How A Dog That Isn't Mine Takes My Kids Off Leash

Every night after dinner, we torture the teenagers by reading for half an hour. We settle in the living room, each in our own cozy spot and read books, magazines, the occasional newspaper, even case files. Reading Time is a sacred institution in our house, more than any religious or spiritual practice.

Most of the kids who've come through our doors struggle with it at one point or another. I see their points: it's contrived; it's arbitrary; (why thirty minutes? Why not ten? Or zero?) it's an infringement on their freedom. It's not unusual to see a display of reluctance before we settle down.

I can always count on a smile though, when we hear what sounds like a bowling ball rolling across our ceiling, chased by an enthusiastic pony. One of us, without fail, will look up at the ceiling light and dryly intone,

"Hi, Hitch."

Hitch isn't my dog. He lives upstairs with his person, Alex. Hitch is a deaf Pitbull mix who responds to sign language commands. He's a cheerful, friendly dog who thinks everyone is going to be his New Best Friend.

Some of our kids only really interact with Hitch when we hear him overhead, chasing the ball dispenser that holds his dinner kibble. Others have spent much more time with him.

I wish I could show you a picture of Hitch with his favorite of our teens. Out respect for said teen's privacy, I can only show a picture of this good boy, who has most certainly never had dinner in his life.

It's easy to see our teens' effect on Hitch; when one of them plays with him, he loses at least six of his eight venerable years, turning into a bouncy, frolicking puppy. But his effect on them is just as important; it's subtle and beautiful.

Whether the kids are throwing ball after ball for him to chase, or learning one of his sign commands, I see them slip away from the burdens of being a teen (especially a teen in foster care.) Tiktok drama, school struggles, social workers and the challenges of foster care are heavy loads to carry. Hitch lets our teens put them down and pick up a ball.

Sometimes, though, it's not a romp in the back yard or a walk around the block. When our teens have hard days, Hitch is there for them, too. Our back door doesn't always fully close, and more than once, Hitch has nosed his way in and discovered an unhappy teen curled up in bed. He makes it his mission to comfort them with kisses and drag them out of bed for a game of fetch. Doesn't fetch make everything better?

One thing I always look for with new teens is WHERE and WITH WHOM they are their BEST SELF. Is it with a certain teacher at school that their natural wit and charm comes out? Does their little sister bring out a tenderness and sweetness they're hesitant to show anywhere else?

Sometimes, Hitch brings out a teen's best self. I've seen youth who could pick a fight with the kitchen floor stop mid-sentence to greet him with genuine glee. I've seen teens be patient and playful with him, even if he doesn't obey their imperfect sign commands.

In those moments, it feels like they have a freedom that doesn't exist anywhere else I can see. They try new things, like sign commands. It's easier to accept imperfection or failure. They trust that this eighty pound goofball will show up for them on their bad days.

Hitch shows unending patience and boundless enthusiasm for everyone he loves (which is everyone he meets.) For some of our teens, it's been easier to trust his love than the love of people around them; Hitch doesn't even need them to consistently play ball with him or go for a walk with them. He needs them to simply exist as themselves, no conditions. And I can imagine how very, very freeing that can be.

Thank you to Hitch's person, Alex, for all the amazing photos!