I am No Longer Afraid

My name is Sister. And I have been afraid for most of my life. I am a dog.

Three human years have passed since I was born. I do remember there was a time just after I was born that I felt safe. I was sheltered by my “mother”, she would let me suckle and she would bathe me and correct me gently when I did something wrong. I had brothers and sisters and I learned to play and romp with them, all the while knowing that my mom was there to supervise and correct lovingly when any of us stepped out of line. I learned from my brothers and sisters about the right way to play; if I bit them out of excitement or fear or bullying, they would ignore me until I learned that it was much more fun to be playing than be ignored. I belonged. I was part of a pack of animals that were learning and growing and loving life together.

And then they were gone.

I am in a place called Kentucky now. I’m not sure about this. I can’t figure out how to behave in the way that is expected. It is different for me and so I am anxious to do the right thing. But, there is no mom to show me. I have one very big thing (a “human” I am told is the right word) that is gentle and kind and shows me what behaviour will get treats and food. There is another big thing (a Man “human” I am told) that is not so gentle. He will kick me if he is unhappy with me; he will chase me with a stick; he will lay that stick hard against my fur and my face.

I am so confused. And I am afraid.

The more I try to please, the less that I do right. Even if I try to skitter or skulk away, I am chased by this Man human. And it hurts.

There are smaller humans here. I have to curb my natural, inbred instincts not to herd them into a group and nip at their heels. They seem to be good to me. They touch me in places that feel like my mom’s touch. But they are afraid of the Man too. Often, they will sneak away to feed me treats and pat me even though I am in this cold basement place the Man throws me into. The feeling the little humans give me – it feels like the feeling that I had with mom. But, we are so careful not to be seen. It will not be a good thing for either of us if the Man sees. The energy around us is fear.

And I am afraid.

I am too young to have puppies. But, because of instincts and circumstances, I am left to breed three times in two years. I hope it makes these humans happy; I am trying so desperately to figure out how I fit in here. But it is exhausting for me. I am tired all the time. I am stressed out from this constant needing of these pups when I am going without myself. I am running on instincts and I am praying that my instincts are correct; else I will feel the power of that kick; the force of that anger; the isolation of that basement. I am fearful that everything I am doing is wrong.

And then they were gone.

I am alone. I am sitting on a cold concrete floor and there are many other unfamiliar sounds and sights around me.

I am afraid.

I want the human that was gentle and kind; I miss the little humans who braved their fear to give me attention. The kicking, chasing, unhappy human is better than this. I am in a cage. I don’t regret the past, and I don’t worry about the future. I am a dog, after all. Dogs don’t fret over the past or agonize over the future. We have our memories, of course. I remember how my mom adored me; I remember the fun and frivolity of my brothers and sisters; I remember the loving and kind humans. But, they are gone. And what is this?

I am alone with my fear.

One day I am picked up out of this place. I am taken in a moving thing to a place that is called New York. I hear the cage people call the human in the moving-thing “Molly”. I don’t know where I am going.

I am afraid.

And now I am sick. There is something wrong in my heart. I feel like I can’t breathe; like something is choking me. I hear the human things call it heartworm and speak about how I might die. I don’t know about dying. If it brings me back to that place with mom, it’s okay. I want to feel loved, and licked, and corrected, and playful, and safe.

I am afraid.

And now I am with humans called Cathy and Paul. They have to take care of me as I fight the heartworm. I am caged most of the time for my safety, but these humans come around to talk to me in a voice that is soothing and warm. They don’t have a basement, so I think I am safe. The Cathy one reminds me of my mom as she strokes me gently and tells me how good I am. I like her words. The Paul one is a little intimidating for me – he is a Man human and so I am afraid. But I feel some sort of gentle energy coming from him. One day he gets too close to me and I instinctively nip out like I’m supposed to. I immediately know I am wrong doing that; Cathy is not happy and Paul is devastated. Once again, I am confused. I don’t figure out that he doesn’t mean to hurt me like the Man did. I have to learn that there are good Humans in this place, like Cathy and Paul. I feel like I’ve come home again, to my mom. To where I am safe.

And so, they give me a new name: Molly Jo. I know the new name fits me. It is a name that speaks of hope and love and being safe again. Leave Sister behind with all her fears. Molly Jo, you belong.

And then we are on the move again.

I am afraid.

We are going across something called a border. We are going to Canada.

Cathy and Paul leave me with new humans called Jim and Brenda. I am so distressed as Cathy and Paul leave in the moving thing. I was almost there, back to mom, with the Cathy and Paul life. I can feel the energy that is coming from Cathy and Paul (in human-speak, they are “in tears”). I know they are kind and gentle. And so, why am I leaving them?

I am afraid.

Jim and Brenda are kind, and affectionate, and loving. They leave with me with my grief over Cathy and Paul. They don’t make me do things; they feed me and give me love and take me for walks. They know it is going to take some time for me to get used to yet another strange place with strange humans. They have a basement but it feels and smells differently than the basement of my tortured memory. There is no kicking; there is no yelling; there is no abuse. I have learned that Jim's basement holds music and comfort and warmth.

Brenda tells me that Cathy and Paul gave me to them because this is my forever home; and they have given me the very best thing. She said that what they gave me is their job and they have done a good job. I feel an energy again that speaks to me of full body rubs, just like my mom used to do. Cathy and Paul have done that for me and it is more than any dog could ever hope for, after my journey.

I am afraid but now I have hope.

I have been given a second chance.

I am a blue heeler. I am from Kentucky. I am a girl.

That makes me a Blue Kentucky Girl.

Blue is a supposedly a sad colour in the human world. But, Blue is a colour that defined my world and I am proud to have overcome the worst of it. And I feel grateful for those that looked beyond and saw that I could learn, that I could give and feel love, and be a good companion, and learn to live with the humans.

Thanks to them

I am no longer afraid.

I am a dog. My name is Molly Jo.