Mum, Dad, my brother Michael: everyone in the family got more affection from our ridgeback-staffie cross. And guess whose bed she used to poo on…
I think the tone was set when Ella threw up over me on the way back from the Dogs Trust. She was three months old, rolling around on the back seat between me and my twin brother, Michael (we’d just turned seven), and wasn’t enjoying her first trip in a car. She could have been sick anywhere – over the seat, over the floor – but for some reason she decided to climb on to me first.
It was the start of a beautiful but strangely one-sided friendship. Ella, a ridgeback-staffie cross, was the perfect dog: playful, energetic, naughty and tolerant. She would let us poke and prod her without complaint, turn her ears inside-out or dress her up in T-shirts or the thick woollen poncho my Greek Cypriot grandma knitted her for the British winter. And she was endlessly loving, at least to the other members of the family. Me? Too often it was as if I didn’t exist. If Michael and I were sitting on the sofa, she’d bound up to him. If I came home after a day out with my dad, he was the one she’d jump at. If I tried to take her for a walk by myself, she’d drag her feet and insist that I fetch my brother.
To add insult to injury, about once a year she would do a poo in the house. Not just anywhere, though: she’d climb the stairs to my room and leave it in a neat pile on top of my bed.
I can’t pretend I wasn’t offended by Ella’s attitude – I loved her just as much as anyone. But it took me a while to realise that in her eyes we were both bitches fighting for our place in the pack. I read that dogs are 98.8% wolf, even yappy little chihuahuas. Ella was a definite she-wolf and my mother (she who opened the tin of dog food every night) was the undisputed alpha female. Ella could handle that fact, but she didn’t want to be the omega female. That was me.
Working out the reasons for Ella’s lack of sisterhood, understanding that her indifference was atavistic and not just casual, didn’t make me any less jealous of my brother, who always took great pleasure in the fact that Ella seemed to prefer him. But I resigned myself to the situation. And then one day (happy ending, anyone?) everything changed. I must have been 16 or 17, we’d been away for a fortnight in France, and when we got back it was me she ran up to first, whining and twisting with pleasure at seeing me again. After that it was like all those years of competition had never happened. We were best friends for ever, or at least for the couple of years she had left. Ella finally loved me.
Shelter Pup Extends a Paw of Friendship to Everyone Who Passes By
In the heart of our bustling city, amid the constant stream of people rushing to and fro, there exists a silent observer, a four-legged sentinel of hope. Meet Max, a gentle soul who resides in our local animal shelter, and whose desire to connect with humanity is as profound as the stories etched in his soulful eyes.
Max arrived at the shelter under somber circumstances, his past a mystery to all but himself. With a coat as soft as whispers and eyes as deep as oceans, he carries an air of vulnerability that’s impossible to ignore. Yet, despite the uncertainty of his past, Max possesses an unshakeable spirit, a testament to the resilience of shelter dogs everywhere.
His endearing quirk is what sets him apart from the rest—a simple, heartwarming gesture that has captivated the hearts of shelter staff and visitors alike. Max yearns to hold hands with every passing soul. It doesn’t matter if you’re young or old, a child filled with boundless curiosity or an adult weighed down by life’s burdens; Max believes that human touch is a universal language, a bridge to a brighter world.
Each day, as people stroll through the shelter’s corridors, Max sits attentively by the gate, his tail gently wagging, eyes earnestly scanning for a willing hand to touch. It’s as if he understands that beneath the hustle and bustle of life, there lies an innate need for connection, for a moment of genuine warmth and compassion.
Max’s simple act of reaching out his paw transcends the boundaries of language, race, and circumstance. It’s a reminder that amidst the chaos of our lives, there are moments of serenity, where a shelter dog’s longing for connection resonates with our own desire to touch and be touched by the world around us.
For those who have been fortunate enough to clasp Max’s paw, the experience is nothing short of magical. His touch radiates comfort, a soothing balm for the soul. He reminds us that in this world of constant movement and change, the power of a simple gesture can transcend the barriers that divide us.
But Max’s story is not just about his longing for connection; it’s also about the potential for transformation. He serves as a beacon of hope for other shelter dogs waiting for their chance to shine. His quiet resilience inspires those who pass through the shelter doors, encouraging them to see beyond appearances and embrace the beauty of a shelter pet’s heart.
As the days turn into months, Max continues his mission to touch the lives of those who cross his path. His presence in the shelter is a testament to the unbreakable bond that can form between humans and their loyal companions, no matter where life’s journey may lead.
So, the next time you find yourself near our local shelter and see Max by the gate, don’t hesitate to reach out your hand. For in that simple gesture, you may find a connection that transcends words, a moment of profound grace in a world that sometimes forgets the power of a loving touch. Max, the silent sentinel of hope, reminds us that in a world often bustling with noise, the quiet power of connection can bring solace and healing to both humans and the animals we share this planet with.
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