Feel free to move this if I placed it incorrectly. Sorry for the long, emotional post.
Yesterday, I had the chance to interact with a dog named Annie, the companion of a new co-worker.
Annie was a rescue from a severely abusive first home, where the rescuers believe she was chained to a tree or post in the back yard and severely beaten by an adult male, due to her triggers. She could not tolerate a collar or being on a leash or harness at all; she would start to shake and cry and run in circles trying to escape. She has scars on the bridge of her muzzle where she was hit and cut, and knots all over her spine where she was hit with something heavy.
I dissociated a bit when M. described Annie's symptoms and behavior in my office, because she was describing me, and it came at me unprepared and without warning.
I guess it was just triggering for someone I just met offering a 100% accurate description of what I would act like when triggered. I felt like she was talking about me, not her dog, so it was scary for a second. I felt stripped down for a second. But when I regained composure, I felt sympathy for this dog. And I know that dogs can exhibit trauma, but being non-verbal, the whole thing is just different. They can't tell you what they feel, but they can act on it. And how they act is how I act in flashback or when triggered; and I try so hard to hide this from others.
So when my co-worker and I drove up to Annie's home for a dinner meeting, Annie came to the door along with two other guest doggies. Annie went to me like a moth to a flame. She was so busy studying me that she sort of blocked the doorway in a daze.
Out of the three dogs, I knew she was Annie, because I basically picked the PTSD dog out of the lineup. It was like, which one acts like I feel?
I knew Annie's story of recovery. She can tolerate things now, she wears a collar, and is very calm at home, not fretting, barking, shaking, or running to hide anymore. She took over a year to learn to trust her new owner, who gives her daily meal, walk, cuddle routines and massages to help ease her spirit. Her human, M. calls her "Monkey" as a nickname with deep affection. M. loves her and suffers to see her suffer. Her voice cracks and her shoulders sag when she mentions Annie. She's a supporter who shoulders the pain of the sufferer in her own body, helping it be a shared burden. :cry: She takes some of the weight off of Annie and takes it into herself because she loves her and it's a choice, a sacrifice.
Okay, After the initial bonding and then retreat, Annie came up to me and sat on my left side with that "pet me" body language, and as I petted her, I felt all the places where she is knotted up inside, including her throat, an esophageal spasm, like mine. I felt she gave me her right side. The left side is often the side of the body most brutalized in survivors, and the left side often feels instinctively too vulnerable. I felt fear and love mingle. I was afraid because I knew what I'd find, and I know it too well. I was afraid of how triggered I could be with the body of another survivor, even a dog's body.
Not being one to back down, I massaged her, sticking to her right side, spine, and chin/throat; and she enjoyed it, but sometimes, her eyes looked afraid at the same time as trusting. So familiar. Being touched on her left made her look me in the eye, triggered, like "please don't." In feeling her chin, which dogs like, I felt a spasm floating in her throat. I know that I have esophageal spasms from holding fear in my body. She really got into me doing light massage there to soften that area. (I'm not a massage T. but I am related to several and have experience; but after one flashback in massage, I haven't been back in over 5 years. Don't want to be touched and go in to FB again, too embarrassing.)
I asked her owner if she has trouble with her throat, and found out that it's a huge issue, with Annie choking and gagging, but the vet can't find anything wrong, only the spasm. I didn't have the courage or familiarity to tell the owner about how this is a chronic trauma symptom.
Annie's shoulders were tense where they met her spine, as if they fused from a fracture or just from permanent tension there from hypervigilance (Might need to RUN!).
This dog and I completely bonded, and her owner was surprised how quickly I was giving Annie just what she needed and how completely Annie trusted me to know what was needed for her.
This is not normal for me. I mean, dogs do tend to pick me out of a crowd and come up to me for attention. But not like this.
I'm not a scientist or therapist; I'm just an observer that this dog has very similar body issues to me, and her eyes betrayed the same chronic fear/anxiety mixed with a fervent need to be understood and to try to trust someone who will understand. She kept coming to me for care, and then walking away to isolate, then returning. Like me, she craves the love and care, but can't tolerate the intimacy and vulnerability for very long. It's a strange dance.
Do you believe animals, specifically mammals, can have a form of PTSD?
I guess I do now, but this experience was moving and I can't find words to match the pain of seeing the effects of abuse on this beautiful dog, nor her ability to see me for what/who I am, too.
We both have the broken nose, the spasm in the throat, the trouble eating, the trouble trusting, and the need to isolate from love, the left-side vulnerability, and a deep brokeness that will never be mended.
"She's a good dog," I said.
Yesterday, I had the chance to interact with a dog named Annie, the companion of a new co-worker.
Annie was a rescue from a severely abusive first home, where the rescuers believe she was chained to a tree or post in the back yard and severely beaten by an adult male, due to her triggers. She could not tolerate a collar or being on a leash or harness at all; she would start to shake and cry and run in circles trying to escape. She has scars on the bridge of her muzzle where she was hit and cut, and knots all over her spine where she was hit with something heavy.
I dissociated a bit when M. described Annie's symptoms and behavior in my office, because she was describing me, and it came at me unprepared and without warning.
I guess it was just triggering for someone I just met offering a 100% accurate description of what I would act like when triggered. I felt like she was talking about me, not her dog, so it was scary for a second. I felt stripped down for a second. But when I regained composure, I felt sympathy for this dog. And I know that dogs can exhibit trauma, but being non-verbal, the whole thing is just different. They can't tell you what they feel, but they can act on it. And how they act is how I act in flashback or when triggered; and I try so hard to hide this from others.
So when my co-worker and I drove up to Annie's home for a dinner meeting, Annie came to the door along with two other guest doggies. Annie went to me like a moth to a flame. She was so busy studying me that she sort of blocked the doorway in a daze.
Out of the three dogs, I knew she was Annie, because I basically picked the PTSD dog out of the lineup. It was like, which one acts like I feel?
I knew Annie's story of recovery. She can tolerate things now, she wears a collar, and is very calm at home, not fretting, barking, shaking, or running to hide anymore. She took over a year to learn to trust her new owner, who gives her daily meal, walk, cuddle routines and massages to help ease her spirit. Her human, M. calls her "Monkey" as a nickname with deep affection. M. loves her and suffers to see her suffer. Her voice cracks and her shoulders sag when she mentions Annie. She's a supporter who shoulders the pain of the sufferer in her own body, helping it be a shared burden. :cry: She takes some of the weight off of Annie and takes it into herself because she loves her and it's a choice, a sacrifice.
Okay, After the initial bonding and then retreat, Annie came up to me and sat on my left side with that "pet me" body language, and as I petted her, I felt all the places where she is knotted up inside, including her throat, an esophageal spasm, like mine. I felt she gave me her right side. The left side is often the side of the body most brutalized in survivors, and the left side often feels instinctively too vulnerable. I felt fear and love mingle. I was afraid because I knew what I'd find, and I know it too well. I was afraid of how triggered I could be with the body of another survivor, even a dog's body.
Not being one to back down, I massaged her, sticking to her right side, spine, and chin/throat; and she enjoyed it, but sometimes, her eyes looked afraid at the same time as trusting. So familiar. Being touched on her left made her look me in the eye, triggered, like "please don't." In feeling her chin, which dogs like, I felt a spasm floating in her throat. I know that I have esophageal spasms from holding fear in my body. She really got into me doing light massage there to soften that area. (I'm not a massage T. but I am related to several and have experience; but after one flashback in massage, I haven't been back in over 5 years. Don't want to be touched and go in to FB again, too embarrassing.)
I asked her owner if she has trouble with her throat, and found out that it's a huge issue, with Annie choking and gagging, but the vet can't find anything wrong, only the spasm. I didn't have the courage or familiarity to tell the owner about how this is a chronic trauma symptom.
Annie's shoulders were tense where they met her spine, as if they fused from a fracture or just from permanent tension there from hypervigilance (Might need to RUN!).
This dog and I completely bonded, and her owner was surprised how quickly I was giving Annie just what she needed and how completely Annie trusted me to know what was needed for her.
This is not normal for me. I mean, dogs do tend to pick me out of a crowd and come up to me for attention. But not like this.
I'm not a scientist or therapist; I'm just an observer that this dog has very similar body issues to me, and her eyes betrayed the same chronic fear/anxiety mixed with a fervent need to be understood and to try to trust someone who will understand. She kept coming to me for care, and then walking away to isolate, then returning. Like me, she craves the love and care, but can't tolerate the intimacy and vulnerability for very long. It's a strange dance.
Do you believe animals, specifically mammals, can have a form of PTSD?
I guess I do now, but this experience was moving and I can't find words to match the pain of seeing the effects of abuse on this beautiful dog, nor her ability to see me for what/who I am, too.
We both have the broken nose, the spasm in the throat, the trouble eating, the trouble trusting, and the need to isolate from love, the left-side vulnerability, and a deep brokeness that will never be mended.
"She's a good dog," I said.
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