#smallfurryhope

. . . . . . . . . . #smallfurryhope #stevenkotler #dogrescue #gidget #dogs #books #bookstagram #thingsthatmadanimpression . . . Steven Kotler co-founded the Rancho de Chihuahua dog sanctuary in Chimayo, New Mexico. Gidget was a Chihuahua, and Otis an English Bull Terrier.

. . . . . . . . . . #readthis #smallfurryhope #stevenkotler #dogrescue #book #thingsthatmadeanimpression . . . Since there was no way to stop leaving him alone, I started comforting him when I got home. I would ignore the mess, apologize for my absence, and smother him with affection. I mean smother him. The bigger the disaster, the more love he got. I was going on instinct here, as my plan ran contrary to the advice of most dog trainers. That advice covered the gamut, but a typical example was the 2009 ABC News story “How to Cure Your Dog’s Separation Anxiety.” They suggest more discipline – thus cementing my position as “team leader” – or less affection – this breaking him of his “owner addiction.” Across the board, the experts were certain that my strategy – coming home and treating him, for lack of a better phrase, like a human being – would only reward and reinforce his bad behaviour. As often happens in dog rescue, the experts were wrong. Within a week, Ahab stopped destroying the furniture. Within two, he left the garbage alone. At the start of the third, he got up from the corner, walked over to the couch where I was sitting, and put a paw on the cushion. He was trembling slightly, trying to hide it, but trembling. It took him a little while to work up his nerve, but eventually he pulled himself the rest of the way up and belly-crawled over. He stopped a few inches away to gather himself. The quivering ceased, his fur lay back down, and he lifted his head to face me directly. Martin Buber once said, “An animal’s eyes have the power to speak a great language,” and this time no different. It really was the first time Ahab had ever held my gaze, I’m not sure what I’d been expecting – maybe fear, wariness, a hint of hope – but what I got was the weight of tradition, a combination of great furry love and truly sober nobility. It felt like Ahab was both offering me his heart and telling men of an ancient trust between our species, a sacred covenant, an honor code I didn’t yet know existed. I’m pretty sure he was also telling me not to screw it up. Then, our ethics lesson over, Ahab put his head in my lap, sighed once, and fell asleep.

Chow’s mouth turned out to be small enough that with my fist wedged inside she couldn’t apply nearly as much pressure. She chomped and chomped and after about ten minutes the feeding frenzy vanished, suddenly replaced by profound befuddlement. Chow had finally noticed that my other hand had been stroking her back the whole time. This may have been the first time in her life that she’d felt affection, and where was it coming from? She glanced over her right shoulder, then looked left. Pretty soon she was whipping her head back and forth like a speed freak at a tennis match. It was fear of neck snapping that finally made me let her go. Then she leaped off my lap and shot across the porch, but froze at the edge, one paw lifted, the other legs bent. Whatever the next move, Chow never made it. Instead, she waddled back over, plopped down at my feet, and began licking my toes. #thingsthatmadeanimpression #smallfurryhope #stevenkotler #chow #dogrescue