For the Love of Dogs

For weeks following the early morning I was sexually assaulted in my home by an acquaintance, I had a scream trapped in my chest. It was heavy, ugly, and full of dark sludge. After telling my story to a uniformed officer, repeating it to a detective, then to a nurse who conducted a three-hour long rape kit exam, and then finally to the victim advocate who helped me apply for a Personal Protection Order that was ultimately denied, the feeling charred my voice and shoved it deep into the dark recesses of my body. I existed as a shell of a person in a haze of fear and betrayal: betrayal of my trust in another person and betrayal of the legal system that refused to prosecute, and betrayal by a detective who dismissed the allegations and documented evidence as simply proof that I just liked rough sex.

In the aftermath of the assault, I felt unsafe in my home; however, I was also afraid to leave my home due to a deepening depression and concern that I would see my perpetrator around town. There was nothing that prevented him from moving through the world freely like he always had. I, on the other hand, was trapped in a prison of shame that he had constructed around me.

I was apathetic and angry. I found myself looking online at pets for adoption, mostly because the cute pictures and clever bios about each dog made me smile. I needed something outside of myself to care about, something that needed me. A dog would need me. A dog may even protect me.

That was when I found Piper. She was a medium-sized black dog with giant ears and a white patch of fur on her chest and one of her back feet. She needed an owner who was patient with her since she was afraid of people and not particularly cuddly. This wasn’t a dog that would show affection; rather, this was a dog that would only gradually trust whoever adopted her. I understood that. I didn’t trust people anymore, either. She was particularly fearful of men and would bark at them before running away to cower. I understood that, too. I had spent the better part of a month cowering, too.

I put in the application. A volunteer came to my home to verify it was a safe environment for a dog. When I finally met Piper, she approached slowly, licked my hand, and ran away. The foster mom said that she was the most confident she had seen this dog with anyone who had met her before. If I wanted her, she was mine. I took her home that day.

During the first few weeks, Piper hunched her shoulders and lowered her head whenever I approached her. She froze when I put on her harness to take her for a walk, but once on leash, she walked ahead with increasing confidence. She took treats from my hand. After a month, she would lay on the floor next to me and fall asleep. After two months, she was no longer afraid to turn her back to me. Whenever anyone came to the door, particularly men and especially strangers, she barked and snarled like a chained dog at a junkyard. Solicitors no longer lingered on the porch in hopes I would answer the door.

After four months, she slept on the floor in my bedroom, her large ears twitching in response to every unfamiliar noise or presence outside. In the mornings, she jumped on my bed and licked my face to let me know it was time for breakfast. While my husky, Duke, was the dog that loved everyone, Piper was the dog that only loved me. The heavy weight of the scream inside of me disintegrated to ash and my lungs healed anew. 

In the years that followed, I relocated out of state for a job, leaving the scene of the crime against me behind. Within a year, I started fostering dogs for a local animal rescue. Bringing abandoned, forgotten, unwanted, and neglected dogs into my home, socializing them, and getting them ready for adoption has given me a greater sense of purpose in the aftermath of my trauma.

While Piper is still nervous around other people, she is always welcoming of new dogs. She acts as the temperament gauge for each new foster I bring into my home. She will be the one to sniff them and patiently let them sniff her. If a foster is dog-friendly, Piper is the one to let me know. If her ears turn backward and flatten, the foster needs more time to decompress. If her ears are up and her tail wags, the new dog is safe. If she raises the fur on her back and lowers her head, the foster will need to be separated for a longer period of time and slowly introduced later, if ever. Regardless of her reaction, she looks to me after each introduction as if to convey her read on the animal. She looks me in the eyes now. She has taught me how to look into the eyes of others.   

To date, I have found permanent homes for thirteen dogs with no intention of stopping. That isn’t to say that it is easy. There is nothing glamorous about fostering. I have wrestled dirty dogs into the bathtub and scrubbed them clean after their time in shelters. I have broken up dog fights and suffered permanent scarring in the aftermath. I have taken fosters into strangers’ homes to assess if the pet will be safe and cared for with them and have had to walk away when I could sense the dog was not comfortable there. I have cried after learning the dog whined for me after I left her with a new owner. I have collected fecal samples and stored them in my refrigerator to be tested by the vet for parasites. I have been lied to and blamed for a dog’s behavior after adoption. I have also been thanked, contacted for advice, and sent regular updates on dogs that are thriving with their new families.

After my assault, those whose jobs it was to advocate for me let me down and revictimized me in the process. They disabled my voice, but it was temporary. Foster dogs don’t have a voice and count on me to be their advocate as they cannot advocate for themselves. Fostering has taught me that I’m much stronger than I believed myself to be and not nearly as strong as I thought I was. It has connected me with my community and surrounded me with people who are trusting and trustworthy. Most importantly, I have a purpose and a future that is focused on hope, potential, and love.