Lifestyle
What a rescue dog taught Kate about rest, love and balance
Kat Milner, 58, shares how adopting Oliver, a once-shy rescue dog, transformed her daily life. Oliver became more than a pet – he’s a guardian, companion and source of love, balance and joy.
As told to Elli Jacobs
My husband, Paul, and I were having coffee about two weeks before moving into our newly built home in 2019. We’d long agreed that once we had a place of our own, we’d get a dog. Half-joking that morning, I opened the RSPCA website and then I saw him. A little face staring back at us. There was something in his eyes that spoke to us. We looked at each other and said, “We have to go see this dog.”
We barely finished our coffees before driving straight to the RSPCA. At the “get to know you” area we met a few other dogs, but this one immediately leaned against us, ignoring the other dogs, staff and treats. He had already been through three previous homes, and the RSPCA told us he was just two weeks from being euthanised. “We can’t have that,” we said. “We cannot have that.” Within 15 minutes, it was clear: we would be bringing him home.
He was four then, now he’s 10. A 22kg American Staffy with some Bull Arab. We begged the shelter to hold him for two weeks until we were out of our rental, but they couldn’t – they had no space. So we took him anyway.
We named him Oliver. We smuggled him into our no-pets-allowed rental like two guilty teenagers, hoping the universe would look the other way. He was so calm, so silent, that no one ever knew he existed. And honestly, I think he understood exactly what we saved him from.
From the very first night, Oliver was family. Two weeks later, when we finally got the keys to our new home, he padded through the door alongside us.
Building trust from scratch
Those first few weeks were tender – fragile, really. He was skittish and painfully shy, still carrying the invisible bruises of whatever he’d lived through before us. We’re fairly certain he’d been abused.
Every sound, every quick movement sent shockwaves through him. If you shook a rubbish bag, he’d bolt. If my husband used the dishtowel to swat a fly, Oliver vanished like smoke.
The turning point came during a storm. Oliver leapt onto me and let me hold him, and something in him softened. That was the beginning. I became his safe place. Even now, he treats me as his anchor – when I’m away, he can’t quite settle, but the moment I walk through the door he collapses, stretches out and snores like he’s training for a championship.
These days we can step right over him and he doesn’t even twitch. That’s how we know he finally feels safe.
When we bought him a doghouse, he stepped inside, collected the treat, then marched back out and fixed us with a look that clearly said, “And what exactly do you expect me to do with this?” Ever since, we’ve been joking that the house is really his $300,000 doghouse.
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How Oliver became my health companion
Oliver has shaped my health journey far more than I ever imagined.
I live with chronic migraines and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS) and when I push too hard – whether through work or exercise – I flare. It’s like the onset of the flu without the flu: brain fog so dense it feels like trying to think through custard, aching limbs, bone-deep exhaustion and a heaviness that simply will not lift.
The first time it happened was about six months after we moved into the new house. I had overdone it, crashed hard and Oliver refused to leave my side. He planted himself next to me with this quiet, unwavering loyalty, as if he knew exactly what was happening and exactly what I needed.
Since then, whenever he senses I’m fading, he nudges me toward the sofa or the bed, then climbs onto me, as if to insist: rest now. If I’m at the computer, he’s right there. In the living room, he’s perched on me. I can’t go anywhere without him glued to my hip. And between us – though I’d never admit it to him – I love it.
And yes, intentionally resting with Oliver helps prevent the flares. It still happens sometimes – running my own business means I can’t always stop when I should – but the flares are less intense now, and less frequent. He forces me to slow down. He’s helped me change the way I relate to my body.
Sunday has become my sacred day of rest, non-negotiable, because if I don’t take at least one full day off, my body makes sure I pay for it with a flare. So, Sundays have transformed into popcorn-and-movie day. I rest, my husband unwinds and Oliver is absolutely delighted because I’m finally still. He climbs on top of me and promptly falls asleep. It’s become our weekly little ceremony of slowness, a ritual of letting the world soften for a moment.
Discovering love without limits
I cannot imagine my world without him. He is pure sweetness. Incredibly gentle. When he takes a treat from my hand, like a piece of banana, I feel his teeth but it’s soft as a kiss. He has never snapped at me or my husband. His gentleness floors me – I would honestly trust him with a toddler.
And when he thinks we’re going on a walk, he completely loses his mind with joy. You’d think he hadn’t been outside in a year.
Unconditional love, certainly. But he’s also taught me that rest isn’t just needed – it’s deserved. Before Oliver, I wore exhaustion like a badge of honour. I thought productivity equaled worth. He’s the one who made me slow down enough to actually enjoy life.
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He’s even shown me that caring for myself directly affects how well I can care for others. When I listen to my body, I’m more present with my clients. When I walk, rest and pace myself, I’m more grounded. And infinitely more grateful.
Rescue dogs are the best. They know you pulled them out of fear and uncertainty. They don’t take love for granted. They give you everything – loyalty, trust, protection, affection.
If you’re thinking about adopting, please consider an adult dog. Puppies get all the attention, but these older ones… they carry stories. They know heartbreak. They know fear. And they absolutely know when they’ve finally found home.
I hope he knows he’s treasured, that he’s safe. That he will never again go hungry, be frightened or be hurt. And that he deserves every bit of peace and softness he has now.
People often say, “I rescued my dog, but he rescued me,” and honestly, I feel that in my bones every single day. I try not to think too far ahead to the day he won’t be here – life will fall unbearably quiet without him. For now, I’m just grateful for every second we get.
And he’s funny – mischievous, even. I once watched him intentionally whisper-bark at the neighbour’s dog, Barkley, just to get Barkley in trouble for barking. Then he trotted back inside wearing the smuggest little grin, as if to say, “I’ve done absolutely nothing wrong.”
He’s special in a way words can’t quite hold. And I am so, so lucky to be his person.
Feature image: Courtesy of Kat Milner
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