Characteristics of New England's climate clashes with the warm 85* degree trade winds of Puerto Rico. We landed in Boston near the end of March 2019. As the airplane door swung open, we were greeted by an insulting gush of stinging 30* degrees of great North winds. If not for our anchored crates, it felt likely that we would be vacuumed out in to oblivion.
Once again, the selfless volunteers of the Nashua Humane Society swept in, each teaming up to carry our coffers onto a conveyor belt. We were sent ground ward to the recipient whose job it was to load us up into multiple caravans. "First come, first served" was how the organized chaos seemed. Fill 'em up! Then the overflow continued in the order of the van arrangement. In our minds, it alluded to the fear of the unknown, especially when our friend group could be in jeopardy of separating.
There were large cargo vans lined up 6 in a row, each holding 4 crates; do the math! Statistics show that my crate had a 1:4 ratio of potentially being with 3 of my friends. The mixing of human nature combined with analytics, our destiny hinged upon who was hustling to do their jobs and how well-equipped the teams worked together.
As I anxiously kept a close watch, and as far as I was concerned, in this very moment of time, I decided that my mantra had 3 descriptors that kept my inner peace...
Waiting. Trusting. and Hope.
These are my absolute indicators of future aspirations and I accept this as Truth. We had NO choice but to wait. Our hearts warmly accepted Trust and Hope as the only saving grace to carry our tired souls onward into our next chapter.
The count began for van #1. Dottie was loaded first deep into the front, followed by Patches tucked right beside her. I kept tabs of the next hopeful pup. and it was me! This means that Mani, my BFFL was coming! My heart leapt! Oh, the joy I felt!!
"WAIT!" Patches barked.
As you know this was our agreed-upon word that meant "freeze" when we were spying for " el Gato" back in Puerto Rico.
In unison, we gazed over to a volunteer who fell over as he mis-stepped off the moving runner. As quick as a wink, a proactive helper caught the bottom of the crate just in time, but it was a few seconds too late as he stepped aside to gain his balance.
The conveyor belt was halted, and a scurry of workers had carried Ramon and Mani into the first van. My heart sank, as I was next in line to be moved right into the second van along with Charro and 2 others we hadn't met yet. We still had Hope of seeing our friends. WE now had enough experience with being a passenger on a truck that we were on terra-firma. Naturally we assumed the traveling position, all curled up as we waited.
We heard whispers that we'd be traveling in a caravan of 6 and had an arrival time of just over an hour. Simultaneously, discussions of "forever homes" and "adoption" were also wafting through the air. The 2-way radios in all vans kept chatting away with precise instructions for each driver. Off we went, and like clockwork, Charro fell asleep to help his anxiety recover from our first plane ride ever. As for me, resting was effective physically, but I could not stop my mental self from thinking, re-thinking, reflecting and processing the portion of life called "soaring".
I had heard about forever homes back at the shelter. These out loud exchanges always bad a joyful tone of voice paired with compassion and bittersweet tears. Imagining what the next adventure will be is like attempting to catch the wind and predicting where it will go.
"Though I am a scant 40 pounds (or, to give a visual, eight ~ 5 pounds bags of sugar) my invisible emotional baggage has an even heavier presence."
Real-life fleeting experiences flood within hours, minutes and right down to seconds. Processing emotions, triggers, fear... deciphering which direction, or choice is best along with the mystery of an outcome with lightning speed...It's a whirlwind of chaos.
How does one small little pup like me make sense of this, and with whom?
Triggers explain the reason behind an animal's reactions and some may describe this as an excuse for the behavior. These reactions are in essence a survival response or a type of Post-Tramatic Stress Disorder.
It seems like I live from 1 synapse to another. With repeated experiences all having different outcomes, it leaves me feeling insecure. Thinking forced me to face my backlog of character flaws and commence a fearless inventory of myself.
Look at me, I ...
jump at loud noises
react by running when I am afraid
am quiet and observant when I need to know more
self-sooth, when there is nothing else to do and because I must
What do I have control over?
My reactions, inactions and responses
What I cannot control...
Where the truck takes me
Where the plane takes me
Stop and drop-off points
Food & Shelter
Others
Who would want to take me into a home with my social-emotional baggage?
Who NOSE?
YOU ARE READING
Bentley, The Sniffiest Dog. Survivor of Dead Dog Beach
Non-FictionImagine following in the paws a helpless newborn stray puppy true along Dead Dog Beach leading him into the ruins of an old pier of Play de Guayan'es known as Sato Beach. Sato means "street dog". Located on the southeastern side of Puerto Rico stret...
