I’d like to tell you a story. It is about a boy and a dog. Only this boy has Tourettes, and his frequent tics often make him frustrated. And this dog actually belongs to the boy’s grandma.
Boy and dog meet from time to time; they love playing together. When the boy is smaller than the dog, he comes in crying because the dog jumped on him and scratched his arm. The mother makes soothing noises and the boy defends the dog explaining he didn’t mean to, then skips outside, calling the dog to join him.
When the dog is nine and the boy is thirteen, the families move in together, and from that very first night the dog and boy are bound. At the end of every school day, the dog waits at the window. He is joy-in-motion when the boy comes home. The dog’s adoring eyes make him look like a preteen with a crush. And the boy doesn’t seem as bothered by his tics.
Then the Tourettes symptoms get worse. The boy is horrified that sometimes his tics make him suddenly pinch or squeeze the dog. Every time, the boy’s face freezes in pain as the dog gives a whimper, a wince, a soft yelp of surprise. And every time, without fail, that dog-in-love immediately turns to the boy and gives him a big lick. “It’s ok” his eyes say, “I’m not hurt, I know you didn’t mean it.” Then the boy relaxes and pets the dog.
A hundred times a pinch, a hundred times a lick.
A few years later, the dog-loves-boy-loves-dog story ended. The dog, at peace but dying, was gently put down. The boy could not bring himself to come into the clinic, but the tired dog turned back to the car and gave his boy one last kiss, one last it’s-okay. The grandma gave the boy the dog’s frayed collar, and he kept it under his pillow.
Thank you, dog. Well done, good and faithful servant…