Riley is still afraid of my face and leaves any room that I enter. His new favorite place to hide from me is on the staircase landing. In true PTSD fashion he is in a safe corner and he can see all who approach him. I put one of his blankets up there so that he would be more comfortable hiding from me. There is even a sunbeam that comes in under the curtain for him.
After I took a few pictures and he noticed me there, he got up and went down to the kitchen. Once he left this spot, I sat in it for a few minutes - just to get a feel for why it felt safe to him.
His spot was warm and still and quiet. In fact, between the carpet and the turn in the hallway, this spot was VERY quiet. I took a minute to reflect on Riley and his life before us. He lived for months with the cacophony in the shelter where we found him, and before that the chaos of the hoarder’s house where he listened to the cries of the dogs around him who were sick and hungry and dying. I understood this corner and why he needed it.
I was ashamed of my pettiness, feeling insulted by the snubs of an emotionally wounded dog. I was the jerk, not Riley. I put a fresh blanket down for him and got out of his way.
After I took a few pictures and he noticed me there, he got up and went down to the kitchen. Once he left this spot, I sat in it for a few minutes - just to get a feel for why it felt safe to him.
His spot was warm and still and quiet. In fact, between the carpet and the turn in the hallway, this spot was VERY quiet. I took a minute to reflect on Riley and his life before us. He lived for months with the cacophony in the shelter where we found him, and before that the chaos of the hoarder’s house where he listened to the cries of the dogs around him who were sick and hungry and dying. I understood this corner and why he needed it.
I was ashamed of my pettiness, feeling insulted by the snubs of an emotionally wounded dog. I was the jerk, not Riley. I put a fresh blanket down for him and got out of his way.