Excerpt from The Boy Who Was Raised as a Dog
I stood still. Then I slowly started to take off my white coat, letting it slip to the floor. He stared at me. I slowly undid my tie and pulled it off. I rolled up the sleeves of my shirt. With each action, I took one small step closer. I did not speak as I moved. I tried to be as non-threatening as possible-no quick movements, no eye contact, trying to speak in a low, melodic, rhythmic tone, almost like a lullaby. I approached him as one would a terrified baby or a frightened animal.
"My name is Dr. Perry, Justin. You don't know what is happening here, do you? I will try to help you, Justin. See, I am just taking off my white coat. That's ok, right? Now let me come a bit closer. Far enough? Ok. Let's see what might work here. Mmm. I will take off my tie. Ties are not familiar to you, I'll bet. Let me do that."
He stopped moving around the crib. I could hear his breathing—a rapid wheezy grunt. He had to be starving. I noticed a muffin on a lunch tray, far out of his reach but still within his view. I moved toward it. He grunted louder and faster. I took the muffin broke a small piece off, and slowly put it in my mouth and chewed deliberately, trying to indicate pleasure and satisfaction.