So I stopped shouting at mine.

I stopped treating my own vigilance as a defect to be overcome, and started treating it as a wound to be tended, and a protector to be gently, patiently thanked and relieved of duty.

And slowly — over months, at its own pace, on its own schedule — my body began to believe me.

The footsteps stopped starting my heart.

The slammed doors became only doors.

The guard dog, at last, lay down.