As I walked between the cement kennels the noise of barks, howls and whining rose to a painful level. Paws of every color and size stretched through the chain link doors, as the dogs inside begged for human contact. Here and there a dog huddled in the back of their cage, hoping to avoid the abuse that they'd obviously come to expect. I struggled to keep focused, knowing that this quick twenty minute errand could easily become a heart-wrenching day if I allowed myself to become distracted by the many lost and confused dogs at the local animal impound.
This wasn't my first trip to the shelter. Several years before, my husband and I went to the shelter every day looking for our lost wolf-hybrid companion. Over the course of our search we gradually became involved in trying to get many of these dogs back to their owners or find them a new home. Today I was here to evaluate a dog for the german shepherd rescue group that we were currently volunteering with.
"The shelter called and said she only has a day or two. I really shouldn't leave work right now and wondered if you could run down and do a preliminary evaluation. Just a quick look," Beth had said. "If you can stop by and see the little girl and give me a call; let me know whether I need to make a trip down there..."
I stopped before the kennel and knelt down to get a better look at the dog laying in back of the shadowed cage. No welcoming paw or whined greeting from the small shepherd. She raised her head from where it rested on the cold floor as I shifted my weight. Sighing heavily, she laid her head back down to rest on her paws and watched me with sad, weary eyes. She was dirty and unbelievably skinny. Barely visible beneath the matted mud was a classic german shepherd head and familiar black and brown coat.
"Hey, little one. How ya doin'? Not so good, huh? Come on over here and let me say hi..."
Best case scenario, the dog gets up and walks over to you, tail wagging slightly, wary but wanting to be your friend. Worst case - the dog rushes the cage door, a nightmare of snarls and drooling saliva or sits barking hysterically against the back wall. You always hope for at least a twitching ear or the tiny wiggle of the tail. Today I got nothing. She continued to watch me for a moment, sighed again and closed her eyes. Out of sight - out of mind. Ignore the human and maybe it will go away.
I kept talking. Though I saw no signs of fear or aggression, I didn't see any signs of friendliness or affection either. I pulled a bag of doggy treats from my pocket and removed a piece of homemade dog biscuit - a smelly combination of salmon, chopped spinach and oatmeal. A favorite with all of my dogs, it illistated no response, other than a slight twitch of the nose and the cracking of one closed eye. It was my turn to sigh; it could be a long afternoon.
A gentle black and white paw was laid on my shoulder from the next kennel. Looking to my left, I saw a beautiful head, cocked to the side with pricked ears and a wide-open mouth. The border collie's grin indicated a friendly, happy-go-lucky dog that seemed unfazed by the depressing surroundings. His coat was beautiful - he had obviously been a beloved companion to someone. I absent-mindedly scratched his head and gave him the dog treat. He eagerly lapped up every dropped crumb and nudged my arm, politely asking for more.
I glanced up at his kennel card - male, 2 years old, already neutered, no behavior problems, owner surrendered (with a note that the elderly owner had died and none of the adult kids wanted Lucky). A hand-written note from one of the kennel workers indicating that the dog was house-broken and trained to sit and shake hands. Another note letting people know that the dog had an adoption application pending approval. Good - a happy ending. A "safe" dog.
I always classified dogs as "safe" or "unsafe". My classifications have nothing to do with whether or not a dog will bite or not, but whether I'm liable come to the shelter after working with the dog for several days only to find they've been put to sleep. Playing with these dogs, walking them, teaching them manners and giving them treats comes with an emotional investment. As deserving as the "lost causes" are, there's only so many times you can say goodbye and stay sane. Most shelter workers and many rescue volunteers have figured this out and try to stay a little distant from the ones that are probably not going anywhere other than to the back room for a pat on the head before that endless sleep.
I sighed, handed Lucky another dog treat and turned back to the shepherd. Definitely NOT a "safe" dog. Picked up running loose, presumed feral, in spite of a worn, tattered collar. No name, of course. No microchip or tags. Not vicious, but withdrawn and refusing food. "Rescue?" someone had written in pencil on her card. She obviously wasn't going to make it into the adoption program here at the shelter. For this dog it would be a rescue group or nothing at all. And now I was supposed to decide whether or not she was a suitable candidate for the rescue group, whether or not she was salvageable, whether she lived or died. I turned my back on the dog and leaned back against the kennel door.
I sat this way for about thirty minutes, humming a soft little tune for myself and the dog. Every once in awhile Lucky would nudge my arm or shoulder and I would turn and talk to him for a minute or two.
"Lucky, it looks like you're going to go to a new home, but do ya think you could tell this little girl here that I'm one of the good guys? I'd like to be her friend and she's just not real sure about me at all. I could use some help here, boy."
I prattled on - what my husband and I have nicknamed "puppy prattle" - not really saying much, just letting the dogs get used to my presence and the sound of my voice. I talked to Lucky; I talked to the as yet nameless shepherd and anyone who happened to walk by the kennels.
"What a beautiful little collie," gushed a woman to her husband, as she knelt to pet him. "Oh, too bad, he's already adopted."
"Actually," I interjected, " all that note means is that someone has filled out an application for him. The shelter will be more than happy to take another one, just in case the first one doesn't work out."
"Oh, I would hate to go to all that trouble and then not get the dog. After all, there are so many to choose from. I really like him, but we'll probably just pick another one." She and her husband walked on down the aisle, stopping to pet a poodle here, a german shepherd there, a husky at the end of the aisle.
"It's ok, Lucky. They don't have a clue about what they're looking for in a dog. You wouldn't want to go home with them - you'd probably just end up back here in a few months."
Lucky wagged the back half of his body and reached his tongue through the bars to lick my hand.
"Ok, sweetie, it's time to go to work. Can I come in and visit awhile?"
I stood up, moving slowly and talking to the german shepherd the whole time. I opened the door and stepped into the kennel. The shepherd opened one eye, closed it again and yawned.
"Good girl. I'm just going to sit over here for a bit. I've still got a pocket full of treats...I bet you'd like one if you'd come try it."
I sat across the kennel from her for several minutes before scooting a few inches closer. Her ear twitched and, again, the eye opened just enough to peek at me before snapping shut again. I slid my foot a little closer to her. No reaction. I drew my foot back and then used it to shove one of the treats close to her nose. Nose twitching, never opening her eye, she snagged the treat with a snake-quick turn of her head. I sat still, waiting. The nose continued to twitch now and then. I waited. A sigh shook the skinny body and the head turned in my direction. Another sigh and the eyes opened.
"Well hi, beautiful. Glad to meet ya. You gonna come visit with me?"
No reaction.
"How 'bout I come to you, sweetie?"
Not taking my eyes from her, I inched closer, a treat in my outstretched hand. She watched me, but didn't seem disturbed by my proximity. An inch at a time, the distance between us lessened. The closer the treat came to her nose, the more the nose twitched. When the treat was about six inches from her, I stopped and waited.
"You're going to have to come to me now, girl."
We sat, looking at each other. My arm began to ache from holding the treat. And still we sat. For six very long minutes we sat with her nose just inches from my hand. She never looked at the treat, only into my eyes. I knew she was hungry. I also knew that I was risking a bite, not because she would mean to bite me but because she was hungry and the treat was not that big. But this was an issue of trust. I couldn't ask her to trust me if I wasn't willing to trust her.
I was beginning to think that it might be time for me to pack it in and go home when her front foot moved. Just a little, but it moved. Then, a little more. Her neck stretched out and then before I could react the treat was gone. All I felt were silk-soft lips around my fingers and the treat had vanished. The head was back on the paws, eyes closed.
It was over an hour before I got to scratch her head. The tip of the tail didn't move for another ten minutes. But by then I had rubbed from her ears down her spine to the base of her tail. She let me lift her cheeks and check her teeth. I stood up and took a leash from my hip pocket. She cocked her head to one side and stared at me, tail wiggling just enough to see, if you looked very close.
She walked well on a lead, sat when I stopped walking and actually seemed to be enjoying my company. When I put her back in her kennel, she turned around and looked at me, sighed, and laid down. I knelt down and when I started talking to her she got up and came to the door. I reached through and scratched her head.
"You're going to be ok, my friend." I handed both her and Lucky one last treat and turned to leave. I took Lucky's paw in my hand and looked into his grinning face.
"You be good, Lucky, and keep my new friend company. Looks like you're both going to be going to new homes."
After I talked to Beth, she called the shelter and arranged for us to pick our new foster dog up in two days, after she had been bathed, given her basic shots and gotten a microchip.
Two days later we met at the shelter so I could introduce Beth to our newest charge, now named Gracie. I was early and walked back to the kennels. Gracie seemed glad to see me and her tail was wagging as I attached a leash to her collar. Her buddy in the next kennel wasn't there and I was happy to think that his new owner had already picked him up. When Beth arrived, Gracie and I were walking about the shelter grounds and Gracie followed me confidently over to meet her. Beth nodded, apparently happy with my evaluation of the dog.
As we were checking Gracie out of the shelter, I turned to the adoption counselor.
"I bet Lucky was happy to be getting out of here. Did he seem to like his new owner?"
"Who?" she frowned.
"Lucky, the border collie that was in the kennel next to Gracie, " I replied.
"Oh. The border collie. I'm sorry," she said. "That adoption fell through." She shook her head sadly. "We were out of space and he was put to sleep this morning. It's a shame - he seemed like a good dog."
We walked out into the parking lot. I knelt beside Gracie before Beth loaded her in the car. I put my arms around her neck and pulled her close.
"You be good, Gracie. Beth's going to make sure you get a good home." Gracie sighed, rubbed her head against me and licked the tears off of my cheeks.