"What breed is your dog?" - How a heart heals

Community care for a little boy AKA All dogs are good dogs

In the days that followed our sweet and gentle dog’s death, my nine-year-old would suddenly howl. A howl is all I can really call it. It was a devastating noise. He would be writing his lists (his favourite thing to do - lists of historical events, lists of border changes, lists of flags that have green in them) and suddenly he would drop his iPad and howl.

He would jump up and run and howl and we would pull him into our arms, fall to the floor and cry with him.

He would say “my bones hurt” and “my skin hurts” and “it all hurts!”. He would ask us “do you feel it hurts too?” and we would say yes. We feel it too.

He was describing grief. His howl was the outward expression that we all felt when we would glance over at the day bed by the window where she used to lie and watch the world go by. His howl was the noise we made inside ourselves. He just didn’t know how to keep the noises inside.

And as painful as it was to hear his pain, there was something healthy about it. He forced us all to stop and face our own sadness. There was no hiding it away.

Many times a day he kisses the portrait Sheena Ross made for us.

Sometimes he would walk around and around saying ‘no no no no where is my dog where is my no no no my dog’. All we could do was hold him and cry with him. We felt like doing the same. Where is our girl? Where is she now?

My dearest friend Naomi (who I would find in every lifetime) begin bringing over her two dogs. He had never shown any interest in her dogs because he had his own dog. His world was simple - I have a dog, I don’t need another one.

In the empty space she left, Pickle - a sweet and goofy, very needy Golden Retriever - soaked up his love. And oh, he had so much love. It was overflowing without our girl Twinkle.

With Pickle the naughtiest best dog.

Scout, a spicy and beautiful Pomeranian, was hard for him to win over at first. He simply adored her - she was so small compared to his ‘Gone Dog’. Eventually, she stopped hiding from him, stopped barking, and soon he was holding her to his heart and she was soothing all of the hurt he was feeling.

In an effort to spend even more time with them he started going to dog parks with them. This did not come easily for him. He was drawn to dogs but afraid of them. He was especially afraid of adults. And he was especially, especially afraid of unpredictable children.

In a way, a dog park was his worst nightmare - people running (a big fear), noise, outside (not a fan of heat and wind).

But - he wanted to see dogs. He wanted to love dogs. He wanted to find out everything he could about dogs.

With Scout who he ADORES

We were astounded to see him push himself to seek out this companionship. When he first went up to an adult and said ‘What breed is your dog?’ I almost cried.

Since we had lost our girl he had stopped talking as much. He rarely, if ever, talked to adults who weren’t related to him. His world had been tipped upside down and he didn’t know how to cope.

Soon, he was running up to people and asking about their dogs. Then he began asking if he could take a picture of their dogs. Some dogs he even gave a pat too, others he just stood, happily waving at them, heart full and eyes smiling.

Meeting new friends at “The Dog Restaurant” AKA Parrot Dog.

This is how he moved through his grief. This is how he found his voice again.

And I was struck by how it reinforced everything I know to be true about loss. When my friend Lou died, I shared the bell hooks quote that had helped me so much - ‘Rarely, if ever, are any of us healed in isolation. Healing is an act of communion’.

I know this to be true so much now. When he runs up to someone and says ‘EXCUSE ME! What breed? What breed is your dog?’ and then quickly writes it on his list - I can see the way the interaction holds him so gently.

Everyone he meets has taken the time to talk to him. To share a little bit about their dog. To tell him a little about how they got their name or what their favourite thing to do is.

New friends at The Dog Restaurant.

He is having dozens of conversations centred around how we love.

He is healing in community, without people even knowing it.

And Twinkle, our sweet and gentle girl, is continuing her legacy of supporting him to live in a world that isn’t always kind to people with his neurotype.

To love life, to really love it, to really live it, is to try to love it even when it’s hard and it hurts. To keep going out every day and trying even when you just want to howl. Even when you just want to hide away.

I didn’t know how to teach him this. But it turns out I didn’t have to. Strangers and their dogs did.

Every wagging tail, every smiling owner, every pup that lets him tickle their ears, every dog that hides behind their owners legs - it’s a little balm for a little soul that was hurting so much.

This is communion.

This is healing.

Follow his journey to meet every dog breed in the world here. And if you know anyone with an Afghan Hound let me know lol.

Best friends Forever.