The Taste Of Freedom

She had a bad back. He had a bad background. How a woman and a dog helped each other

- Renea Robison

I sat on the couch and flipped through channels, searching for something to watch—anything. A back injury had forced me into early retirement. Even after surgery, I couldn’t return to what I loved most. I had gone from a volunteer EMT and part-time manager of a busy pizzeria to a couch-ridden daytime TV addict.

I missed the action-packed days I used to have back with my EMT partners. We were a team. There’s a one-of-a-kind fellowship in the first responder community. And at the pizzeria, all of us were like family. I fostered connections with the kids we hired as waiters and delivery people. I was like a second mom to them.

My husband, Bob, worked long hours on our 180-acre Illinois farm. My days consisted of the remote in one hand and my phone in the other as I alternately changed the channel on the television and checked Facebook. I’d scroll through my friends’ posts and click on pictures of their recent vacations, theme parties and outings.

I was too self-conscious to ask friends to come help. I resisted the exercises given by the physical therapist. Why bother? I could never volunteer as an EMT again. I could never balance two pizza pies on my arm. My back wouldn’t allow it. I could hardly make it from the couch to the kitchen. Why did this have to happen to me, God? Why does everyone else get to enjoy life and I have to sit here alone, barely able to move? Why won’t you help me?

Scrolling through Facebook for the umpteenth time that morning, I landed on a photo of a dog, a post from a rescue site. A Great Dane–Catahoula hog dog mix. Why I didn’t keep scrolling, I’ll never know. He wasn’t a particularly handsome dog, but his striking blue eyes seemed to call out to me.