The Dog that Healed Me
This is going to sound a little melodramatic, but our new puppy is healing our family.
Let me explain with some context…
In early 2022, we adopted a tiny mixed-breed puppy from Alabama through a rescue in Chicago. He had the body of a Corgi, the coat of a German Shepherd, and the eyes and tail (and howl) of a Husky. We named him Merlin loved him with our whole hearts.
Merlin grew into a headstrong pup without much bite control. In his eagerness to play, he often disregarded Maverick's "no." He used his teeth too frequently and roughly with her and with us. In the fall of 2022, he caught and killed a squirrel in our backyard — an event that would become an inflection point. Merlin began harassing Maverick relentlessly and frequently drawing blood during their "play" sessions. She became afraid of him, hiding in our basement, reluctant to engage in play or goofiness even with us, seemingly because she didn't want to "provoke" Merlin.
We spent the next several months working with a behavioral trainer, researching the canine nervous system, and learning how to read Merl’s signals and minimize triggers in his environment.
Things seemed to improve for a while, but then one day in mid-winter, Merlin bit Austin in the face with no warning that we could recognize.
The next few days were awful. Merlin seemed to view Austin as a threat — at one point, chasing him into the bathroom, lunging and snarling at him.
Our first trainer connected us with a colleague who had more capacity for working with our complex situation. We learned about sleep startle reflex and received more guidance about what to do and what not to do. How to communicate safety to Merl, how to gently wake him if/when necessary. How to muzzle train. It was exhausting and we were frequently on edge, vigilant in listening for any hint of a growl, looking for any slight change in his expression. We made an appointment with our vet and started Merlin on Prozac — both of our trainers believed that Merl's aggression was anxiety-based and that treating it pharmaceutically might allow his sensitive nervous system to reach a lower and more resilient baseline.
We thought things were improving. We were doing okay — not great, but okay. We were coping.
Then in early spring, Merl bit me on my wrist HARD, holding his bite for several seconds. I screamed in shock and pain and he eventually let go. For about half a hour, I thought my wrist might actually be broken. I took a couple of days off to recover and then reduced my schedule in the office substantially while I waited for it to heal.
Under our vet's guidance, we upped Merlin's Prozac dosage to the maximum recommended dose for his size and added trazodone to try to address the increased anxiety and agitation he experienced after dark.
We kept trying.
We walked on eggshells most of the time. We rigorously monitored Merlin and his environment. We loved him deeply and gave him lots of attention, play, and pets whenever we could. It again felt like things were slowly improving, even though we felt anxious and overwhelmed and disappointed and so, so, so sad.
Two more bite incidents (one with our roommate and another with me) finally brought us to the end of our rope. We knew that we needed to stop moving our "red line."
We helped our beloved merl-bean cross the rainbow bridge in may of 2023, two months after austin’s mom was diagnosed with stage iv pancreatic cancer.
Merlin was weird and wonderful. He loved belly skritches and having someone gently pull on his front legs to stretch his shoulders. He ran to greet us whenever we came home, urgent little whines from the back of his throat seeming to say, "OH MY GOODNESS! It's you! You're here! I'm so HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY! Welcome back!" He liked to play tug and fetch and he loved people. He'd go glassy-eyed with longing whenever we ate vanilla ice cream. Our backyard was his kingdom — he spent hours watching the trees. And I've never met a dog that loved being sprayed directly in the face with the garden hose quite as much as Merl. Merlin was strange and wild and boisterous and jovial. He was a very, very good boy and we still miss him terribly.
Nearly a year later, we brought Banjo home.
A ten week-old Golden Retriever pup from a breeder that one of Merlin’s behavioral trainers connected us with. She described Banjo’s temperament as “calm, friendly, and happy,” a “gentle soul,” and let us know that being with his people is his favorite thing in the world (well, that and retrieving).
On his third day home with us, Banjo and Maverick played together for the first time and my heart exploded.
I watched Banjo gain confidence that Mav wouldn't eat him and saw Maverick slowly realize that encouraging interaction and engaging in play wasn't going to result in her limits being ignored, make her the target of aggression, or get her hurt. She chuffed at Banjo and head-butted him and wrestled him to the floor with tender restraint. They played tug and chase, all wagging tails, bright eyes, and loose-lipped smiles.
Eventually Maverick gleefully tore the squeaker from a toy that Banjo had started opening up earlier in the day. She used to do this all the time. She LOVED it. We called the new stuffies that we bought her "dog movies" because they cost $12 and usually didn't last more than two hours. Destroying them — particularly extracting and "killing" the squeaker — made her feral with delight.
But Mav had stopped ripping open toys with gusto when she realized that her exuberance usually triggered Merlin too much for her to feel safe. And after Merl was gone, Maverick's Addison's symptoms kept her quiet and low energy (although she wasn't diagnosed until November of 2023, so we didn't initially know that was the cause).
Maverick hadn’t played in almost two years, but that night she played with confidence, ease, and enthusiasm.
Banjo did that.
After the year that almost broke us in every way (some of which I’ve shared and some of which I haven’t), Banjo is teaching Maverick how to dog again. And he's teaching me that I can loosen my grip. That I don't need to be afraid. That there are dogs that will automatically trust and love me without reservation.
We laughed and played — all four of us together. I had forgotten what it felt like.
This little baby puppy is healing our wounds in ways that I couldn't have imagined. He was meant to be ours. We are grateful beyond words.