An Encounter on Our Walk - A dog with epilepsy and temporarily lost memory of his whereabouts and owners
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This morning, Lucky and I were heading home from our walk when we saw a dog tied to a tree in an empty field, barking anxiously. A man was trying to approach, but the dog seemed terrified. At first, I thought the poor thing had been abandoned and that the man was trying to help.
But then a woman holding a smaller dog walked up to us and explained that the dog was actually theirs. He had just had an epileptic episode, and afterward, he didn’t recognize them anymore. She told me he can get aggressive toward everyone, even other dogs, when this happens. So, they had to wait and hope he’d remember them soon. I could see how much they were struggling—she was holding back tears while trying to keep her second dog away from the one who had just had the episode.
I was still processing their situation, and in the end, I only managed to tell her that she was very strong and that their dog was lucky to have them. Then Lucky and I left, but I immediately wished I had said more. It must be so hard; I can’t even imagine. I had tears in my eyes just thinking about how it would feel if Lucky had an episode like that, then waking up disoriented, not knowing where she was or who I was, while I stood there helpless.
In that moment, I also realized how my struggles with Lucky—especially lately—seem so trivial. Our walk suddenly felt so much easier. I felt my shoulders relax even more as I walked with Lucky, who did so well throughout our morning walk. She even allowed the lady to approach us and talk.
I really wish I could have offered more strength to that couple, and if we cross paths again, I definitely will. Our bonds with our dogs are so strong, and today, I witnessed just how deep that connection runs—from a perspective that was sad, yet also, in a way, beautiful and heartfelt.
But then a woman holding a smaller dog walked up to us and explained that the dog was actually theirs. He had just had an epileptic episode, and afterward, he didn’t recognize them anymore. She told me he can get aggressive toward everyone, even other dogs, when this happens. So, they had to wait and hope he’d remember them soon. I could see how much they were struggling—she was holding back tears while trying to keep her second dog away from the one who had just had the episode.
I was still processing their situation, and in the end, I only managed to tell her that she was very strong and that their dog was lucky to have them. Then Lucky and I left, but I immediately wished I had said more. It must be so hard; I can’t even imagine. I had tears in my eyes just thinking about how it would feel if Lucky had an episode like that, then waking up disoriented, not knowing where she was or who I was, while I stood there helpless.
In that moment, I also realized how my struggles with Lucky—especially lately—seem so trivial. Our walk suddenly felt so much easier. I felt my shoulders relax even more as I walked with Lucky, who did so well throughout our morning walk. She even allowed the lady to approach us and talk.
I really wish I could have offered more strength to that couple, and if we cross paths again, I definitely will. Our bonds with our dogs are so strong, and today, I witnessed just how deep that connection runs—from a perspective that was sad, yet also, in a way, beautiful and heartfelt.