Documenting Daffodil: One More Hurdle
- Lindsay
- Jun 25, 2025
- 2 min read
Tomorrow, Daffodil will undergo salivary gland resection surgery.
To most, it might look like a routine to get her there and recover. But for those of us who know Daffodil’s story, it’s another brave chapter in a life that began with survival and is slowly unfolding into safety.
Daffodil isn’t a dog who can be “rehabilitated” in the traditional sense. She’s not going on long walks or practicing companion-style obedience. She doesn’t live for belly rubs or treats out of a stranger’s hand. She lives for routine, for space, for stillness.
She is a community-supported dog…. a being held gently in the thoughts of many, not pushed by the expectations of a few. Her care doesn’t rely on changing her. It relies on honoring her.
Every slow step I take with her is quiet, considered, consensual.
Over time, she’s shown me that progress doesn’t look like what we’ve been taught in books. It looks like staying in the room a few seconds longer. Smelling the air instead of darting away. Taking one step forward when she used to freeze.
Her resiliency isn’t flashy. It’s sacred.
And tomorrow, she’ll need every ounce of that resilience… and so will I. Because surgery isn’t just about the body. It’s about the nervous system, the aftercare, the emotional ripples that follow even well-meaning intervention.
I’m preparing a space where she can recover quietly.
We’re limiting interactions, holding routine close, and anchoring her to the sensory cues that say you are safe.
I’m supporting her as she is, not as we wish her to be.
This is not companion training. This is relational witnessing.
And I’m honoured to be her advocate.
To those who love fearful dogs, or who are walking with one from the sidelines: this post is for you. You don’t have to fix them. You don’t have to prove anything. Sometimes the most radical care is simply to protect their pace.
Daffodil deserves softness.
And tomorrow, she’ll get nothing less.
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Follow her story at @lindsandloves
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