Socializing Dawn

We brought Dawn into the house yesterday. As far as we know, until then, she had never been inside a home; the vet guessed her age at two years.

For the most part, she stays glued to an old quilt we use as a dog bed. She flinches when the ceiling fan turns, the refrigerator opens, the front door shuts, a chair squeaks across wood. I watch her watching us – young dogs wrestling, cats prowling, humans doing chores – and wish I could hear her thoughts. The smells alone must be monumental.

For all her fears, she looks good. She’s been spayed, dewormed, and vaccinated; we bought her a brown and pink-flowered collar and attached an identification and rabies tag. In the ten days I was away, her teats have visibly shrunk.

We’ve been able to put a harness around her, so that when we take her outside, we don’t fear losing her, but I still wrap the leash around my wrist three times. Her stride is all herky-jerky, and she walks as far away as the six-foot rope allows. Ironically, she doesn’t like to go too far from her new home base, just far enough to do her business.

Since she got here,  she hasn’t raised her tail an inch; it remains stuck to her rear.

But, Dawn hasn’t exhibited an ounce of aggression. She hasn’t tried to bite any of us, human or dog. She’ll growl or whine once in a while – when we cross some unknown boundary – but she hasn’t snapped or barked, and the rest of the pack haven’t challenged her warnings either.

Of the seven other dogs currently living here, her offspring, Adriana and Tony, are the most interested; I’ve caught them sleeping beside or kissing her more than once – particularly six-week-old Tony, who keeps rooting for her boobs, hoping for one more shot of milk. No such luck, little man. Those wells are dry. For good.

Last night, for the first time in her life, Dawn slept inside a home.