10/30/2026
❤️ WAIT FOR ME The Story Behind My Song ❤️
For every rescue baby who is still learning that love can be safe. And especially for one beautiful soul named Gus Gus, also known as Frank.
I wrote this song for my foster babies. But this one is especially personal because it tells the story of a little boy who came into my life carrying fears I may never fully understand.
His name is Gus Gus, although many know him as Frank.
Frank came to me through an out-of-state rescue I work with. They reached out desperately needing help for a foster parent who was struggling with him. She was new to fostering and was doing everything she knew how to do. But as we talked, I realized Frank needed something more. He needed someone who understood canine behavior, fear, and trauma. Someone who could meet him exactly where he was, without expecting him to be anywhere else.
That’s where I, Pinky, came in.
Once I had room for him, we began planning his transport. The rescue, veterinarian, foster parent, experienced transporter, and I worked together to make his journey as safe and gentle as possible. I gave instructions for getting him into the vehicle and helping him through the trip.
But nothing could have prepared my heart for the little boy who arrived.
When Frank got here, he was terrified.
We carried his kennel into our welcome area, where I carefully attached his leash while he was still inside. I had already prepared a quiet, enclosed yard for him to potty and decompress.
The short walk there was heartbreaking.
He spun in circles, chewed his leash, thrashed his body, and was so frightened that he lost control of his bowels. I worried he would hurt himself fighting against the slip lead.
When I finally opened the gate, he ran inside, still spinning and terrified.
I closed the gate and gave him space.
I sat at a distance, turned my back, and pretended I wasn’t watching. With my phone, I could quietly observe him without making him feel like my eyes were constantly on him.
And there he was.
Curled into the smallest little ball he could possibly make, tucked into a corner, trying to disappear.
He didn’t move.
I don’t know what happened to Frank before he came to me. I don’t know what those eyes have witnessed or what those little ears have heard.
But I knew one thing.
I wasn’t going to ask him to be brave for me.
When it was time to go inside, I had everything ready. The other dogs were resting, his cabin was prepared, and his door was open. He ran desperately toward the building, looking for somewhere to hide, and darted straight into his cabin.
Back into a corner. Back into that tiny little ball.
I removed his leash, secured his cabin, covered his door for privacy, and let him rest.
For days, that was our world.
The same cabin. The same yard. The same routine. The same quiet movements.
No surprises. No rushing. No expectations.
I watched. I listened. I learned.
I sat with him without speaking. Eventually, I began humming. Then I started talking softly. Then singing to him.
Little by little.
At first, everything frightened him. He would urinate or defecate from fear. Even ordinary movements could overwhelm him.
But I kept showing up.
And slowly, something began changing.
He started looking at me.
Not just watching me because he was afraid of what I might do next. There were moments when his eyes seemed to soften, when he would look so deeply into mine that I felt as though I could see the beautiful soul hiding behind all that fear.
Almost as if he wanted to trust me but wasn’t quite sure he could.
Then one day, Frank discovered the little swimming pool.
Oh, my goodness. That pool! 🥹
He put his paws in the water and started splashing.
For those moments, I got to see something other than fear.
I got to see Frank being a dog.
Soon, every time we went outside, he headed straight for that pool. He began walking around me instead of desperately trying to escape. He stopped having those fear-related accidents.
I gave him a longer leash so he could make more choices about where to explore while still feeling secure.
We started enjoying bubbles, music, stories, and quiet time together.
Then came another step.
I began bringing calm, familiar dogs into the neighboring yard. At first, Frank watched them. Eventually, he began approaching the fence.
Later, I introduced him to Axel’s dog, Buzz, and another gentle playmate. We visited a different yard with a different pool. Frank went straight to the water, his familiar little comfort, and watched the other dogs.
We repeated those visits.
And then it happened.
One day, Frank walked into that yard and didn’t go straight to the pool.
He walked toward Buzz and his friend.
He stood there.
He sniffed them.
And then he looked up at me with that long, silly tongue hanging out, almost like he was smiling.
I swear, if that boy could have spoken, I think he would have said:
“Pinky! I came out now! I did it!” 🥹❤️
I will never forget that moment.
To someone else, it might have looked like nothing more than a dog sniffing another dog.
To me, it was everything.
That’s something I wish more people understood about rescue.
Rescue isn’t always adorable puppies, wagging tails, and happy adoption pictures.
Sometimes rescue is sitting quietly for hours with a dog who is too afraid to look at you.
Sometimes it’s days of seemingly no progress.
Sometimes it’s crying because you cannot explain to a frightened animal that nobody is going to hurt him.
Sometimes it’s celebrating a single step, a glance, a sniff, or a splash in a plastic swimming pool.
And sometimes it’s loving an animal enough to understand that healing cannot be rushed.
Frank still has a long journey ahead of him.
There are good days and difficult days. There are moments when he surprises me with his courage and moments when fear takes over again.
I cannot tell you how long it will take.
Just as I’ve learned through Axel’s therapies, progress doesn’t happen according to someone else’s calendar. You celebrate the little victories, adjust when something isn’t working, and keep showing up.
And Frank has taught me something else.
In all this time, I have never heard him make a sound. Not one bark. Not one little noise.
But somehow, this boy has told me so much without ever speaking.
He may never be the dog who happily runs through a backyard alone. He may never enjoy a crowded park or long walks around strangers.
And you know what?
That’s okay.
He doesn’t have to become somebody else’s idea of a perfect dog to be worthy of love.
Somewhere out there is a person who will see him the way I do.
Someone who won’t mind sitting quietly beside him. Someone who will celebrate his little victories. Someone who will understand that companionship doesn’t always mean playing fetch or going on adventures.
Sometimes companionship is simply two souls sitting together, looking into each other’s eyes, knowing they are safe.
And until that person comes along, Frank will stay right here with me at Pinky’s Pet Resort.
He will have his routines, his pool, his stories, his music, and all the time he needs.
I wrote “Wait for Me” from the perspective of a frightened dog, trying to tell the world what he cannot say out loud.
As you listen and watch this video, I hope you hear more than a song.
I hope you hear Frank.
I hope you see the little dog curled into a corner, wishing he could disappear.
I hope you see those first little splashes in the water.
I hope you see the courage it took to walk across a yard and say hello to another dog.
And I hope you understand why I wrote these words:
“Please don’t think I cannot love you. My body still remembers fear.”
Because sometimes the animals who seem the hardest to reach are the ones who need us to understand them the most.
This song is for Frank, for every foster baby I’ve loved, for every rescuer who has sat quietly waiting for trust, and for every animal still hiding somewhere behind their fear.
May they all find someone willing to wait.
You don’t have to fix their whole world in one day. Sometimes you just have to give them a safe place to land.
With all my love,
Pinky 🐾❤️
“Wait for Me” An Original Song by Pinky
