Happy one year adoption anniversary to sweet Mallow!

Ian and I dreamed of getting a dog for years, but our lifestyle never quite supported it. We worked in wilderness therapy where we spent half the month in the backcountry, and there were a lot of hoops to jump through to get a dog certified as a therapy dog. It would have required one of us to take a whole year off of guiding to train the dog, then there’s a series of tests the dog must pass to be approved to come in the field with us. Taking a year off wasn’t something either one of us were willing to do.

Plus, our landlady said no dogs, so we moved. When we put our tipi up on a property outside Mancos, we thought it would be perfect for a dog, but the property owner also said no dogs. Infuriated, we kept pushing the dog dream off.

When we moved to Page, the house we rented had a few things left behind from the previous tenant: a dog bowl, a leash, a tug toy, and a kiddie pool.

“This is a sign,” I said to Ian, who eagerly nodded.

When we asked our landlord if dogs were allowed he said, “Of course! I’ll even waive the pet fee on one condition…make the dog a part of your family. Don’t get a stupid outside chained up all the time dog.”

“Absolutely,” Ian and I both nodded, giddy with excitement. “Of course.”

We were starting new jobs as full time elementary school teachers, which would allow us to have a normal lifestyle of returning home every night. The conditions were perfect, so we drove over to Best Friends Animal Sanctuary in Kanab to look for our furry companion.

“I want a puppy,” Ian said, and I groaned.

“I want a five year old dog,” I said, to which Ian groaned back.

“Why?” he asked.

“It’s less commitment, they’ll die sooner,” I said.

“What! That’s fucked up,” Ian said.

“Everyone wants a puppy, no one adopts the older dogs,” I defended. “Plus I do not want to train a little terror puppy.”

“But they’re so cute,” Ian gushed.

We agreed to find something in between. Not a six week old puppy and not a five year old dog. Ian wanted a dog that was small enough it could fit on his bike, or be towed in a bike trailer. I wanted a dog big enough to be able to run and hold it’s own on long hiking and running adventures. We had our hearts set on a cattle dog, I don’t even remember why at this point.

Best Friends Animal Sanctuary takes great care to match you with the right dog. Before they let you see any dogs, they interview you about your lifestyle, past experiences, needs, desires, etc. The woman at Best Friends kept saying, “I can really see this husky fitting into your lifestyle. Are you open to a husky?”

“Eh…” we said, unsure.

Eventually the woman said, “Let’s just meet the husky, see what you think.”

She led us to an area with six or seven dog pens. Chaos ensued when the dogs noticed our presence. Two dogs started immediately humping each other, one howled like a wolf, another started viscously barking and attacking the fence. A cattle dog started sprinting in circles, jumping up and down and bounding off the fence. It was overwhelming to say the least.

Then there was Mallow, laying there silently looking royally pissed off at the commotion. We made eye contact and a silent conversation passed between us.

“This place sucks,” I thought.

“Try living here for two weeks,” she thought, rolling her eyes in indifference.

“Let’s get you out of here,” I thought, and she nodded.

Mallow was a little feral creature found running loose on the grounds of Best Friends. The Sanctuary owns nearly 4,200 acres in Angel Canyon and leases about 17,000 additional acres. The employees knew she was there for several days before she came into their care. Each morning, she would appear in the pasture having the time of her life chasing the horses. She refused human contact and did not accept food, treats, or water. If the employees got too close, she’d run away and disappear back into the canyons for the night.

After three or four days of this dance, Mallow got kicked by a horse and limped willingly toward the employees with a look on her face that said, “Okay, help me humans.”

They assume Mallow was dumped at the sanctuary by a previous owner, or perhaps ran away from a home in Kanab. She had some obvious signs of house training and was terrified of men. They assume she was beaten often by a man, as she refused to accept any food, water or treats from their male staff. She refused to walk on leash with a male and cowered when they came close to her pen. If a woman came, she smiled and sat patiently until her leash was on, then walked without a problem.

When the employees brought Mallow out to meet me and Ian, she slinked right up to my side and put her whole body against mine. Ian and I bent down, and Ian held out a treat. She slowly reached across my body and took the treat from Ian, then looked me in the eyes. She had a piercing stare from the beginning, like she knew something I didn’t.

I took Mallow’s leash and we went for a walk, but the employee got a radio call to help out with something. When she left, I passed the leash to Ian and quickly peed behind a bush. I had been holding it for hours. Without thinking, we walked back to the shelters and the employee was stunned.

“She’s letting you hold her leash?” she said, astounded that Ian was able to walk her. Mallow seemed normal and not afraid. “That’s a really good sign. No male employee has gotten that far with her.”

Ian and I looked at each other and smiled, “We’ll take her.”

She wasn’t an easy dog to adopt. She seemed to tolerate Ian when I was around, but would cower in the corner if I left them alone together in the house. It broke Ian’s heart when Mallow looked terrified of him. He was patient with her, gave her toys and played with her on the ground. His height certainly scared her. If he stood up too fast, or waved his arms above his head, she would lung at him or run away with her tail tucked in between her legs. Eventually, Ian progressed to being able to walk her without me.

And then he went missing in the mountains of Colorado. We only shared two weeks together with Mallow.

Suddenly, Mallow lived in the midst of an epic search with helicopters landing two hundred feet away from her nap spot and hundreds of stressed out strangers surrounding her. She tried to bite every man that walked within 100 feet of her. I was too sleep deprived and stressed to know what to do, my focus was on finding Ian. Thoughts of giving her back to the shelter crossed my mind.

Then Mallow jumped out the van window and ran away for entire morning to chase cows, and when she was gone I was sure that I was going to die alone. Ian being missing and Mallow running away was too much for my heart to handle. I collapsed in a pile of tears after searching for her for hours.

But she came back. Suddenly, she jumped back into the van reeking of cow shit and smiling with her tongue out. I don’t know how far she went, but she knew how to navigate her way back. This was the moment that I decided she was my dog.

When Ian wasn’t found after sixteen days of searching, people started to say things like, “Mallow came to you at the perfect time. She’s your guardian dog.” Some even went as far to say, “Mallow was sent to you because she knew Ian wasn’t going to be around. She came to protect you.”

I didn’t want to believe any of those things. I still thought we might find Ian alive. When Mallow and I returned home to Page, she remembered Ian and began her own search for him. She ran to our room and checked the guest room when he wasn’t there. She smelled his clothes and looked at me confused, as if she just realized that he was missing. My heart contorted in pain watching her go back and forth between the rooms looking for him.

“He’s not here,” I cried. She licked the tears on my cheek and didn’t squirm away from my hugs. She took his place sleeping in bed next to me. In the morning, her cute squishy face loomed over me and I couldn’t help but smile. Petting her calmed my immediate anxiety upon waking up to face my new reality. She got me out of bed and outside walking.

Taking care of her was challenging. My executive functioning skills were impaired due to shock and grief. Remembering to feed her on a schedule put the thought into my brain: maybe I’m hungry too. Every time I filled her water bowl, it reminded me to drink water too. She needed a walk and so did I. Taking care of Mallow took care of me.

And I wasn’t alone. I had a companion that didn’t ask, “How are you feeling?” or “Do you want to talk about it?” She didn’t try to stop my tears or fix anything. She just sat there next to me on a rock until I was done crying. Her presence was the definition of unconditional love.

We packed up and drove across the country so I could be with my family while Ian was considered a missing person for two months. Mallow was a desert pup who had never experienced wet grass or the joy of chasing lightning bugs. She was delighted with every parking lot rest stop, taking in the new smells of the world that I wasn’t sure I wanted to be a part of anymore.

I rediscovered the joy of the world through Mallow’s eyes. She chased squirrels and swam in the Albemarle Sound in North Carolina. She jumped over ocean waves for the first time and learned how to ride on a paddle board and canoe. Her eyes tracked birds and the sound of water calmed her. She got the zoomies in the sand and splashed happily in Appalachian creeks.

Her love for the world was infectious. I started to jump over the ocean waves and splash in the creek too. I haven’t caught lightning bugs since I was a kid, but it was suddenly fun to chase them again.

She was by side when Ian’s body was found in the West Mancos Creek. She sat with me in the field underneath Hesperus during Ian’s memorial service. She was the only one that returned to Page with me, ready to start a new life in the desert.

Over the last year, we have healed together. Slowly, she learned to trust people and not lunge at every stranger within fifty feet. She trusted kids first and women always, but began to develop friendships with men too. She started acting more and more like a happy puppy, who wanted to play tug and chew on bones and be chased around the yard.

My own shell of a heart softened with each day that passed running around the desert with Mallow. She made me laugh every time she got the zoomies. Her cute constant smile was warm and familiar. We kept each other company and slowly warmed back up to the world, dipping our toes in social situations and retreating back to the open desert for space.

I relied on her company more than anything, and am grateful to the employees of Best Friends for matching us. “Who rescued who?” is a common troupe that I can full heartedly can we rescued each other.

Dogs are the best grief companions, even if they do sometimes shit on the carpet.

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