Frieda is getting older, we aren’t sure of her age, but it’s probably between 10 and 12. She is slowing down some, thinning out, dealing with arthritis. She still chases trucks, but rarely brings them back anymore. I sat with her tonight while Maria was at yoga class and she put her head in my lap and I remembered her of the year she spent in the barn at Bedlam Farm while I tried to get her to let me put a leash on her. It took me most of the year. I very much wanted Frieda to come into the farmhouse by Christmas – Maria hated the thought of her living out in the barn, we were hauling wood to the stove day and night, but she couldn’t be near the other dogs, she kept trying to kill them. I was stumped, we had progressed but not nearly far enough. I remember pleading with her in frustration. “What can I do?,” I asked. “I just feel that we are stuck, that I can’t break through to you.”

I had a dream that night. In it, I was walking in the Adirondacks where I knew Frieda had been abandoned and had lived for years.( I had taken her back to see how she reacted for the book I just finished writing about her.) In my dream, Frieda was running alongside of me for the longest time. And then I came to a clearing and she was sitting there waiting for me. I heard a voice – not from Frieda – that said two words: “trust me.”

When I woke up from the dream, I understood the message. I knew what I had to do. On Christmas Eve, while Maria was working, I went to the barn, reached in and put a lede on her – she grabbed my arm with her teeth, but did not tear it off. I said, “let’s go, we are going to do this.” The dream helped me understand that while I had tried everything, trust was the one thing I had not tried. I didn’t trust Frieda, was afraid to trust her. That night, I walked her across the road and up to the farmhouse door. I opened the door. Izzy, Lenore and Rose were all standing there staring at us, Rose had her hackles up, she was ready to make a stand.

I just walked in with Frieda and prayed, and dropped her lede. I just decided to trust her.  She looked around, and at me, and at the wood stove. She walked over to the warm stove and lay down and went to sleep by the warm fire. She never had a serious problem with any of the dogs. She sleeps by the stove every night still.  I was rarely so happy as when I heard Maria come through the door that night and shout, “Frieda! You are in the house.” She cried in relief. It was a Merry Christmas.