It broke my heart to see her. A little rag-a-mop mutt of a dog, who'd rightfully earned the name Duster, sat huddled, alone, against the back wall of the shelter. As I approached her kennel, the little biscuit-colored dog shrank back even more, uttering low growls, and her eyes, dark with fear, darted nervously. I offered a milkbone through the wire, but each movement I made only caused her to flinch. I let it drop inside. She wouldn't even look at it, but I knew my scent would be there when she found it later.
The next day I visited Duster again. This time I dropped a treat inside her kennel and backed away. Talking softly to her, I waited. She eyed me, and then the treat, suspiciously. I kept still, and after a few moments, she eased toward the milkbone, watching my hands all the while, from the corner of her eye. At some point in her life she had learned that human hands inflict hurt. I wanted to show her that human hands would also heal that hurt.
She always waited until I backed away before reaching for the treat I left. But, eventually, she no longer growled when I approached, and, in time, came to accept treats from my fingers, from the security of the other side of the wire. I wanted so badly to pet her, to caress her unruly hair and to assure her that she had nothing to fear.
One day I took a handful of milkbones and slowly unfastened her kennel latch. At first she retreated, cringing tightly against the back of the kennel, hiding her face in the corner, as if too frightened even to look. I opened the door, knelt down to her level, and held out a treat. Speaking her name, softly, I waited. A couple of moments passed, while her nose twitched, taking in my scent and that of the milkbone.
"Duster?" I called her name, softly, again.
She turned toward me. I watched her face for any sign of panic. I certainly didn't want to undo the small amount of progress we'd made, or cause her to bite me. Her pricked ears twitched nervously and those dark eyes watched my hands as she pressed against the kennel wire, staying as far away as possible. Then, it occurred to me that, in her fearful eyes, I must appear as an intruding giant in her small space. With slow, steady movements, I eased myself down to the floor and then turned onto my back, a signal of submission to dogs. Her ears perked up in surprise and she eyed me curiously. Keeping my hands low I slowly pushed the milkbone toward her. I could almost see the wheels turning in her mind, debating whether or not it was safe to take the treat. Eventually, she stretched her muzzle cautiously to accept it, but, in her haste to draw back, her grasp was not secure and the treat fell to the floor. She jerked back, fear suddenly darkening her eyes again. Duster waited, uncertain now. At last she worked up enough courage to reach once more. This time she did it!
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