We've had vague discussions about getting another dog, we debate a bit about the sort of dog, usually it's agreed that it would be a big dog, a golden retriever or a lab, something more easy and independent, something that would be a nice calm friend to Tigger. Inevitably the conversation ends with us both agreeing that Tigger likes being an only dog, he's not lonely and he doesn't really care for other dogs as it is.
And yet as I type, there is another dog in our house. Not a lab, not a golden, nothing big and peaceful. And, I wish I knew how it happened, I wish I could blame someone or tell a good story about a dog showing up on the doorstep. I wish I could say it was a spontaneous decision, made in haste. But it wasn't really.
I saw her on petfinder.com and was drawn to her because she looks just like Tigger. Not because of her breed characteristics, not because she seemed like she'd fit well in our home. It was nothing more complex than the rather large ears and very curly tail. I went to see her on Boxing Day (who would have thought the shelter would be open on a stat holiday?), talked to the people at the shelter, heard about her 'issues'. She was dumped somewhere and then lived on the streets in Richmond for a while. I heard how it took two seasoned animal control officers to contain her (I remembered hearing it but clearly that comment was not fully absorbed into my psyche). Then we talked about how she looks like Tigger. Next day took Tigger back to meet her. He was disinterested, everyone took that as a good sign.
Took her home, tried to take her collar off, almost got my hand ripped off. Scott tried to take her collar off (he's a 'dog person' and somehow thought he had a 'bite-exemption'), then spent several minutes trying to stop the bleeding from the many open wounds on his hand. Tigger mostly just looked annoyed at the interloper.
After several days of trauma and drama and Tigger being extremely stressed and needy, I was willing to admit defeat. Little Holly in her undersized fleece coat that she would not allow to be removed, looked like a skittish racehorse with the ferocity of a deranged pit bull. I felt like I'd made a colossal mistake, a poorly thought out decision that was ruining my vacation time and damaging poor Tigger. I called the shelter and said it wasn't working out, I told them I couldn't keep her, I was afraid of her and Tigger was upset and I'd made a mistake. They told me to bring her back. I put her ugly little bed and holey blanket on the couch and went to get her papers. When I came back to get her she was curled up in the bed, a tiny little five pound bundle of innocence. She looked up at me with her sad eyes and I felt like she was asking me for another chance, I reached down to pat her head, she bared her teeth and snapped at me again. Defeated I sat on the couch not knowing what to do. Called to tell Scott she was going back to the shelter, he encouraged me to give her another chance, a few more days and he was certain she'd get better.
Here we are a week later, she still scares me but she's not wearing the horse coat anymore and she will let me put her collar on. Tigger is getting used to her, she digs her nose in his ears and likes to lick his eyes. He growls at her if she goes to far, like attempting cirque de soleil moves by trying to stand on his back as he walks by 'her' couch. Just this morning, I thought I'd try putting a sweater on her, she let me put it over her head I praised her, gave her a treat, and then she told me that I'd gone too far by biting me when I tried to get her legs in the holes. 1/2hour later she's still mad, I sit down beside her and she wrinkles up her nose, then raises her lip to show me her sharp teeth. I'm still learning.
Here's a story to give you hope.
ReplyDeleteMy elderly parents had a dog that they loved. He was a large, border collie type dog. Unfortunately he became gravely ill with some kind of tumor and they had to put him down. My mother was devastated and cried for weeks. When they finally recovered from the loss, they decided they wanted a new dog similar in breed to the one they had and loved. So, they went to a farm in Mission and purchased a border collie puppy sired from working border collie parents. What a disaster. My parents, being in their 80"s didn't have the energy or know how to raise and train an extremely hyper active border collie puppy (Clancy). Clancy ate their funiture, climbed on the kitchen counter, knocked them down and was completely uncontrollable. He was about a year old when they finally came to terms with the fact that they couldn't possibly parent this annoying and out of control dog. We all called him, unaffectionately, "The Shark". They gave him up to a Border Collie Rescue Centre where he has been adopted by a much more appropriate owner and Clancy is doing very well.
My parents began again on their search for a new companion. They went to many SPCA shelters. They saw several dogs they were interested in but the shelters would not approve them to adopt a dog (probably because of my parent's age). Because of their experience with Clancy, they decided that an adult dog would be a be a better choice. I started to ask around to see if I could assist them to find a new dog.
I mentioned to a co-worker that I was trying to help my parents find a new dog and that the shelters weren't being helpful. My co-worker told me that her mother-in-law was the founder of a rescue shelter in Alberta and she would see if they had any prospects.
I looked on the shelter's website and saw a large border collie cross (he looked like a blue heeler). I read his bio and was not interested. It said he had been running wild on a Reserve in Alberta, was found by the rescue shelter on the coldest day of winter, was wild and starving when they found him, and he didn't like men.
My co-worker said that her mother-in-law recommended this very same dog for my parents. The shelter founder said this dog, which the shelter had named "Oreo" because of his colouring, was a perfect match for my parents. I was very skeptical. The shelter owner said the dog had spent a few months with a foster family, had responded really well, and was ready for adoption.
I talked to my parents about Oreo and they decided to take the chance. All was a go... the shelter put Oreo on a plane and shipped him out, sight unseen, to my parents.
Oreo arrived... he was a long legged, really tall dog... BIG, GIANT, looked like a white, black and gray spotted border collie/wolf cross; but really thin.
Well, let me tell what happened. That dog, who's name has been changed to "Ben" is the MOST awesome dog ever. He connected to my dad immediately! They have been inseparable since Ben woke up from sedation after getting off the plane. He's gentle, calm and devoted to my parents! It's as though he realizes he's been saved from his former life of fighting for food, starvation, freezing cold and being alone. He's gone from being a wild animal to one who will lay down voluntarily and have his feet cleaned before he comes back into the house after being out in the mud. My parents allow him on a couch so he can see out the window... but he won't get up on the couch unless a blanket is put on the couch first.
Ben loves them and they love him. It was a match made in heaven.
The moral of my story is... maybe, just maybe, Holly can be saved and become a loving and loved member of a new family too.