We Can All Learn Something From Mindi
Communication is so much more than words. The underlying intent of what someone, or something, is trying to communicate can sometimes be counterintuitive to what we perceive on the surface. Let’s take anger, for instance. Through therapy, I learned that anger is usually masking some kind of hurt. And never was that more clear than with my dog, Mindi.
I lost my precious girl just three days ago. My home feels empty without her. She was my daily alarm clock. She woke me up every day at 6:30 AM on the dot because she wanted breakfast. And she put her paw on my leg at 5:00 PM because it was time to stop working and play with her. (Seriously though, how did she know the time? Like, every day! I'll never understand.) She taught me so much in the short six and a half years we were together and I want to share those lessons with you because I believe we can all learn something from Mindi.
As the elevator door slid open, calm turned to chaos. A deep, terrifying bark came from Mindi as she lunged towards the dog on the other side of the door. I yanked Mindi’s leash back towards me as my neighbor did the same with her dog. “Can you give us some space? She hasn’t had the best experiences with strange dogs,” I said. I realized something in that moment. We had seen that dog on the other side of the road many times with zero reaction. But here on the elevator, there was an element of surprise and closeness that made Mindi uncomfortable. It scared her. She was protecting herself the only way she knew how. If she was big and scary enough, other dogs, strange people, would leave her alone. She was using aggression to provide herself safety.
Not long after that, we were laying on the sofa and my leg was on her arthritic paw. As I rolled over, I put pressure on it and her painful yelp turned into a growl. I looked into her eyes and apologized. The growl immediately turned to face licks as she rolled over to give me her tummy. Aggression was her automatic response, and it was learned years before I came into her life.
March of 2020, the world shut down and everyone was trapped inside their home. It had been nearly three years since I lost my dog, Paris, and I was ready for a companion. I called my friend Stephanie who has a remarkable gift. She works with rescues across the state of Utah and has an uncanny ability to match people with their perfect dog. Two weeks later, I got a text, “I found your girl,” with an attachment of a brown and white spotted pitbull/boxer mix. She was standing in a vet clinic, her front right arm shaved from where the doctor had connected an IV. Her eyes were so sad. I just wanted to love her.
I don’t know exactly what happened in the first two years of her life, but the scars told a story. Her left canine tooth was brown, likely from blunt trauma of some kind. Scar tissue filled her front left ankle limiting her mobility and causing her to have arthritis at just two years old. But the reason she was in the hospital in that photo? She almost died from sepsis. Her prior owners had bred her twice, and after the second litter, her uterus prolapsed. Thankfully, a kind woman named Margie called Stephanie and begged her to save Mindi. The owners surrendered her, and she got the life-saving care she needed just in time.
The first week I had her, she got into a fight with my then husband’s dog, Malcolm. It was over a bone, and as we separated them, I saw that she was not letting go of the anger. I put her in her crate as she stared Malcolm down for a good five minutes. It was scary. Then, there was the day I was wrestling with her and I rolled on her in a way that scared her. She yelped then backed away from me, growling. I didn’t mean to hurt her and I wanted to fix it, but she didn't want me anywhere near her. Clipping her nails? Forget about it. She gave you a very clear warning that it was not going to happen, growls, all teeth showing. I knew better than to keep trying.
But I never feared her or stopped loving her. I stayed consistent. I wanted so badly for her to know she was safe. She quickly learned that Malcolm was not going to hurt her and became very attached to him. I could tell he sometimes felt a little smothered by her, but he allowed it. It was cute.
As her trust built, I started to see another side of her. Actually, multiple sides. She was so goofy! The funniest dog I have ever known. And she was sassy. She had no issue telling you how she felt. But my favorite side was loving and gentle. When I would lay on the sofa at night, she would assume her position behind me, placing her head in the nape of my neck. She was sensitive. She felt things deeply. If she let you in, she was not going to let anything happen to you.
I believe that is what happened one day at a cabin in the Uinta mountains. I was not there, so I can only go off the Nest cameras and my ex-husband’s account of the situation. She and Malcolm had run out of the cabin and into the empty lot about 100 feet away. A few seconds after they disappeared over the hill, a moose came running back towards the cabin with Mindi hanging off the dewlap on its neck, swinging back and forth. My ex was eventually able to get Mindi off the moose, which thankfully ran away. Mindi got a swift kick to the chest and had a couple of cracked ribs, but was otherwise okay.
So, what happened on the other side of that hill? Here’s What I think... Malcolm was much faster than Mindi. He probably got to the moose first and tried to play with it (because Malcolm thinks everyone and everything wants to play with him.) The moose likely made an aggressive move towards Malcolm and Mindi defended him.
Only a few people and dogs got that kind of love from her, and I saw a clear pattern. When there was respect and consistency, Mindi flourished. I saw it develop right in front of me when she met Jack and Ace. Jack is my current partner and Ace is a dog who became Mindi’s friend.
Both Ace and Jack were calm and consistent. She trusted them quickly because they proved to her they were safe. Jack also gave her structure... and delicious meat from the kitchen. Since I was working from home we took her on daily walks and played ball. She thrived from the routine of us being together every day. I saw her relax in a way I never expected, I could even trim her nails.
Mindi survived unknowable damage during the first two years of her life, and her heart never hardened. She created a protective barrier around it, but she still had an immense capacity for love. She was only eight years old when lymphoma ravaged her body and took her from me. And while the loss is devastating, I am forever grateful for the time I got to spend with her, even if it was cut short. Those years were a gift and a lesson.
Mindi was never communicating aggression, she was actually communicating an immense need for love. I hope I was able to provide that for her, because she definitely provided it for me. I miss you, Min Min.
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