Tag: Rescue Dog

Just so you know, these pictures were taken this morning. She was in a very good mood with a wagging tail and being bribed with treats. Lots of treats. I would never invade her privacy or exploit her during an anxiety attack. She’s very good at putting on the sad puppy eyes for treats; it’s a boxer trait.

Beau is a rescue dog. Honestly, she is the best dog I have ever had, and there have been a more than a few. I brought her home almost two years ago. The first year was a little rough, but so worth it.

As a rescue, she has a lot of idiosyncrasies. With time, she has gotten more comfortable and less tightly wound. The evidence of her struggle during her formative years is always evident, though. The kitchen is a difficult place for her. Everything is terrifying. I love being in the kitchen, so we have bad days sometimes. Usually, she sits on the couch watching me or curled up on my feet on a comfy rug.

Last week, I was cooking dinner in the kitchen like I usually do. Beau was sitting next to me on her rug. Her back leaned up against my calf. I had one of the bottom kitchen cabinet doors open to grab a pan out; it was situated in front of my legs. The stove made a clicking noise every once in awhile, which is usual. This day, the clicking noise triggered something in Beau. I felt her start to shake. Her shaking became stronger over the next minute. She stood up and pushed her way between my legs crawling into the cabinet. I stopped everything I was doing to sit down next to her.

I put her sweater on her because it helps make her feel safe. I held onto her tight. Like in people, when there is weight pressed on her body, it help calms her anxiety. She likes to be in enclosed spaces where nothing can sneak up on her. As someone with PTSD, I understand this more than she knows.

She crawled out of the kitchen cabinet shaking violently and ran to the closet. She crawled as far into the corner as she could under all the clothes and on top of the shoes. Luckily, I managed to get the shoes out from under her. We sat there for twenty minutes. She shook and shook and shook. She cried. I held onto her. She was so scared. She even peed a little; it’s not abnormal during her severe anxiety attacks. It breaks my heart every time. She was curled into my body as far as she could. We both cried in our own ways. Her breathing started to quicken, and I had to help slow it down. Her shaking slowly eased up.

When she started to pace, I tried to find somewhere else we could sit down. She was not comfortable anywhere in the house. So we went outside. Beau needed to run the shakes off. So we ran and ran and ran around the apartment complex until her tail started to wag again.

Her anxiety attacks have become a rarity now. They happen every few months instead of every few days. They don’t usually last more than a few minutes, but this one was a particularly bad one and lasted over an hour. I still don’t know exactly why it happened because nothing was out of the norm.

Beau is such a sweetheart. She is the light of my life. Sometimes, all I can do is hold her and love her as she fights her own demons. As a rescue and a former abused animal, these things are part of our life.

xoxo,
Beau and RaeAnna