NATURAL ATTRACTION

PET FILES

Life is truly full of mystery. What was it that drew me to that one particular dog out of the many that I had seen that day? Was there some kindred feeling from a desperate past? Those downcast eyes, the hunched body, the fear. Not even a gentle word could raise the dog's head. No tail wagging.

ALL SMILES: Susan and Molly sharing a laugh.

The warning signs on the door that this dog should not be homed with cats or children or other dogs did not deter me. Somehow I knew: This is meant to be. I asked the surprised staff member if I could go into the dog's cage. She said: "Yes, she is a girl, she's not too friendly, you should be careful."

I entered the cage and she backed away. I hunched down and made myself look disinterested. No eye contact - I remembered all the Dog Whisperer programmes I had watched.

Suddenly, I felt a cold nose on my hand. I remained quite still. I waited. I had all the time in the world. Then she came closer. The warm body leaned against me. I said something, I don't remember what. Probably a word as banal as "hello". I spied the very white tip of the tail twitch. I waited. I moved my fingers against the underside of her chin. Her eyes closed and she pushed her head down to get my fingers to a particular spot that needed scratching. I obliged. Yes, that was a definite sign of a tail wag. Somehow, she knew it too: This is meant to be.

Five days later, I brought her home. I named her Molly. We have since been through a long journey of discovery together. Discovering trust. Discovering loyalty. Discovering love. How this bond developed has given me much joy. Explaining to her why she had to stay home on her own because I needed to go out to buy some milk, and convincing her that I wouldn't be long.

Regardless of whether it was for one minute or for one hour, she would always wait patiently, looking out of the window for my return. For years, I made a point of going to the fridge to place the pretend milk inside as I didn't want her to think I had lied to her. I think she is wise to me now.

How long was it until she no longer flinched if I moved my hand too quickly? Too long. Being scared of the wind blowing, or thunder roaring. Too long.

She is getting old. Her barking at the postman is only half-hearted now. Just for show, really. She even tolerates the dog in the garden next door. She no longer flinches, and she can sleep through the loudest storm.

We treasure our "together" times more than ever. From long walks to watching hockey on the TV. Every day now, the few minutes every morning just as I awake, when a cold nose lays itself on my hand and then a hairy chin pushes on my fingers to try to get rid of that same itch that does not seem have gone away, echoing the most precious of minutes from when we first met, when somehow we both knew: This is meant to be.

Note: This is the true story of Molly, the mixed German shepherd and wolfhound that was adopted six years ago by Susan in England. This story won the writing competition, "In Praise of the Underdog", organised by HeadRockdogs recently.