Safe in Austin

He was just six years old. I knew all about autism at that point, but the doctors had recently made it official. We were at a birthday party, and I couldn’t find him anywhere. Turns out somebody said something that hurt his heart, and he ran. He ran up the road, where I found him in the fetal position in a strange car in the Texas heat. That was the night I started researching something new: a dog. An autism service dog — a dog that would act as an anchor if he ran, a protector if he needed it, and a source of grounding if he got overwhelmed. I emailed what felt like a thousand people. I said, “I’m just a desperate mom determined to show up for my son, no matter what it looks like.” I got one response: a dog trained for a different child, but she didn’t perform the way they wanted her to, and so they walked away. She wasn’t good enough. She was now discounted. Her name was Angel.

I told Jackson that Angel also had autism — that she understood what it was like when his heart or his brain was scary or confusing, and that her entire purpose was to keep him safe and be his best friend. He was six. Those words made sense to him. The day came for us to meet her, and I was terrified. What if everything goes wrong? What if they don’t even like each other, or he decides he doesn’t want a dog? Standing in the lobby of that hotel, I could hear nothing but my own heartbeat. But then, there she was. I looked down at my son, and I swear I saw him light up in a way that I had never seen before. They ran to each other and embraced, and every single thing about our entire lives changed in that very moment. The people before us were right — she wasn’t perfect. She definitely could have had more quality training. However, it didn’t matter. It was love at first sight, and back to Texas we went.

The next six weeks were the most transformative weeks of my son’s life — of my life, really. I watched an animal change his heart. I say healed parts of his heart that even I couldn’t get to as his mother, and instantly inspired what can happen when you put animals and children together — but especially extra-needs animals and children. It was just six weeks. Six weeks of taking her everywhere we went, of people being fascinated and staring, and me saying, “Please don’t touch.” Six weeks of Angel studying her boy — his quirks, his needs, but most importantly, his heart.

It was at the six-week mark that we were running errands, and Jackson was done. He was hot and tired and overwhelmed, and that damn seat belt wouldn’t work. It kept locking when he was trying to get it clicked, and it was the tipping point. He started breaking down. He was clawing and scratching at the back of his neck and completely out of control. I was already driving the car, and Angel was in the very back of the SUV. I panicked. But then I looked in my rearview mirror, and I watched as that 100-pound dog squeezed all of her white fluff in through the tiny gap in the back seat, tiptoed over the other two children, and then ever so gently laid on top of his arms. At first, he was shocked, but then he was relieved. She knew exactly what he needed, and she did whatever it took to get it to him. She was an extension of my actual arms and heart, and I think she knew what he needed even before I did.

That day was the very last day that Jackson had a self-injuring breakdown while Angel was alive. She didn’t wait for the signs after that. She listened to his heartbeat, and when it started to accelerate, she would find him and she’d push him down and she’d lay on top of him. It was that connection and that pressure that he needed, and it worked every single time, without fail. Their relationship continued to grow. It touched the lives of so many people. He became confident. He loved going places with his new best friend, and I loved telling their story and inspiring connection everywhere we went.

Their relationship inspired us to start rescuing. We ended up in a regular Austin neighborhood with five dogs, eight chickens, two goats, and a pig. It was time to look for some more space, and when we did, it kind of got out of control. Once we got to nearly 200 special-needs animals and a wait list of people that wanted to meet them, we realized we might be a nonprofit. Our mission: to rescue and rehabilitate animals that need us and introduce them to children that need them even more. So Safe in Austin was born — a sanctuary for animals and children who come from abuse or have special needs. Special needs like being blind, deaf, having cerebral palsy or missing limbs, using wheelchairs, prosthetics, having megaesophagus, hydrocephalus, cerebellar hypoplasia, diabetes, and more. My animals, filled with bravery and resilience, are mirrors of hope to children that come to meet them. We aren’t just a sanctuary, we’re a family. And in our family, love is never earned, but given freely and fully. No matter who you are, where you come from, what you believe, who you love, what you eat, or how much money you have in the bank — love is unconditional, and animals are the first to tell us that’s how you heal or even change a heart.

Angel passed away just shortly after Safe in Austin was official. It was one of the hardest days of my life. I didn’t just lose a dog. I lost a partner, a friend who changed my son’s entire life and inspired an entire movement of healing. Since then, I’ve rescued thousands of animals. I’ve watched as thousands of children have come inside my gates to heal alongside them. I’ve seen a boy with no words find his voice. I’ve seen a child who survived the unimaginable find themselves in my rescued horse. I’ve seen burn marks on tiny bodies match the ones on the puppy I pulled from the dumpster. I’ve run alongside a child in a wheelchair while my goat in her wheelchair ran with us. I’ve sat alongside sexual assault survivors with my dog Isaac, who’s also a sexual assault survivor, and reminded them of their bravery and worth. Time and time again, I get to watch my animals change the lives of people and visitors.

I’ve been written about in the Washington Post. I’ve been filmed by many directors. I hung out with Dr. Phil and was even featured on Netflix. But the funny thing is, I joke that 50%, at least, of my life is poop. The other 48% is begging for money, because media always brings us more people that need us than it does donations. But 2% — 2% is magic. And it’s the 2% of magic that keeps me going. I believe wholeheartedly that I get to witness something almost every single day that many people don’t get to witness in a lifetime. All because of a boy and his fluffy white Angel. That’s it.