A story of love

It was the beginning of the end of a long abusive relationship. No more fear, no more feeling not good enough, no more control, no more starvation, no more isolation. Only freedom. But it came at a cost. My children, who I lived for, who kept me alive, placed in foster care. I was too unstable and emotionally damaged after 11 years of abuse. My world, fell beneath my feet. I was lost, now alone in this empty house, the silence was deafening. The walls held their laughs, their worries, their tears, their playing, their mischievousness. It was haunting. Disturbed in the night, I heard a cry, he’s calling out for me. I woke to silence, remembering they’re no longer here. Waking up each morning to lay out 5 bowls and fill them with cereal, adding the milk and laying out 5 spoons, only to remember I stand here in this house, alone. They are gone. Breaking down in tears, I felt suicidal. Haunted by memories, for the last time, I seen them playing with toy cars, laughing and being kind to one another. Was I going crazy?

Putting a large nail in the door frame, I planned my death by hanging. I made a noose to go around my neck and stood on a chair. I seen them once more, all standing together, watching me. I heard “mum, we need you” as he cried. I looked at them, sad, alone, needing. I was alone, their voices haunted me, but saved me. “Who do they have if not me? I have to fight for them.” I needed someone to love, someone to care for, I needed a dog.

Fate has a funny way of playing out, as if the universe is at one with each of our individual struggles. I met Jake, a 2.5 year old border collie who had lived his life, so far, in a barn with minimal human contact. His only ‘friends’ were cats. He had hay for bedding, his food was thrown for him to find and the only human contact he had was at his mealtime where he got a pat on the head. He was dropped at a rescue with his collar and lead and only this information. Jake had spent a short time in foster care where he had bitten a child. This resulted in him being placed back in the shelter.

When Jake was dropped off to me in the back of a white transit van, inside a crate, I made him promises. I promised I would never give up on him, I would never leave him, I would never abandon him, I would never let him down and I would always do my best for him. He was afraid. He was scared of me, he was scared of my home, he was scared of house sounds. I couldn’t watch Tv with the sound on for a while, I used subtitles. The sound caused him to freeze on the spot. Slowly, he came out of his shell. We would take long walks to the park, often getting lost in a field, we would enjoy the sun and peace together, sitting by a lake, watching the ducks, hearing the birds. Two beings, of different species, together, sharing warmth in safety and trust. If he got scared of anything, I would reassure him, reminding him of my promises, while running my fingers through his short black and white hair. Jake began to trust me and our bond grew to being inseparable. Every time he became worried about noises or too many people, he would come to me, as if to ask for direction on what to do. It became clear that Jake was quite badly misunderstood in his foster home. He was afraid. I understood fear, I understood the silent conversations from him, I recognised the look in his eyes as if they were a reflection of my own. We understood each other. Jakes deep insecurities and, at first, mistrust, crumbled away with even the smallest amount of respect and understanding he was given.

As Jake was possibly fearful of children, as he’d bitten a child, I began helping Jake feel more comfortable around them by offering my support and guidance. My nieces really wanted to meet Jake, but this needed work first, so I employed their help. Through a stair gate, they threw food and Jake enjoyed the game. Quickly, Jake became trusting enough that, with an open hand, my nieces took turns feeding Jake through the stair gate with their hands pressed up against the bars. This progressed to handing Jake food through the stair gate with their fingers. Like the true gentle soul he was, he took this calmly and softly from them. Jake showed an eagerness to meet them every time they visited, wagging his tail, excited, going up to the stair gate to be touched. My nieces offered him food over the top of the gate and this progressed to stroking him gently. Jake had come to trust them, as he had come to trust me. The eldest of the two girls became very fond of Jake and they became best friends. Jake preferred to lie with her when she was lying on the sofa and viewed her as an important human. Their bond was quite special.

Despite overcoming some obstacles and fears already, Jake struggled with fireworks and thunderstorms. Often, jumping on my knee for safety, shaking, panting fast. Jake and I began working together to help him cope with these sounds and others he struggled with, such as banging. It took a long time for his emotional response to lessen, for him to be able to sleep through it, but he got there in the end, as he often did with what he struggled with. His incredible trust and faith in me to do my best by him was never ending. He’d look at me with eyes so soft, his body pressed up against my leg, which was his cue to tell me something was wrong. It was up to me to figure out what and how to help him. I didn’t give up. I found music Jake liked and I paired this music with food and calmness. After some repetition, it provided jake with a sense of safety. So when jake felt worried, I would put this music on with a candle and he would be able to sleep, even through a thunderstorm.

Jake had a very soft, trusting, kind, compassionate nature. He was an old soul, very wise and almost human-like. There was an intelligence about him that I’ve never experienced before. His eyes were deep, that could almost tell a story of their own. Full of love and faith. Jake also loved anything to do with food, learning new things and exploring new places. His little ears would Bob up and down as he trotted alongside me on a walk.

Jake often made me laugh. One way he’d do this was ‘dance’ at dinner time. He’d bounce up and down with his front paws, his ears bouncing with him until his plate was put down infront of him. I called this his ‘dinner dance.’ Before he’d eat, he had to have a kiss on his head or he wouldn’t touch his food. He would sit waiting for it, expecting it and everything was right in the world when he got it.

Jake had a bedroom of his own to relax in when he felt overwhelmed by visitors or noises. He would spend a lot of his ‘down time’ in his room, on his double bed, with his favourite music. When he got lonely, he’d come and find me and nudge me gently with his nose for a cuddle. He wouldn’t be around me when I ate. When he thought I was going to be cooking and not giving him food, he would take himself off to his room. When he heard the scraping of me almost finishing eating, he would come trotting into the kitchen, ears bobbing up and down, he’d sit infront of me with his tongue poking out, waiting for ‘pudding.’ Jakes personality really shone when he felt comfortable to express himself. It felt like our paths were meant to cross so we could lean on each other to heal. Jake relied on me to provide him a fear free, punishment free, safe space where he could be himself and I relied on him to provide me with someone to love and care for unconditionally to help me heal from all the hurt I’ve experienced in my life. We made a good team.

It was a calm day in February when I noticed a lump on Jakes neck. Thinking the worst, I rushed him to the vet. They believed it was an abscess and we left with antibiotics. It did seem to be going down, but Jake was choking on food, so I took him back. They thought the best way forward was to operate and see what was going on. The outcome of that was it seemed to be an infection. They drained it and Jake seemed a bit more comfortable. There was a slight lump left but they suggested that was from the surgery and may never go away. Thankful, Jake and I spent more time together, doing more training sessions around consensual cleaning of the surgery site on his neck. He really enjoyed our training sessions. When we were done, he’d go to the cupboard and touch it with his nose to cue me to let him choose something. Usually, he’d want a breadstick. Jake and I carried life on as normal, spending time together, learning together, life was good.

Two months later, the small lump on his neck felt to be getting bigger and harder. Taking him back to the vet, they gave antibiotics again and suggested the abscess could come back. Feeling confident it would go away with antibiotics, I had faith in his recovery. The antibiotics failed to work and after repeated vet visits, they finally agreed to operate once more.

I got a call from the vet who wasn’t so optimistic. She advised she believed it is a tumour and asked if I wanted her to take a biopsy to confirm or rule out. ‘Of course’ I said, ‘we need to know how to treat it.’

A few days later, the test results came back. ‘Infiltrated undifferentiated sarcoma possibly originating in the salivary glands’ she said. My world collapsed. I couldn’t believe what she had just told me. “How.. how do we treat this? We have to do something right away!” She advised me, due to the location, it is impossible to treat as there are so many nerves and vessels in that area that trying to remove the tumour, may kill him. It is for this reason that the tumour is inoperable. Jake was terminal. I couldn’t fathom the prospect of loosing my boy, my life, my best friend. ‘No’ I thought, ‘I will find a way.’

I went into Jake, who was lying on my bed, resting. Crying, I told him the news. I promised him that no matter what, I will find a way to help him, I will make this better. “I promise you sweetheart, I will do everything I can to make this all better.” He looked at me and nudged my chin with his nose as if he’d just understood what I’d said. I kissed him between his eyes and said “I promise.” “You’re my best boy.”

My eldest son was due to come home and I did worry about how Jake would respond to a disrupt to his routine. Everything in my life was accommodated for Jake, he was my world and everything centred around him. It was calm, it was quiet, it was Whatever Jake needed.

I done a lot of research on cancer, I seemed to spend alot of my waking day reading. I travelled 6 hours to a holistic vet on the other side of the country and he fell in love with Jake, as everyone who meets him does. I tried many holistic therapies under vet advice and begged him to help me save Jake. “Please don’t let me loose him, we have to help him, please help me to help him.” But he too was at a loss. I tried the Keto diet, but this seemed to deprive Jake of what he needed to be healthy and it seemed to cause him to go down hill quicker, as did all the other medicines I tried. Jake was loosing his spirit. He was loosing his fight. I was helpless and couldn’t face the truth that there was nothing at all I could do to help him. It’s never been an option! No matter what Jake went through, I always found a way to make things better for him. He had this faith in me and I promised I would never leave him. I promised I wouldn’t let him down. I broke my promise. The only promise I broke and his life depended on me keeping it. I let him down.

Jake didn’t eat for 3 days and he developed a hole in the back of his throat. It was time.

On 7th October 2019 at 11.50am, jake fell asleep for the last time. With his head on his favourite pillow, lying on his favourite blanket, on his favourite couch, with candles and his favourite music, while I was holding his paw, Jake fell asleep, at home.

Our Journey together had come to an end.

Jake warmed my heart in more ways than one, he made me laugh, he let me love him, he’d lay his head on my knee when I was sad, he’d stay with me if I wasn’t feeling ok. Jake was my best friend. If a dog can be a soul-mate, he was mine. Jakes presence brought joy to my life. Every day with him was a blessing that warmed my heart every time I looked into those deep, meaningful, soft, loving eyes. He saved me from suicide, he allowed me to love someone unconditionally without being harmed in return, he gave me hope, he gave me confidence in my ability to be a successful canine behaviourist, Jake gave me everything I needed. I hope, In return, I gave him everything he needed. I miss him deeply. It has been 2 years since his peaceful passing but not one day of those 2 years, has Jake ever not been on my mind. I still hear his footsteps walking down the stairs, I still expect to see my boy sitting and waiting for me to come home, ears pricked forward and the tongue sticking out. My heart aches without him, but life has become so much more for knowing him and for sharing together what we shared. It was his time and unfortunately, fate has plans. Sometimes it’s a blessing, sometimes it’s heartache. Sometimes, angels only enter our lives and stay for as long as we need them.

I hope one day, our paths cross again.