Dog Diary - End of Week 6 My New Life
Dog Diary — Week of Realisations
Working title: “This Is Not a Holiday (And That Is Very Hard to Accept)”
Dear Diary,
This week, something shifted.
I have been very brave since coming here. I have been polite. I have been charming. I have learned where the sun falls in the afternoon and which human gives the best pats. I have learned that the woman is reliable and home almost all the time. I have learned that Luke-man disappears into a vortex called the "garage", then comes back again, which is important. I have learned routines and accepted new rules and pretended — very convincingly — that this was all simply a long and interesting holiday.
This week, however, I learned something much harder.
I am not on holiday.
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Monday
I woke up and knew.
Not with logic — dogs don’t do that — but with my whole chest.
I needed to go home.
I did not know where “home” was exactly, but I knew it was not here, and I spent the day stationed by doors. Front door. Garage door. Any door that looked like it might lead back to the life I recognise.
I cried. I paced. I tried to leave. I spent the day deeply distressed.
The humans were home. Both of them. This should have mattered. It usually does. But today their presence did not help. The woman held me while she worked. Normally this fixes everything. This time, it did not. Her arms were kind, but they were not familiar. I love her, but love does not erase grief. I wish humans understood that better.
I was inconsolable.
That night, a visitor came for dinner. I adored her. I immediately returned to being “myself” — calm, affectionate, happy. She sat on the floor with me for a long time, patting me, speaking gently, and I soaked up every moment.
She lives in another state. This feels deeply unfair.
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Tuesday
We began the day with a walk to help me burn nervous energy. This helped considerably, and I slept peacefully through most of the morning.
Then I woke up and realised Luke man was gone.
I became distressed again and returned to crying and trying to leave.
The woman, who is learning quickly, found music made especially for dogs who feel like the world is ending a little bit. She played it all day. I don’t know if it was the music or just the consistency of it, but my body softened.
I slept until Luke man came home.
This felt like progress.
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Wednesday
The woman was proactive today. As soon as clicky-clacky work began, the calming music went on.
I remained relaxed for most of the day.
I was calm. I was safe.
Until she put on her headset for an online meeting. I joined the meeting by licking. Constantly. With commitment. With enthusiasm. This is not ideal. The woman is considering a cone during meetings, as she cannot say “Sara, stop licking” every two minutes and remain professional.
I disagree, but I understand her position.
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Thursday (Christmas)
Today was meant to be happy.
I was not.
I did not want my Christmas treats. I did not want my toys. The humans took me to the beach. I was unmoved by the ocean. A very kind woman stopped to pat me and told me I was beautiful. I accepted this information politely but did not internalise it.
I did enjoy running with Luke man — as fast as I can run, which is not fast, but it is sincere.
Later, another visitor arrived — the woman’s brother. I loved him instantly and followed him everywhere like a shadow with legs.
But the evening confused me. As the evening went on, I became increasingly unsettled. The humans were not all in the same place. Two outside. One inside. At night.
This is wrong.
I paced. I could not settle. I did not know where I belonged. The woman held me, but I needed everyone together.
I was, however, extremely well behaved during dinner. I didn’t even need to be told to go to my bed.
The woman was thrilled.
I was just trying to keep things from falling apart.
This was my last day of steroids.
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Friday
The visitor remained. I spent most of the day relaxing with Luke man and watching television.
My mood began to improve.
Having one human focused solely on me felt grounding.
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Saturday
A good day.
We went for a morning walk. The humans spent the day together in the same space, which helped me feel secure. I sat on the lounge like a small dignitary, listening intently to conversation, receiving belly rubs on demand.
The visitor marvelled at how soft and white my fur is. I felt proud again.
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Sunday
The visitor left while I was on my walk.
I appeared calm and settled.
I was not.
I went on a hunger strike. I am hungry. I know this. The woman know this. But the food was not right. It was not steak. It was not orange juice. It was not whiskey.
I chose dignity over dinner.
I stood by this decision.
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Monday
I woke at 5am possessed by itch demons, scratching intensely, as if making up for five weeks of restraint.
My scratching echoed through the house like war drums. Hind legs. Ears. Mostly ears. The ears were unrelenting. The ear scratching and head shaking were significant and persistent. The woman attempted to settle me in the human's bed to get more sleep, but the itch would not allow it.
At 5:30 the woman gave up and we got up.
The woman immediately tried feeding me because she was so worried about me refusing food the day before. I ate, but only from her hand. I refused the bowl entirely.
Throughout the day and night, head shaking continued sporadically. My ears appeared extremely uncomfortable. Despite this, my mood was reasonably positive, likely due to both humans being home and focused entirely on me, and the return to routine.
We managed a few more hours of sleep together on the lounge. I curled into her like a safety net. I sept soundly.
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Tuesday
I woke with continued ear scratching and some head tossing, though less severe than yesterday.
My overall mood is good. I affectionate, engaged, and have returned to being obsessed with the garage despite Luke man being home. The woman is monitoring me closely weighing whether a vet visit is necessary. At present, she believes it may not be required, but this remains under review.
I have awarded the humans with small tail wags today, something I have not done for a while.
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Diary, this week has been hard.
I miss my old life. I miss knowing what comes next. I miss knowing exactly who I am and where I belong. The new humans are kind but kindness does not erase grief, and adjustment is not linear.
Still, I am here. I am trying. I am resilient, even when I am sad.
Please remember that about me.
End of Week.
Mission: Survive the Sadness. Learn the New Shape of Love. Keep Going. Feel the Feelings. Stay Safe. Keep Trusting.
Status: Fragile. Resilient. Continuing. Ongoing. Brave. Tired.
Sara
Sensitive Soul
Professional Survivor
Still Trying Her Best
