When I brought Maple home last spring, I expected it would take her a few weeks to settle in. She had been found in the winter as a pregnant stray. All of her adorable puppies had been adopted, but no one yet wanted shaggy, sad-eyed Maple.
She was about the same size as our other rescue dog, Sandy, a scrappy terrier of unknown origin, and they shared similar coloring. I had recently started working from home and thought it was kind of my duty to take in an animal in need. We had the space and wide open arms for feeding, walking and cuddling.
Maple was less certain of the arrangement.
She cowered in the corner of the kitchen where we set up her crate, a comfy bed and food and water dishes. She was house-trained but dreaded the short walk from the kitchen to the back door. She avoided eye . She made not a single sound.
Sandy had met her a couple of times before and seemed ready to give her new sibling a tour of the house, but Maple was not interested.
In those early days, when it was time for a walk, Maple would tremble with the approaching leash. Once outside, though, she walked politely, taking four steps and then looking up for approval, over and over until we eventually circled back home. She never pulled ahead like sled dog Sandy, though she sometimes fell a step or two behind.
Almost a year later, she’s still settling in.
She has ventured into a few more rooms though she has no interest in any bedroom or bathroom. She has claimed three different resting spots in the house. She doesn’t dread walks, though she still seeks human approval once we’re outside.
I’ve never once heard her bark, so I listen for her rustling. Sandy, though, always knows what Maple needs. If Maple wants to go to the backyard and I’m in another room, Sandy finds me and begins to sneeze and dance in circles. That’s my cue to open the back door and give Maple a wide enough berth to run out. Sandy barks again when it’s time for her sister to come inside.
Maple is a fuzzy, furry 15-pound reminder that there’s not always a reliable timeline for milestones, and there’s value in meeting people (and animals) where they are.
Every dog I’ve loved in the past 30 years has been an extrovert — quick to snuggle on the sofa, accept a belly rub and bark as if it’s their paid job. When I brought Maple home, I knew she didn’t fit that profile yet, but I felt confident that she’d eventually conform to my idea of what a dog should be. I would just love her until she got there.
There’s been plenty of love — and kibble, treats, soft voices, head pats and chin scratches, outside adventures, access to stuffed animals that she attacks and dis in the middle of the night — but that doesn’t mean she’s healed from whatever circumstances shaped her in the two years before she moved in. She may never be like the other pups we’ve welcomed into our home, and that’s OK. We’ll keep loving our timid friend just as she is — in the same way that we all hope to be loved and accepted for who we are rather than who others want us to be.
A couple of weeks ago, between bouts of frigid days, I took a morning work break to walk Sandy and Maple around the neighborhood. We took a familiar route at a leisurely pace. I stopped to clean up after one of them when Maple broke free. She sprinted like a greyhound. I watched her as Sandy and I ran after her — she did not once look back for approval. I lost sight of her when she turned the corner, heading straight home.
When Sandy and I caught up with her, Maple was resting on the front porch, waiting for me to open the door so she could settle back in to her safe space. She knew she was home.