Holly's Haven

"No. We don't need another dog." With that confirmation, my heart sank all the way to the basement beneath me as my Dad's voice rang true and final. I returned the phone to my Mom before I shuffled off to my bedroom in the devastating defeat of a seven-year-old's well structured argument.

We lived in the middle of nowhere, so many of our pets fell victim to speeding cars in the night or valiant battles with coyotes, but new ones rotated in often as strays or drop-offs sought food and shelter with our cats and dogs in the barn. Eventually, my parents had to cut off the idea of any further outdoor pets, as we had become a fairly large sanctuary of sorts for cats and their kittens who couldn't get spayed/neutered quickly enough.

I accepted the new ruling and enjoyed my animals, content with how many little creatures I had to love on when I went outside to explore, until my Dad called home one night to check in and share some news from his construction job a few hours away.

"Someone dropped a dog off here at the work site. Not sure why they dropped her here, but she's sleeping in the shop until the end of the week. They want someone to take her home but I think we'll probably just take her to the shelter before I head back."

I wanted her. I had no idea what type of dog she was, nor did I have any inkling of her personality; the idea that someone simply left her behind without caring what happened to her inspired a passion in me that my heart couldn't ignore. I wanted her to come home with my Dad and have a place she knew she would be happy to be in forever.

My Dad was not interested. He repeatedly mentioned how many pets we'd lost, the amount we had, the ruling on adding new pets, and many other fair reasons to reject adding her to our family. I understood what he was saying, but to me, my heart wanting to rescue the special drop-off and spoil her was more important than petty little facts like pet numbers and potential dangers of where we lived.

As mentioned, I gave up the fight, and the rest of the week passed as usual. Friday nights were when my Dad would come home from work, covered in grease and oil from working on construction equipment, and the routine was always the same: come inside, get a hug, remove boots, and sit down to eat. I wandered the kitchen that night wondering what was taking my Dad so long to get home, as I was ready for my hug after the heartbreaking rejection of a Daddy telling his little girl, "No."

I heard his work truck pull into the driveway and bounced excitedly, staying inside to wait for him, and my Mom surprised me by saying, "Why don't you go meet your Dad out at his work truck?"

"Okay!" I sang loudly and bolted out the door, thrilled to get to meet my Dad in the garage for a change. It took all of a handful of seconds before my bare feet landed on the smooth, cold, filthy concrete of the garage, and I pranced over to the driver's side door just as my Dad was opening it.

"I'll need you to back up a little, Alaine." I hopped backwards, ready to ask how his drive home went as he slowly climbed down from his seat, and then I gasped.

"Daddy, YOU BROUGHT HER HOME!"

There she was, laying down, curled up in a ball in the passenger seat. She was the most beautiful dog I'd ever seen, and I loved her with every bit of my heart. My tone and energy dropped as I noticed her body language was timid and nervous, and I softly encouraged her to come out of the truck. She didn't look like any dog I'd ever seen, and that was enough to make me want to look after her with all the care in the world.

We took her inside, where she was treated with a steak dinner with the rest of the family, and I gazed at my Dad like the hero I felt he was. "Why did you change your mind? You said no more pets."

"Well, no one wanted her, and the more I thought about dropping her off at a shelter, the worse I felt. She's a good dog, she just sat around quietly while we worked. Didn't bark at all, she was a nice little pup to keep us company, so I figured she'd probably do all right here."

I bounced excitedly as she still seemed nervous in her adjustment to her new home, hoping that this new family addition was one that was meant to be forever.

Within the first year of Holly becoming a member of the family, I was bonded to her like I wasn't bonded to any other pet. She accompanied me everywhere on the property, along with the forest walks I took, always ensuring I was okay. She was incredibly quiet; barking and growling rarely occurred, and she seemed to always have a reminiscent look in her eyes. It was like having the soul of a mother living in the body of a canine, and her biggest goal was making me feel secure.

A few of years into Holly's new life with us, my Mom finally approved me staying home alone during an errand she had to run, and instructed me to keep the doors locked. "Just listen for Holly, you know she'll bark if there's an actual problem."

She left, and I plopped down in front of the television immediately to watch my favorite shows. About ten minutes later, I looked up to see a thick fog-like smoke pouring down the staircase, and I jumped up with my heart racing a million miles a minute. I listened carefully, wondering if the house was on fire, wondering if Holly might alert me to any issues.

Oh. Holly. I needed her.

I flew to the back door, opened it up and called for her. She appeared immediately and I opened the door all the way, beckoning her inside. She hesitated, as she hadn't been an indoors dog since that first steak dinner, but she complied and followed me to the little TV room I had been sitting in. I sat on the floor and she sat beside me, her eyes fixated on the unusual "smoke" but keeping herself pressed directly against me so I could relax.

Eventually, the smoke cleared, and my heart was beating normally again. I stood up, thanked Holly for making me feel safe as I rubbed her behind her ears, and took her back outside where she looked completely content with having been able to provide me with security for as long as I needed. When my Mom got home, I told her what happened, but she brushed it off as childlike stories and gave a gentle scolding for letting Holly inside without permission (while also admitting that she was glad I could find comfort with Holly's presence.)

As a side note: to this day, I still have no idea what that smoke was, but that might be an idea for a whole other story sometime.

Our home became Holly's Haven for the rest of her life. Eventually, I moved out because my parents divorced, and I got to come visit her twice a year until she passed peacefully from old age when I reached my teens. I've grieved the time we lost because of the changes life put in our paths, but I was so grateful that she got to stay with my Dad until her existence changed into a new kind.

She was meant to be mine, and I was beyond lucky to have her for the time that I did. For years we explored, cuddled, exercised, bonded, and shared water from the drinking hose on those hot days. I never knew a dog like her could exist, and I doubt I'll ever find another one like her.

All dogs are special in their own ways, and when they can be a memory of security in a life full of insecurities, that makes them more than a companion...it makes them a guardian of your very heart. To all other guardians we've lost to the Rainbow Bridge, this is for you as well.