Modern Dog Blog

I foster dogs. I foster lots of dogs – labs, pugs, bichons, several creatures of as yet to be determined heritage. For the most part, they are perfectly agreeable dogs who have gotten lost in the system, and through no fault of their own, ended up without humans of their own to tend to them.

I bring them home, bathe them, let them run out their frustrations in the canyon, feed them what is probably the highest quality food they’ve ever seen, and give them some time to unwind from their shelter adventures. I give them some boundaries, teach them that hands hold cookies and that life is ok here. Most find lovely homes with people who are willing to open their hearts to a slightly “used” doggie who may have some baggage, but still has lots of joy to bring to the family.

Yesterday I brought home a little, ok maybe not so little, black pug. His name is Albert, and he’s grossly overweight, as if pugs didn’t already have enough trouble breathing. He was filthy, and it took two scrubbings to get him clean. His teeth are in decent shape underneath the layers of tartar and crud, and a dental will fix that right up. He has tapeworms, and his nose is crusty, dry and peeling from being outside all the time. His nails are so long that they make his feet splay out and I’m sure it’s uncomfortable to walk. Yet, Albert greets everyone with a wagging tail and a goofy grin. If you’re feeling crappy right now about how this little dog has been treated, good. You should, we all should. Your dog may be well cared for, but is your neighbors? Now here’s where Albert’s story gets dicey and puts my heart into a tailspin.

Albert came to me instead of another foster because he snapped at the vet while she was trying to check his ears. He’d been cuddly and snuggly and them simply snapped. No growling, no warning, just teeth chopping and lunging. He stood like a gentleman while I bathed him and then he tried to bite me when I tried to trim his nails. I am gun shy, as I got a finger mangled this spring while trimming a terrier’s nails. So, Albert’s nails will wait until I can get help, or have the vet do it when his teeth get cleaned. And my heart will break a little every time I look at them and imagine his legs tweaking at odd angles. Albert also lunged at me and snapped like a little shark when I pinched his tail. Would he have bitten me if he hadn’t been restrained on a leash? Absolutely. How bad? Who knows. He seems perfectly happy to be around my dogs, yet attacked my lab for no apparent reason while in the kitchen. He’s excited about the cats but friendly once he gets close. He likes his back rubbed, but freezes up if your hands get to far down his belly. He seems a wiggly, happy guy, and settles down quickly after any of his little snapping fits and doesn’t seem to hold a grudge. He wants to be close and stuck right to us in the canyon today.

So here I am, left with this little dog, who’s fate is literally in my hands. I can say that he is unpredictable, and willing to bite, and loving hands of volunteers (probably me) will hold him while we kill him. I can say that maybe, in the right home, with a dedicated family, he might be able to be rehabilitated. That with enough time and training, someday he may be trustworthy. And what if I’m wrong? What if I decide to give him that chance and he bites someone and really hurts them? What if he flips out because some neighbor kid steps on his toes and Albert bites a child in the face? These are the decisions people involved in pet rescue make every day. Which one lives, which one dies – and how do we decide? So the next time you think people involved in dog or cat rescue are wacko – well, this is why. We get this way dealing with society’s leftovers, and we do get a little crazy. You have to be a special brand of nuts to take this on voluntarily. Because there is never a guarantee with any animal you help. I can’t tell you for sure that Albert will bite someone, but I also can’t tell you that he won’t.

Welcome to the heartbreak of my world.

Posted on October 27th, 2007 by michelle
Filed under: Not my dogs, The Naked Part, Training