlic on her other side!

Have you ever rescued an abused – physical or otherwise – dog? Did she also teach you how much Abbey is teaching us? (Did she teach you things that you can now teach us?) And did watching her make you as mad as us at the humans before you? At the almost non-existent justice system for our fellow beings? Including man’s best friend? If so, please share your story with us.

Categories: Animals & us
Tags: Brightside Farm Sanctuary, Dogs, Hoarders, Puppy mills, Veggie Patch