Page 38 of The Love Haters

“Oh, god,” I said, my heart squeezing.

“Nobody wanted him,” Hutch went on, “because he was so big, and he had this skin condition that kind of looked like leprosy. Also, he’d never been socialized—and he was afraid of people. With a dog this big, that’s never a good thing.”

“But he looks great now,” I said. “He could be a show dog!”

“They wanted to put him down. They thought he was hopeless.”

“But you didn’t?”

“I just had this feeling about him,” Hutch said. “And I’m pretty good with dogs.”

“You know,” I said, “even when he was running right at me, even as huge as he is—he never looked scary. Themomentwas scary—but the dog… seemed happy.”

“I think he is happy now,” Hutch said. “His paws are all healed up from the wire floor of the cage—though there’s still some scarring. His coat’s all grown back. The heartworms weren’t too bad—and they’re treated now. And honestly, it wasn’t that hard to socialize him. I really think, all that time, he was just waiting for someone to love.”

Again—I’ll note that Hutch was surprisingly chatty for a person who was “not a big talker.”

Did I have the right guy? DidCole?

I felt this conversation shifting my perspective on my own current suffering in real time. The gorgeous, velvet-eared dog resting under the table had spenttwo yearsalone in a cage. Without ever going outside. Or getting petted. Or having a treat. Or getting to play.

Compared to that, my personal morning’s humiliation didn’t seem so bad.

“When I first brought him out of the rescue shelter,” Hutch said, “he had never seen grass before. He was scared of it. He’d touch it with a paw and then back up to the sidewalk.”

“Is he still scared?”

“No. Now he rolls and rolls in it. It just took some time. And some exposure therapy.”

Exposure therapy. Quite the theme today.

I watched George Bailey scratch his ear with one of his paws.

“So he’s living the good life now,” I said.

“Yeah. That’s the idea. He plays in the park, and basks in the sun, and eats like a king. And somehow I’ve wound up letting him sleep in my bed, too. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say he lets me sleep in his.”

“This is the happiest happy ending I’ve ever heard of.”

“The only thing I haven’t been able to solve is his fear of thunder.”

George Bailey shifted to lie on his side. “He’s afraid of thunder?” I asked.

“It’s called brontophobia,” Hutch said. “It’s common in dogs.”

Newly diagnosed with a few phobias myself, I got it.

“Poor guy,” I said.

“Yeah,” Hutch said. “He’s fine withrain. It’s just thunder—something about the rumble. He starts shaking and panting, and then he has to come climb on top of me.”

“Does that help?”

“Not really.”

“Is there—a medication for it?”

“Yeah, there’s doggie Xanax. But he can’t take it.”

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