21/10/2024
A Love Beyond Fear
He wasn’t the dog who trembled in fear. No, he faced the world with teeth bared and eyes narrowed. When I brought him home, he lashed out—not because he was bad, but because he was scared. His growls, his snaps, were his armour against a world he believed would hurt him. And in those early days, I was part of that world too. I remember the way his muscles tensed at every touch, how he’d react to my voice, his bark sharp, daring anything and everything to come closer. Fear doesn’t always look like hiding. Sometimes, it looks like a fight.
I questioned myself more than once. How could we ever reach each other through his defenses? Could I give him what he needed? There were moments of frustration, times when it seemed like I’d never break through that wall of anger and fear. But there was something in him—some quiet, unspoken plea for a chance. Beneath his growls, I saw glimpses of the dog he could be. He just needed someone who wouldn’t give up on him.
So, I didn’t.
Instead of seeing his aggression as something to fight against, I learned to understand it. I realised he wasn’t angry at me, not really—he was terrified, expecting the world to hurt him because that’s all he knew. Little by little, I worked to earn his trust. I didn’t push when he wasn’t ready, and when he lashed out, I stayed patient, knowing that this was his way of testing whether I would abandon him like so many others had.
It wasn’t easy. There were days when his outbursts left me questioning if we were making any progress at all. But then there were moments—small, fleeting moments—where his defenses lowered. A softening in his eyes, a hesitant step closer. The first time he rested his head against my leg, it felt like the world shifted. In that small, quiet moment, he was telling me, ''I’m trying.'' And that was enough to keep going.
Over time, the space between his moments of fear grew wider. He began to trust me, and in doing so, he started to see the world differently. His bark became less a warning and more a conversation, his growl softened into curiosity. We built a bridge of understanding, meeting each other where we were, learning how to communicate in ways words could never capture.
And one day, when he finally allowed himself to fully relax in my presence, I knew we had crossed over from fear into something deeper. He had given me his trust—a gift more precious than I ever imagined. In return, I gave him my heart, whole and unguarded.
We shared years that felt too short, filled with joy I could have never predicted from those first difficult days. But time, as it always does, ran out too soon. When he left, it wasn’t just the end of his life—it was the tearing away of a bond we had fought so hard to build. Losing him wasn’t just losing a companion; it was losing a part of myself.
He took a piece of my heart with him when he went, a piece I’ll never get back. But what he gave me—the lessons of trust, patience, and a love that can weather any storm—will stay with me forever. I would go through every challenge again, every lash of fear, just to have those moments of peace we found together, to feel that trust once more.
A piece of my heart is gone, but in its place, he left a love so deep that it will never fade. We overcame the world together, and that bond—no matter how broken I feel in his absence—can never be undone.
Natalie P
2024
