Page 6 of Unravel Me

“And that’s why I’m here on my day off,” I tell Archie, heading toward the kennels. “Because Piglet needs someone to show up for her.”

“When are you just going to bring her home?” Archie shouts after me.

“When I have more than three hundred square feet to offer her and can afford to feed her while still feeding myself,” I call back.

We’ve currently got eight dogs here at Wildheart Animal Sanctuary, and according to the log sheet, all of them but Piglet have been walked this morning. Most barely glance up from their beds, content with the attention and exercise they’ve already received today, which makes me happy. But when my eyes land on that black and brown dog huddled in a tight ball in the corner of her kennel, shaking, my heart sinks.

“Hi, sweet girl,” I murmur, crouching down. Her wide brown eyes land on mine, and though they brighten, she stays right where she is, watching me from a safe distance while she whimpers. Because, scared as she is, she wants to come say hello.

Four months ago, I found her tied to the bench out front early one morning. There was a note taped to the front door that said the author was tired of listening to the owner’s poor treatment of the dog. We had to sedate her to get her through the doors, because she was so scared she snapped at anyone who came near. I spent the entire day outside her kennel, reading and talking to her, and have worked my ass off since to build the bond we have today.

With a lot of patience, we learned that despite her extreme fear and hesitancy, she’s such a sweet, friendly girl who loves her snuggles. The kicker is her cage causes a lot of her anxiety; she’s a different girl outside—more carefree, curious, and happy. She just hasn’t found her forever family yet.

I hold up her leash. “Wanna go for a hike, Pig?” Her ears perk, and she cocks her head. I show her my backpack and give it a pat. “I packed lunch.”

Slowly, she climbs to her feet, her legs shaking. Her tail goes between her hind legs as she ambles over, sniffing me through the cage, then the backpack. Her tongue lolls out of her mouth, she stands a little taller, and gives me a softwoof!

“’Atta girl.” I unlock her kennel and scratch behind her ears before slipping her harness on. “Anything for food, huh?”

She licks my ankle, nudges my backpack, and looks at me with hopeful eyes.

“Damnit.” I sigh, opening my bag and giving her one of the cookies she loves so much. “You know how to get me.”

Piglet glues herself to my side as we make our way through the shelter, but the moment we step into the hot Vancouver sunshine, she’s free. She gallops forward three steps and leaps into the air, spinning, her cute dog butt leading the way as her tongue rolls out of her mouth. When she’s back on all paws, she nuzzles my hip and starts leading the way.

Wildheart is nestled into a quiet area of North Vancouver, away from the noise and crowds of downtown. The mountains and sea of green out here are the most spectacular backdrop, and I love riding the bus across the bridge each day, leaving the city behind and walking right into nature.

Like always, our walk leads us somewhere along the bottom of Mount Fromme. There’s a cluster of people farther down the road where the tourists come to hike, but Piglet and I sneak between a small opening at the back of the park, rushing along the narrow dirt trail until we reach the bottom of a set of stairs.

The wooden steps are old and rickety, leading up to our favorite brand of peace and quiet. Piglet has no problem going up, leaping eagerly three steps at a time while I struggle to keep up. It’s coming down later that will be an issue.

She enjoys the freedom the mountains bring, the sound of birds and running water nearby, the scent of fresh dirt and pines. You can breathe differently up here, deeper, every inhale crisp and refreshing. It wakes you up, brings you clarity you didn’t know you needed.

Before Piglet, I spent so much time here by myself, wandering aimlessly through the woods, sitting with my feet in the creek, contemplating life. Sometimes I’d wish life were different, but I knew I’d never ever give up what I had now, despite the loneliness that creeps in.

Here with this girl, I don’t feel so alone. It’s not the life I imagined as a child, but it’s what I’ve been given. I love it for everything it is and everything it’s given me.

Even if I’ll forever grieve the parts it’s taken away.

Piglet and I carry on, weaving through towering pines and cedars, my eyes roaming the trunk of every pine, searching the bark for a heart and three initials I know lives somewhere in this forest. I’ve been looking for years, every single Saturday since I moved here, but each time I leave here with a hole in my heart that seems to, somehow, grow just a teensy bit bigger.

An hour in, my stomach starts to grumble, and Piglet slows, looking pointedly between me and my backpack.

I roll my eyes. “You give the best puppy eyes in the history of ever, you know that, Pig, don’t you?” I scratch her head as she licks my knee. “We’re almost to the bridge now. Five more minutes and we’ll break for lunch, ’kay, girl?”

She barks and jogs ahead, stopping at the trunk of a tree to sniff. A branch snaps in the distance, followed by the rustle of leaves, and a deep voice calls a word nobody ever wants to hear when they’re hiking alone.

“Bear!”

Piglet’s head snaps and she stops in her tracks. I plaster myself against the rough bark of a wide trunk, trembling as footsteps thunder. Something ginormous and black bursts through the trees, stealing the breath from my lungs when it sets its sights on me.

My entire life flashes before my eyes, because I’m 99 percent sure that’s a bear hurdling toward me.

“Save yourself, Pig!” I shriek, chucking her leash and shoving her behind a bush. I cover my face and brace for impact. “I’m too young to die!”

Something solid and fluffy collides with my body, taking me to the ground. A wet nose shoves itself in my face, sniffling rather aggressively, and before he makes me his next meal, he opens his mouth and…licks me.

Runs his big, wet tongue from my jaw right up the side of my face, before moving to the other side and repeating the action. It’s rather odd, but not the worst way to go, I suppose.

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