Written by Ashleigh Zeederberg
Photography by Hatti Thesen
Buddy the Border Collie was surrendered to Knysna Animal Welfare Society (KAWS) on the 11th of October. The moment he arrived, his fear was overwhelming – he broke down almost immediately, looking back at his owner with eyes full of pleading, as if to say: Please don’t leave me here.
Having lived in a loving home since he was a puppy, Buddy simply wasn’t prepared for the stress of a shelter environment, and the team at KAWS knew they needed to act quickly.
We couldn’t leave him there…
By pure coincidence, Alwyn and I were visiting the kennels that same day, hoping to find a dog who could befriend our cat, Muffins.
After losing our dog Molly, we’d started volunteering at KAWS just to feel the love of a dog again, and maybe, one day, find a new furry family member. We hadn’t found the right match – but seeing Buddy in that moment, so lost and frightened, we knew we couldn’t leave him there. We offered to foster him, to give him the love and patience he desperately needed until he could find his forever home.
I remember standing there, feeling completely helpless, wondering how I could possibly make it better for him. He looked so lost, so confused, and my instinct was simply to hold him – to whisper that he was safe, that this wasn’t the end of his story. That moment has never left me, because something in me knew we still had room for him, even though our hearts were still aching from losing our precious Molly just two months earlier.
Her absence was loud in our home. Her bed, her bowls, her food, her toys – all untouched, lying quietly in what had become a painfully silent home. It was as if time had paused, and the silence felt heavier than the grief itself. Looking at Buddy, it felt like all of those things were waiting – waiting for the right soul to come home and fill the space Molly had left behind, not to replace her, but to remind us that love still had somewhere to go.
A dog filled with fear
That first night was heavy with restlessness. Buddy barely slept at all. He paced, he watched, he listened – as if he was waiting for the ground to disappear beneath him again. Eventually, I moved downstairs and slept on the couch beside him, just so he’d know he wasn’t alone, that someone was there and wasn’t going anywhere.
His fear showed itself most clearly around Alwyn. Any time he came close, Buddy would bark to warn me he was approaching. When Alwyn stepped nearer, Buddy would cower, trembling, and at times even attempt warning snaps – not out of aggression, but pure fear.
Watching it unfold was heartbreaking. We were terrified we’d made the wrong call. We questioned ourselves constantly, wondering if we were equipped to help a dog carrying this much fear. We’d never dealt with trauma like this before, and suddenly we were face to face with it, hoping that love, patience, and consistency would be enough.
How Buddy chose joy
Unsure of how to help him, we reached out to Bianca Jacobs – a behavioural specialist recommended by KAWS – and that decision changed everything. She helped us understand that Buddy didn’t need force or correction; he needed consistency, predictability, and kindness. Alwyn was given a very simple but powerful role: to become the source of good things. He fed Buddy every meal, carried the leash on walks, threw the ball, handed out treats, and quietly showed up, again and again, without expectation. There was no rushing it. No shortcuts. Just small, deliberate moments of trust being offered, and slowly – cautiously – accepted.
The turning point came in the simplest way – through play. One afternoon, Alwyn threw the ball, and for the first time, Buddy didn’t hesitate. He joined in. He ran. He played. Until then, Buddy had been too afraid to move freely. He’d cower inside the house, refusing to go outside unless I was there, always watching, always waiting for reassurance. But in that moment, something softened. Fear gave way to instinct, and instinct gave way to trust. That was the first time Buddy chose joy over fear – and the first time he chose Alwyn.
Making friends with Muffins
Integrating Muffins was a challenge all on its own. She’d been the reason we’d decided on a dog instead of another cat. Her love had always been reserved for Molly – every other cat was treated with suspicion, almost as if she were the self-appointed queen of the house, and everyone else had to prove themselves worthy.
At first, we kept Buddy and Muffins completely separate. We worried: if Buddy showed any aggression towards Alwyn, how on earth would he react to Muffins? Bianca guided us gently, suggesting mini “meet-and-greet” sessions to let them get to know one another at their own pace.
The first encounters were classic Muffins: spitting, hissing, and making it abundantly clear this new face was not welcome. She strutted around like royalty, tail high, glaring at Buddy as if to say, this is my kingdom. Buddy, on the other hand, was nothing but curious. He had no intention of hurting her – just a wide-eyed fascination, trying to figure out this little queen of the house. It was tense, hilarious, and surprisingly hopeful all at once.
Gradually, peace settled over the household. We began leaving doors open, letting Buddy and Muffins mingle on their own terms. Slowly, Muffins made her way down the stairs and rejoined the household, reclaiming her space – though she did manage to escape the yard twice, with Buddy attempting to follow her both times. Over time, our routines transformed. What had once been quiet, separate evenings became something entirely different: dinners that ended with the whole family curled up together on the couch, Muffins and Buddy side by side, each aware of their roles – Muffins, the ever-regal queen, and Buddy, her loyal, goofy companion.
Growing trust – and love
Buddy’s anxiety didn’t end at home. Leaving the house became its own challenge – the moment we walked out the door, he’d howl and cry so desperately that our neighbours began to worry something terrible had happened. We quickly realised he needed more support than we could provide from a distance. We got a pet cam so we could check in on him and reassure ourselves he was safe.
Bianca guided us every step of the way, teaching us how to manage his separation anxiety with natural calming remedies, structured walks before leaving, and simple environmental tricks – leaving some “dog TV” playing in the background, plus a good bone to keep him occupied. Each small victory – a calmer greeting when we returned, a quiet nap during the day – felt monumental.
Buddy’s trust was growing not just in us, but in the world outside our walls.
Two months had passed in the blink of an eye, and Buddy had ticked every single box. He was home – fully, unmistakably. We couldn’t imagine our lives without this goofball of a Border Collieflower, with all his quirks, his energy, and his boundless love. Our little family felt complete, and every corner of our home that had once been quiet now hummed with the joy he brought.
We can’t imagine our life without our boy.
