When we brought Todd home, we didn’t adopt a dog. We adopted a mystery.
A fluffy, fox-like riddle with four legs, deep brown eyes, and absolutely no idea what a television was.
He barked at the screen as if Whoopi Goldberg had just strolled into the lounge uninvited. He didn’t know what stairs were, or why buses moved without barking. He didn’t know what to do with a bone. He’d never seen a sofa, a car, or a postman.
Todd is a Japanese Shiba Inu, rescued from a puppy farm in Slovakia. He spent his first year of life in a kennel at the Dogs Trust after being intercepted at the border. His two sisters were adopted quickly. Todd wasn’t.
He was nervous, confused. Shut down.
And now, a month into living with us, he has the run of our downstairs, three meals a day, and a growing appetite for cuddles. He’s discovered chew toys, cosy corners, and the joy of sleeping on his side in the sun.
It’s been both delightful and, at times, maddening.
Welcome to the Long Game
Bringing Todd home has been like inviting a wild, beautiful question into our lives. We thought we were getting a pet. What we got was a pilgrimage.
Every day with Todd is a walk into the unknown. Not just physically—although the outside world is still a sensory avalanche for him—but emotionally. He is teaching us a new language, one bark and tail flick at a time.
He doesn’t like visitors. He panics at vehicles. He’s unpredictable with other dogs. We still can’t get a harness on him. The car is a no-go zone.
Our world has shrunk—and expanded.
We now think twice about every decision. Can we go out? For how long? What if someone comes to the house? When can we travel again? What is a holiday now?
And yet, every time he nudges his head under our hands for a stroke, every time he trots over for his food, or sits beside us quietly in the evening, we see it: trust, slowly growing.
The Parallel Pilgrimage
There’s something about Todd’s journey that mirrors what the story pilgrim has always been about.
The long walk. The slow reveal. The layered unfolding of something sacred and strange.
Todd isn’t a quick fix. He’s a lesson in patience. In presence. In the kind of connection that only comes when you slow all the way down.
He reminds me that not every path is linear. Some are awkward, circular, filled with barking and backtracking. Some involve cleaning up accidents and cancelling plans.
But these paths? They’re real. They’re messy. And they’re meaningful.
What Todd Taught Me (So Far)
- Not all fear looks like fear. Sometimes it looks like barking at the TV.
- Progress is invisible until it’s not. One day, you realise he didn’t flinch when you moved your foot. That he asked to go outside. That he wagged his tail when you walked into the room.
- Freedom can be frightening. Imagine spending your first year behind a gate. Then being handed a house. A sofa. A world.
- Love is not a cure, but it is a start.
- Control is a fantasy. Especially when you own a Shiba Inu.
The Journey Ahead
We’ve come a long way. But we’re not there yet. Maybe we never will be.
Maybe the whole point is not to get there, but to walk with each other anyway—to keep showing up, keep learning the strange dance of trust, and keep choosing love over convenience.
Todd is not the easiest addition to our lives. But then, none of the best things have ever come easy.
And as with all pilgrimages, we didn’t choose the shape of the path. But we’re walking it. Together.
One bark, one breakthrough, one beautiful mess at a time.
