When Barley came to us at the age of four, he wore the internal scars of neglect and abuse. The first time we walked in the woods together, he hung close to my side. Where the path turned, I stopped, supposing that he would want to explore, but instead he sat down and watched me, waiting for the next move. The concept of freedom can take a while to get ahold of.
In the weeks and months that followed, little by little, Barley's confidence increased, and now he owns the woods. He examines the new scents along the way, marks the area to establish his dominance, drags back disgusting bones, and rolls in things that stink. Now he's almost eight, and he knows he's a real dog.
We heard Barley bark for the first time 83 days after he came to us, and now he does it when a stranger comes to visit, just a few deep, loud, protective barks, until he's sure we have the situation in hand.
One thing hasn't changed on our walks--he's always glad to head back to the house.
The only difference is, now, when he gets there... he knows he's home.
