The Kennel
In just a very few short years, I've gone from being a dog hater to living with five of them. It started when I rescued my husky. A friend imposed her on me, if even only as something temporary. I ended up keeping her. Not long after that I wound up with another rescue, of all things, a Chihuahua, a breed I have for many years especially hated as obnoxiously loud and aggressive. She is sweet and loving and my baby. She sleeps with me. It's a long story, but these two rescued me as much as I rescued them.
Then, my honey moved in. she brought with her three very large dogs, two of them pit bulls. They, too, had been rescued, this time from the animals who practice dog fighting. We have been nursing them back to physical and emotional health and it still hasn't taken. For a long time they required wrappings around their cage to shield them from us and noise. Eventually the physical wraps came off and we somewhat weaned them back to a sort of environmental normality.
But not the psychological ones. They only find security in their kennels on our back porch. That makes me sad. Living things should not be caged. I try to let them out as often as possible and they seem to enjoy it, except for the most emotionally scarred one, the one that does not allow even human touch, he keeps retreating to his kennel after only a very short period outside. The other two appreciate their reprieve. It even takes a little coaxing sometimes to get them back in their kennel. But they go. Not sure
where this metaphor goes. Clearly, they're better off than they were before.
