Hobbs In The Rain

It had been over 30 years since I had a dog. I promised myself I would not get another one until I was sure I had settled down. I’d suffered too much heartache, especially in my childhood, when dogs were left behind because they became inconvenient. I promised I would never do that to myself or a dog ever again. 

In the year leading up to meeting Hobbs, I was in a lot of emotional distress. I was in my late fifties and had lost my job. By then, I didn’t have another job in me. I tried to pull myself up by my bootstraps, but when they tore off, threadbare from one too many tugs, I just laid there.

Mindy was worried at first, and tried to nudge me to keep trying. But she soon saw that something had changed, that I had crossed a line and I wasn’t crossing back. I spent that year in and out of depressive episodes, but luckily I found a good therapist that kept me anchored, and offered some hope.

I spent a lot of time outside in the yard that year, while adjusting to the idea that early retirement was imminent. Mindy loved working in our yard. I didn’t see the point since we lived in a house surrounded by pine trees. But needing to busy myself, and needing the restorative fresh air, I started tidying up the yard. I learned a lot about soil. I discovered vermicomposting and started a worm farm, which is still operating beautifully. In the long hot days while digging, clearing, and shoveling, I started to think more about getting a dog. I could see him, trotting alongside me, sniffing various spots or chasing a squirrel up a tree. I could feel his presence. I was ready when Hobbs came into my life. Hobbs was ready too.

I learned about an animal rescue that was about an hour from our house called, Saving Grace. It's a wonderful, large “funny farm” as the staff affectionately like to call it, where the dogs can run free, play and explore. The founder, Molly Goldston, came up with the idea to rescue adoptable dogs from under-sourced areas all over North Carolina. She made several trips there every week to save as many dogs as possible. She found Hobbs in a kill shelter somewhere in the western part of the state.

We visited Saving Grace on Black Friday, 2019—a lovely fall day, sunny and chilly. No one knew then that rescue shelters would run out of adoptees a few months later due to Covid. I had gathered a list of names and descriptions of dogs from their website. Hobbs was at the bottom of my list. I really liked his name, his picture was cute, but he didn't look all that well. Later I learned he was 20 lbs underweight. He’s now a beautiful 60 lb, chestnut colored Rottweiler/Pit mix. 

When we walked through the welcome gate into the yard, Hobbs was one of the first to greet us, but he then hurriedly ran along to greet the other visitors. The staff said that he was kind of like the mayor around there. We were introduced to all the dogs on our list. After walking around the farm, giggling and cooing at every turn, we sat down on a bench to rest in the sun. That's when Hobbs came back around to greet us again. He reared up and put his paws on our laps, wagging happily. He was giving us every signal that, in his opinion, he should come home with us. 

I still wasn’t quite sure about him until a sunbeam caught his fur. It revealed a gorgeous, shiny reddish coat underneath dull, dusty fur. We put him on a leash and walked around for a while. He behaved perfectly. I said to him, "I need to fatten you up, boy.” He wagged in agreement. And that was that. We did the paperwork and took Hobbs home. 

Not long after, I learned that Hobbs was terrified of rain. No amount of tugging and pleading with him would get him out the door. I literally had to pick him up and carry him to the yard. He would tuck his tail so far underneath his belly that it nearly came out between his front legs. It was heartbreaking. It made me wonder if he had been lost in the rain when animal control found him.

At the same time that Hobbs was dealing with exposure to unpleasant rain, I was in therapy dealing with exposure to unpleasant trauma memories. I couldn’t know what Hobbs’ memories were like but mine flickered and sizzled in my head like a faulty lightbulb. Sorting through those kinds of memories was a bit like pulling junk out of a closet, and trying to figure out what to keep and what to toss. Most of the time though, it felt like I was just moving stacks from one side of the room to the other, like moving bricks back and forth between two meaningless piles.

At one of these sessions, I had a gripping realization. I had been blaming myself for an incident that occurred when I was fourteen years old. I was convinced that I deserved everything I got. That notion came from twisted religious doctrine. “I get what I deserve,” became a common thread woven into the fabric of my life. It echoed like an incantation keeping time with a clattering loom, pushing and pulling me toward self destruction.

That gripping realization, that moment of clarity, was bracing. I said to my therapist, "I've got a lot to think about. I need to sit with this for a while.” I was nowhere near done at that point. It was only the beginning. 

The world was now in the throes of a full blown pandemic. There wasn't a lot to do but work through these issues and bond with Hobbs while he worked through his. For months I would expose him to a little bit of rain at a time. He got to the point where he would reluctantly slink out to do his business, then dart back inside. Sometimes he’d walk outside very stiffly, like one of those robot dogs. It was almost comical.

One warm day in late Spring, the skies were growing dark. It looked like we were going to get a downpour that was going to last for hours. I decided I’d better get Hobbs outside right away. We live on a dead end street that leads into a tennis club. There’s a large, grassy, low-lying meadow directly behind the club that’s surrounded by an abundance of trees and woods and a creek running along the back. I often take Hobbs out there to play and chase rabbits and deer. We usually walk through an adjoining neighborhood that leads through the woods and then opens up to the big meadow. As we were walking through the neighborhood that day, it started to drizzle. It was pleasant though, because it was so warm out. Hobbs stiffened but I kept reassuring him that he was doing great. 

When we got to the part of the woods near the meadow, it started to rain. Hobbs slowed down but wasn't stiff any more. When I let him off the leash, he trotted ahead a little at first, instead of taking off like he usually does. After a few minutes, he relaxed and went on his way, happily sniffing about. He was way off in the distance when the rain started coming down in sheets. I called out to Hobbs. I worried he might run away because he was frightened, but he instantly ran to me. When he reached me, he didn't cower. Instead, he pranced around me, then took off across the field! I saw him spin around in the distance, then take off again toward me like a torpedo. His grin was so big that the skin around his jowls stretched tight, showing all of his back teeth. He was in ecstasy. 

My mouth dropped open. “Yeah boy! Go Hobbs! Go Buddy! YEAH!!!” I shouted, deep from my gut. In the middle of the meadow, a pool of water had accumulated about 6 feet long, three feet wide. He skittered through it and leapt into the air, then danced in the rain. I dropped to my knees in the grass and mud and wailed loudly like a child. I was laughing and sobbing, my mouth gaped open wide. The rain kept pouring down hard. Hobbs ran up to me and licked my face then ran back out again, leaping and playing. Watching my sweet dog rejoice in his new found freedom, I gasped for air several times in between sobs. 

Hobbs had a breakthrough. The rain could no longer hurt him. He was not alone, hungry or scared. Everything was going to be okay now. He had me, he was loved, and he had a home. After he wore himself out, he came to me. I sat there with my arm around him, letting the rain wash my face. I hugged him and told him how proud I was of him. "You did it Hobbs, you did it."

As we headed back home I suddenly remembered something, something I had wondered about for the longest time. I'm a fan of the band, Fleetwood Mac. In the song, Dreams, there is a line that has always puzzled me. "When the rain washes you clean, you'll know." Stevie Nicks, the songwriter, was known to hide messages in her lyrics. She was mystical that way. I loved that line even though it always seemed out of place to me. I always wondered if I'd have an epiphany some day and understand its meaning. I wondered if it could mean that when you’ve lost everything, your love, your home, even your ability to clean yourself, “you’ll know” you have truly reached the end of what was… when the rain washes you clean…; or in a similar vein, was the rain itself the actual hard times, pouring down, unforgiving, until “you know” you are truly done and things will undoubtedly get better? Either way, on this rainy day, the line that I pondered for 40 years came to life. 

In times of desperation, in drunkenness, or when I was too high, alone or frightened, I often muttered, "I want to go home." The problem was, I’d left home so very young, and whenever I tried to go back, it wasn’t long before dark clouds would gather again. 

With the kindness of rain, unfathomable life revealed itself to Hobbs and me that day. Hobbs honored it with his dance. I honored it with my unfettered howl. Together, we were washed clean. Together, we knew our way home.