"The world is full of pushing and shoving and people who think they know what everybody else needs. What's really rare and much more important in my opinion, are places where people can feel safe, and content and cared for and begin to gather their strength. When they're ready for the next step, they'll take it. But in order for that to happen we as helpers and rescuers and healers have to learn to bear the anxiety of not knowing when, or even if that step will be taken. We need to understand that wounds which were inflicted over the course of years will not be healed in months." 

At two months old, she was abandoned in the wild and left to die. She almost did. Discovered hours from passing, dehydrated by a third of her body weight and emaciated to the point she looked like a kitten half her age, she was taken to a vet and given life saving treatment. For three days she was watched over day and night with fluids and antibiotics until she was declared stable enough to come home with me. There was not much to her. She was a big head, skinny little legs and a belly swollen from starvation. I held her in my hands and my heart hurt because she had been so horribly harmed. She was, essentially, a skeleton with fur.
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For the first week, she did nothing but lay in her bed. I would encourage her to eat, and she would, but then she would return to her blankets and curl up and sleep. She had little to no energy. She could not run or jump or climb. She was a kitten, but just barely. She had a significant head tremor which would appear when she was startled or frightened which gave her the appearance of a fluffy bobble toy. She was quiet, aside from a small, cracked meow she gave one day. It sounded hoarse and static-y, like the sound an old fashioned record player would make when you lifted the needle....

No sudden movements is actually pretty good advice for a lot of situations in life, save maybe a break dancing competition. It's particularly important when it comes to dealing with dogs who have experienced trauma in their lives.
 
It has taken me a long time to write about animal rescue in a context of therapy, mostly because it is hard to see my pain reflected in the pain of the dog named Girl.
 
Dogs who have experienced abandonment and experienced life as strays often develop problem solving skills exceeding those of more cosseted canines. We have a small dog who, though being more than able to fit through a cat door, will never, ever use one, because he relies on humans to do everything. His version of problem solving is climbing up on your knee and staring at you until you do what he wants.
 
Having been born critically adorable and having maxed out at all of 2.5 kilograms, he is under the impression that all people are not only friendly, but terribly impressed by him. He has repeatedly been taught through his interaction with a wide range of humans that everybody adores him. All people are his people. All houses are his house. All things are his things. This is the truth according to Lap Dog.

Girl's experience is quite different from Lap Dog. She did not win the genetic lottery. She was born one of New Zealand's many Pitbull / Staffy / Boxer / Labrador / Mastiff / Sharpei / whatever else happened along at the pound orgy mixes. We know very little of her past, all we know is that she was left to stray, terrified of people, and pregnant at around eight months of age. We know that she was accustomed to sleeping rough, eating out of rubbish bins, and running whenever people appeared. No people were her people. No houses were her house. No things were her things. That was the truth according to Girl...

(This is a snippet of a piece written by an anonymous client of Lucid Psychotherapy & Counselling. This piece is a part of a new series of writings on counselling/psychotherapy; a client's perspective.)