I got an email from my greyhound adoption prez today, thanking me for opening my heart/home to dogs that could almost be thought of as "special needs." She made it sound like I was doing a big deal, going out of my way to take care of these sweeties. It's not like that at all.
I have 3 dogs now, after years of living without any other living beings sharing my space. At least, not on purpose. There was that baby rattlesnake in the one apartment, but he wasn't a living being for very long, believe me. LOL
It started out, 2 years ago, that when I decided I was ready to try sharing my home with a retired racer, I wanted an older dog, preferably female. There were 2 main reasons for this (maybe 3). One is that older dogs tend to be less active, and I wasn't wanting to take 3-4 long walks every day, no matter how good it would be for my blood pressure. I wanted a female, because I had a roommate once who had 2 male dogs, and I got tired of cleaning up where they had marked. I thought females didn't mark (oops), and if they did (angie does), at least it wouldn't be knee-high onthe walls. The other reason I wanted an older dog is because I honestly had no idea how long I can maintain a commitment. Greyhounds live an average of 12-14 years, and can retire from racing as early as 2, so if I got a younger dog it was possible that it could be a 10-year or longer commitment.
"Look into My Eyes..."
I
hooked up with an adoption group in the area, and went over to their
place to meet the dogs. I wanted a black dog that loved to go places
and travel in the car. They had one like that, so I went over to meet
her. Andi was a beautiful black retired brood mama, and was happy to
hang around by me and lean up against me for pets and scritches. But
there was another girl there, a beautiful red fawn who was the same age
as Andi (10), and also a retired brood. She was a little more
stand-offish, but she came over to meet me, and sniff around. I knelt
down so she could see my face, and she gazed steadily at me, then
licked my chin and went back and laid down on her bed again.
Andi stayed beside me for petting the entire time I was there, but Angie had stolen my heart when she licked my chin. :) She's not a demonstrative dog at all, and has only kissed me a couple times since that day. But she was everything I was looking for in a dog, other than color, and color was the least of my concerns that day. It was more important to find the right temperament, and a dog who would fit my lifestyle. Angie was the perfect dog for me, as a new greyhound owner.
She came home in May 2003 and settled right in, once she learned how to climb the stairs (they don't have to deal with stairs at the track, so it's a new experience for them). We were happy together, although sometimes I wished she would be a little more cuddly. But I knew that females tend to be more independent, and that's honestly what I had wanted, so I couldn't complain about getting exactly the kind of dog I'd been looking for.
Along Came Jessie...
But I still wanted a snuggly dog, too... so I started thinking about smaller dogs -- lap dogs, if you will. I had to be careful of any other dog I'd bring in the house, because Angie's scared of strange dogs (you would be too, if you'd been attacked by a couple of Rhodesian Ridgehounds with no provocation). I was at a friend's house when they met the Italian Greyhound (IG) they wound up adopting, and I started a conversation with the adoption lady. Angie was familiar with IGs, and did fine around them, and I wanted her to have a companion because at some point I expected I would be going to work again, and being gone from the house all day. So I kept checking out petfinder, and the website for the local IG adoption group. I knew I wanted an older IG, because they tend to mellow out a little once they near the double-digits (they're very hyper little dogs), and I find that I have a soft spot in my heart for the seniors. Lots of folks don't want to take in an older dog -- me, I don't want to mess with puppyhood. Give me a dog that's already grown up and who knows some manners; they're much easier to live with. There was a cute little black IG in SC, and my local group would have gotten her for me, but before I could fill out the adoption application, my mom died and I had to deal with all that, instead. But I kept browsing the website, and one day they had a new dog listed.
Her name was Jessie, and she was 11 years old, abandoned by her previous owner, where she'd lived for 9 years. This poor girl had health problems, was on prednisone and a heart med, had cloudy eyes that might be cataracts, and was overweight. She looked scared in her picture, and I went right past her, because she wasn't what I was looking for. But I kept coming back to her picture, and reading her story, and finally I asked MaryEllen about her. She sent me Jessie's info, and I told her that I probably couldn't afford to keep her on meds the rest of her life. But I kept going back to look at her picture, and read her story. In April, Mary Ellen suggested that I become Jessie's permanent foster mom - that way she had a real home with someone who would love her, but the IG rescue group would pay the vet bills and buy her meds. This freed up space in their foster homes for dogs that people would consider adopting, since senior dogs with health problems are rarely adopted by anyone. So Jessie moved in with us in late April 2004. I knew I was done adding dogs then, because the apartment community has a pet limit, and I had reached it. I now had 2 shy girls living with me. Angie had come out of her shell to a large degree, but is still rather stand-offish with most folks, and Jessie doesn't like strangers.
If these poor dogs had only known they were moving in with an extrovert, they'd have probably run the other direction. LOL
And Casey Makes Three
In
May 2004 I was house-sitting for my adoption group, and one of their
foster hounds decided she liked me. Amain was what we call a "spook."
A spook is a dog who is more than just shy - it's afraid of
everything. A piece of paper drops to the floor, and the spook runs
cowering to his/her safe place. A leaf skitters across the sidewalk,
dancing in the wind, and the spook is pulling on the leash, wanting to
go back home.
Some spooks are afraid of everything; other are more
discriminating. Angie, for instance, could be considered a spook where
other dogs are concerned. Jessie could be considered a spook around
strangers. But neither of these girls are truly spooks - they just
have situations where they're generally shy. Some spooks are so timid
that they never come out when people are around. I've heard of dogs who
prefer to live in closets, because the dark, enclosed space feels safe
to them. For Amain, in addition to being a regular spooky kind of
girl, she was deathly afraid of men. If a man entered the room, Amain
would run out the other door.
We've had spooks in the adoption
program before, and it's always inspiring to watch them come out of
their shell. They begin by hiding in their crate, and only coming out
when no one' s around. Then one day, you'll realize they're at the back
of the pack, wanting to be part of the group, but still scared. If you
look at them directly, they run back to their crate, because it's a
safe place. Another day, you won't see the spook at the back of the
pack, and as you're wondering where he/she got to, you'll feel a cold
wet nose on the back of your knee. You can reach back to pet them, but
don't dare turn around, because if you do, the moment is over and the
spook is running back to their crate.
You circle the date on the calendar when the spooky grey finally
stands beside you or in front of you to be petted. And your heart
swells with pride at how brave this sweet friend is being, and how far
they've come since the day when they cowered on the other side of the
room from you. It's only a matter of time now until they'll be ready
to expand their horizons, and ultimately, move onto their forever home.
How
did they get to this point? With a lot of patience and reassurance
from the people in their lives: the foster moms, the volunteers, and
the other dogs in their foster home.
How long did it take? That depends on the dog.
Amain came into the adoption program in January 2004. For weeks, she would stay on the other side of the room, and run out the door if her foster mom's husband came by. Little by little, she came out of her shell, standing her ground and barking at the foster dad, hanging with the pack, sneaking up behind me for head-rubs when I was dog-sitting at her foster-home.
In May, I dog-sat for a week while her foster-family was on vacation. Angie & Jessie and I headed over to Amain's house, and she let me pet her. That night, she slept on the floor in the spare bedroom where I slept. The following morning, she climbed onto the bed while I was still in it, to check things out. That second night, she slept on the bed with me and the other dogs, and every night thereafter.
It's hard to describe the feeling I get when a spooky dog decides to trust me. It's humbling, somehow, and at the same time exciting and bubbly and celebratory. I want to shout out loud, but that would scare the dog, so I content myself with repeated praise to the brave hound, and lots of petting.
Amain started following me around, and pushing through the pack to be at the front, instead of hiding at the back. She would stand beside me during turnout, leaning against me for pets and scritches.
And I started thinking about a third dog. I was able to come up with a million reasons why it would not be smart for me to bring her home, and she stayed behind at her foster mom's. But each time I house-sat there, we bonded a little more, and each time, it got harder for me to be practical-minded. But I knew I had to stay strong - it was in her best interest that someone else adopt her. Someone with a fenced yard, and a steady income, and a regular schedule. Someone who could give her everything that I couldn't. Someone who could afford to pay her adoption fee, and her vet bills, and buy her food.
And then it happened. I was visiting with her foster-mom one night, before heading home from dog-sitting, and her foster-mom told me that the last time I had been over there, when I left, Amain laid down in front of the door I had gone through, and just whined.
And all my pragmatic practical reasonings were thrown out the window
as I knelt and wrapped my arms around my new roommate and said "Let's
make it happen, then." She had chosen me. She wasn't worried about
provision, or a fenced yard. She just wanted to be where she knew she
was loved. That was a Wednesday night, I think. The next Tuesday
morning I picked her up and brought her home.
We survived the
critical adjustment phase without unearthing any deal-breakers, and I
told the group prez on Saturday morning that it looks like it's gonna
work out, and we can consider her adopted.
Her name is now Casey, which (I found out after choosing it) means "Brave" in Gaelic. That makes it a grand name for her to live up to, and she's making a good start. It will be a journey, I'm sure, and I'm sure that there will be many times I'll find myself wishing I had a fenced in yard, but when she stands beside me and gazes into my eyes, I get lost in hers, and I'm amazed again that she chose me to be the one she trusts.
Welcome home, sweet Casey...thanks for choosing me.
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