The Soft Work of Staying
Her fur came off in clumps, and she looked at the floor like she was sorry for existing. That’s who we met the day Bailey came home. She didn’t wag. She didn’t bark. She barely moved at all. You’ve met her before. That little inset photo? That’s Bailey on day one—tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. She wasn’t looking for a fresh start. She was looking for a place to stop fading. We didn’t know how long she had. But we were certain she deserved to be loved like she was going to live. So we stayed. We bathed her. Fed her. Spoke gently, even when she didn’t lift her head. Even when she kept her eyes low, unsure if kindness was meant for her. That is what determination looks like. Not fixing. Not forcing. Just staying long enough to be trusted again. And the action? It wasn’t loud. It was quiet. Ordinary. Repetitive. A clean bowl. A soft towel. A warm hand resting on her back while she slept. Bailey didn’t come back all at once. She returned in moments. Small ones...
