In this photo, Skitter and I are modeling two versions of the same Tie o’ the Day theme: Christmas lights in reindeer antlers. Although she might appear to be, Skitter was not traumatized by posing in this photo with me. I promise. She’s always a good sport when I say to her, “Skitter, we need to do a TIE O’ THE DAY thing.” She doesn’t run away and hide or get extra-shaky when I get in TIE mode with her.
Six years ago this week, this little scaredy dog let our fam-damily adopt her. She’s a rescue dog, and she had been through a hellish puppyhood before we brought her into our home to be treated like the Queen o’ All Mutts. We are guessing she was about 1 when we got her, which makes her 7 now. We don’t know from what breed she hails. Our best guess is that she is part Chihuahua and part Whippet, so we say she is a Whippet-huahua. If you ever get the chance to watch her run, you will see all-out “Whippet woosh” in her speed.
I almost named her Bambi because she looked like a fawn when we first saw her at the rescue, especially when she curled up. But she was skittish to the core. Hence, her name had to be Skitter. I’ve written posts remarking that Skitter vibrates when she’s out in the world, and she honestly does. As time goes on, she vibrates at a lower level of vibration. Sometimes her vibration is invisible to anyone who isn’t me or Suzanne. I’ve been asked, “How can Skitter be happy if she’s always afraid of everything?” My reply: “Well, she only vibrates around people, places, things, and ideas. Other than that, she’s fearless.” Seriously, she is a happy dog. She knows she is loved and safe. She expresses a range of moods beyond fear. We do, however, realize her skittishness will never completely go away. Unfortunately, whatever abuse she suffered as a puppy is a part of who she is.
We think Skitter has adjusted relatively well. She loves to jump in the car when I say, “Let’s go for a ride,” but she shakes the entire time we drive anywhere— including to Delta. She loves visiting Mom. She hardly vibrates at all anymore when we spend time at Millard Care and Rehab. When Skitter’s sitting on Mom’s bed there, she doesn’t shake.
When we walk to the mailbox, Skitter doesn’t vibrate anymore, but she still keeps her tail between her legs. I’ve taught her how to howl when Suzanne gets home from work. Even though her own howling noises startle her, you can tell Skitter’s proud of herself for knowing how and when to do it.
I admire Skitter. She doesn’t let her fears keep her in her crate all day. Despite the abuse she suffered before we familied her, she’s still willing to trust that we’ve got her skinny canine back. She knows it’s a crazy world. She knows it can be a mean world. Still, she faces each day with oodles of hope and wonder. Sometimes I think she’s better at being a grown-up than I am.
