She doesn’t seem to sleep. No matter how early I get out of bed, she’s dancing with a stuffed animal just out of my reach; approach, retreat, wiggle. We take short walks in the morning when the streets are wide and empty and the others around are industrial park workers and other dog walkers. She used to pull against the harness — still does, when we walk with the other two—but now, when by herself, is looser on the leash. She’s learning “wait” and “okay” at street intersections, and I’d like to think she’s learning “left” and “right” but I think she’s just turning the way I start to turn.
She is Sproing in the bedroom, as that’s how she gets from floor to bed, and Bombshell in the kitchen, as that’s how she enters the dog door. She has a hummingbird’s metabolism and we don’t know how she stays alive on the minimal food she eats. She’ll take tastes of kitchen scraps but that’s about all.
Any movement out of the room and her neck elongates. Where are you going? Is there something I need to know? Why are you leaving? And if the movement is too fast she darts away: DANGER OF SOME SORT FLEE.
When we walk I try to put on her harness quietly so the others don’t crowd the door asking to join. Morning walks are for me and Sakura. Even though she wants desperately to walk she equally desperately doesn’t want the harness on and ducks and dives and contorts to avoid it going over her head. Once she’s trapped in the corner she resigns herself and even gives me a paw to put into the leg strap. Then she becomes Goober, as her harness is manufactured by Gooby.
When she wants attention she reaches out with a paw. Used to be, she would reach out an SCRATCH, often on one’s most vulnerable areas. She’s learned better. “Gentle,” I say. And when she’s delicate, I say “Good gentle! Good gentle, Sakura!” When I’m on the couch with my laptop she turns catlike: can I be right next to you, can I maybe be on half your keyboard; what about all of it; does that work for you? Since she’s the size of a rather large cat, it works well for her; not so much for me.
It took her two months to do so much as do anything but snatch treats that were held out, and occasionally eat some food from a bowl. Otherwise she stayed well away from the two of us, and was terrified of anyone else. Then something changed, and she decided I was the greatest thing on two legs. When I came home she would melt down and scrabble scrabble at the front glass door; ohmygod she’s home and it’s been SO LONG.
Sakura started out as a foster for us; we had her twice and each time she went back to the rescue for a potential adoption. Then the rescue coordinator died unexpectedly, and she came back for another foster. The very first time we had her she escaped for six days. She’d been with us for an hour and a half. As a last resort we closed the dog door to keep the other dogs in and left the back gate open. At 5 am we heard her singing the song of her people; a light, occasional keening. We looked out the window. There she was, lying in the raised herb bed, looking into the distance. I sneaked around through the front door and closed the gate and there she was, trapped. Damn it, I’m sure she thought. This was meant to be a visit, not a return. She escaped in a variety of ways; the last (so far!) was when Nate had her and Oso and Hikari at Lowe’s, and there was a large CLANG that startled both him and the dogs. She pulled and got away, and bam; no Sakura. A teenage boy, trying to help, started to chase her and when that happens, she swiftly flees. That time she was gone for seven days, harness and leash still on, managing to cross the three busiest streets in Longmont; until another teenager managed to get her when her leash tangled in a bush and there she was, coming back to a tolerated, slightly beloved family.
