Dear Penny

One year ago today, you came home and changed our lives with your gentle presence. You brought with you scars–literally and metaphorically–and a soft, steady demeanor much appreciated in our household.

It’s funny how I’ve forgotten certain details, like the scabs that dotted your face and ears. I’d forgotten that it looked like you’d only recently finished nursing. Looking back through pictures I took in December and January, I’d forgotten, too, how low to the ground you kept your body, how carefully you moved through space. I’ve forgotten it against the backdrop of progress–you are doing amazing!

I do remember how much you slept that first month. I think you got here and realized you were finally safe, and your body just caved in on itself. After a thorough checkup at the vet, she advised us to let you take as much time as you needed to rest and recover from your trauma. And rest you did! Then, a few weeks later, you woke up and ventured out.

Penny, you are one quirky girl. I wrote in my calendar on January 7, “Penny learned to walk from the bedroom to the living room and back all on her own!” Yes, it took you two entire weeks to figure out how to walk from one end of the house to the other. It was a huge achievement that we celebrated. And, Penny, someday, if you ever decide to tackle the hallway from the back of the house to the front, we’ll celebrate that, too! (For real, you truly CAN go down that hallway, but we’re only a year in… I guess you need more time…)

But, despite the scary hallway (and I won’t even mention the dining room, laundry room, or bathroom that you still won’t enter because, who really cares since you don’t need to go into those spaces) by the middle of February you were taking a training class with me, going on daily walks in the park, and even hanging out at Lowe’s! You were still super hesitant to walk in the neighborhood, but the trails were your happy place. It took us another couple months to get you comfy doing a full circuit of our neighborhood, but now, a year later, you’re a pro and even have neighborhood friends you stop to visit with on your daily rounds.

For the longest time, we struggled with your biggest struggle: You were afraid of getting hit or kicked. I remember Violet startling you one day and you flinched and cowered. She crouched down and stroked your head and said, “Penny, we will never hit you. You are safe here.” Tears streamed down her face when she asked me, “Mom, why do people hit dogs?” Of course there’s no answer. But we all felt brokenhearted each time you cowered from us when we tossed a ball or tied our shoes or any other seemingly benign action.

Now? Those moments are rare. Very, very infrequently do you have a flinch-and-cower moment, and we’ve realized it’s more related to your vision and how you don’t see so well in the sunshine. When a shadow unexpectedly crosses your field of vision, you startle. There’s not much we can do to “work on” that, other than continue to show you how safe, loved, and secure you are.

It took a long time for us to get you to go for your walks. First, we aimed to get to the end of our driveway, then the end of our front yard, then as far as the neighbor’s driveway, and so on. You incrementally expanded your world, and as long as nothing wildly unusual or unexpected happened–like a traffic cone in the street or the garbage cans lined up for trash day or a weird gust of wind–you were cool. Over time, those unexpected things became background noise, and now you can walk anywhere and hardly ever have those fearful moments anymore. But, when you do, I’m proud of you because you simply turn back towards home and start walking me back. You don’t flee or cower anymore. You just return to your safe space.

Among your other quirks at the one-year mark: You put your paw in your dog dish every time you’re eating. It’s a pretty clever way of keeping it from sliding around. You also love to chew up pens, pencils, and markers, and have only in the last few weeks discovered that you can jump up onto the chairs and grab food off the table. We’re all having to increase our watchfulness now that you’ve learned this one! You’re scared of Ripley but so desperately want Newt to play with you. (She won’t.) You love to walk in the woods; your tail wags literally the entire walk. You don’t know how to chase a toy or fetch anything, which I suspect has more to do with your vision than anything else because, holy moly, you have a playful side that has emerged in these past couple months. In fact, Penny, I’m pretty sure you want yourself a little dog to play with. You try to play bow and skitter with all the dogs in the neighborhood, so we’ve decided as a family to look for another unicorn dog in 2025 (good with dogs, cats, and kids… and the girls really want another deaf dog).

You are a joy and a delight. You are a go-anywhere, do-anything dog. You LOVE Violet and Astrid and will spend all your time cuddling them if they’ll give you the chance. You love to walk, though you prefer to go super slowly and take in all the smells at your own pace. (Seriously, Penny, you’re clocking about a 45-minute mile right now. Can we pick up the pace just a smidge? Maybe a 30-minute mile in the new year?)

You love meeting new people and new dogs. You lean against anyone who reaches out to pet you. You have adoring fans at Lowe’s, our neighborhood, Total Wine, ISD, and everywhere else you’re allowed to go.

In the new year we should do therapy dog training together.

Honestly, Penny, I’m not sure what we did to deserve you.

You are the sweetest, gentlest, most loving dog. Joy follows you wherever you go. In the past year, you’ve overcome so much fear and apprehension, and now you face new adventures with a wagging tail and open mind. When you do get scared, we are heartened that you turn to us and you turn to home for reassurance.

We’re a team, Penny, and I’m so honored I get to walk alongside you on your journey.

Happy anniversary, my love. I’m so lucky I get to be your person.