She’s broken, lives under the bed, and is the sweetest thing.
I have had a foster dog since March. A very broken dog who spent 7 years as a breeder in a puppy mill.
I call her Pennyunnerdabed dog. She’s so broken, some days I just want to sit on the floor next to the bed and cry. But I don’t.
I coax her out with turkey pepperoni, maybe some string cheese, or crispy cracker treats.
My heart breaks every time she has a set back, which happens with great frequency. Someone stopping by can set her back weeks. (I still welcome anyone who comes in because it’s good for her to have to see other people.)
Oh, her good days are such a joy! The days where she shows some spunk, rolls in the grass, snorts, and does her silly bunny hop run. The days where she actually wants to play with Lucy.
Some day she might stay out from unner da bed and try sitting on the couch with me and Lucy. I will not force her because, damnit, she’s so broken.