On Shelter Dogs and Luck | Chandra

It happens to all of us dog people...you are out for a walk and you see him. You look around hopefully for someone, anyone, who might just be the owner. Maybe he's just off leash and his owner is here, somewhere, please. You approach the dog, hoping for a collar, crossing your fingers for a tag with a working phone number. And sometimes you luck out, the collar is there, the dog lets you approach and you can actually read the tag. The address is somewhere nearby and you take the dog home to nice people who answer the door and are completely stunned that their loved dog has somehow gotten out. They are grateful and you leave with a smile.

But mostly, that's not how it happens. Usually, there isn't such an easy ending. The dog won't let you near it, there is a collar but no tags, or the phone number rings and rings. And sometimes there's this...

Last night, while out for a walk with a friend in my decidedly upscale neighborhood, I spotted a skinny black and white dog at the edge of the lake. I thought it belonged to some people fishing but when I asked them they said "No, we always keep our dogs on leashes." I tried to get close to the timid boy, but he wouldn't let me anywhere near him and ran across the street to some houses. He went to first one porch and then another so I hoped that he lived in one of these houses. At one of the doors, a sweet lady answered and said that maybe that was Molly, who lived next door. When I rang, no one answered the doorbell, and I walked around to see if maybe their gate was open. Sure enough, no latch and Molly had nosed her way back into the yard. In front of the gate there was an old tire half buried in the dirt and lots of empty bottles on the ground. Molly was slinking, tail between her legs, barking at me, extremely skinny and not very healthy looking.

When I came back around, three boys were standing in the open front door, just in shorts, no shirts. All of them looked a little uncared for themselves and when I asked them about Molly being so skinny, the oldest boy told me that Molly was just old. I let them know the latch on the gate wasn't working and went back to my friend and our walk. She told me that when she's seen that garage door open, it looks like a hoarder's house, and I imagine that might be the case. Those three boys had a hungry look about them underneath their freckles, not that happy healthy look you hope for.

When I tell people I volunteer at the shelter, the most common response I get is "I could never do that. I'd feel so sorry for all the dogs and want to take them all home." I usually respond with something like, "Well, you get used to it and shelters are much better these days with lots of great people working to make it good for the dogs."

But really, that's not the whole truth. The truth is that I firmly believe that the dogs in our shelter are much better off than a great many dogs that are in homes.

I spent time with a tan pit bull with cute triangle ears named Katy last weekend. She's a confiscate dog who came from a dog fighting case and has spent nearly all of her two years in the shelter after arriving at just eight weeks old. Katy hasn't ever been in a home or taken a trip to the river or slept with her human in a bed. She's never had a person of her very own to love. She hasn't had a lot of things. It's very easy to feel sorry for Katy.

But like most everything in this world, there is another side to the story if you look a little deeper. Katy has a whole crew of people who love her and take care of her. Katy has a warm, dry place to sleep with a raised bed and a clean blanket every day. She has an outdoor area where the volunteers can play with her and she can hang out with her stuffed toy and her tennis ball and things to sniff and other dogs to watch walk by. She has her brother Odin to wrestle with. She gets walks most days and a caring human to pet her and snuggle with her and tell her she's beautiful. Katy knows how to sit and stay and lay down and walk nicely on a leash and how to fetch a tennis ball. She regularly gets a Kong stuffed with peanut butter and a bath to keep her coat shiny and soft. Katy gets her shots and is strong and healthy and eats good food. The volunteers know that Katy likes a lap to cuddle in and are happy to oblige her. Katy is loved.

I'm pretty sure that Katy has a much better life than Molly does. I know she has it much better than the two dogs who used to live next door to us and almost never got out of their small cement dog run. When their owners moved, they dropped them off at the shelter before they went and I'm pretty sure their consciences were clear. I know she has it better than Lola, a pretty husky who lives all her hours behind a chain link fence, who one of the PB Soc volunteers writes about on Facebook.

So next time someone asks me that question, that "How can you do it?" question, I'm going to answer differently. I'm going to say, "You know what? These dogs, these wonderful shelter dogs, they aren't the ones you need to feel sorry for. They've got a second chance and most of them will find new homes after they've spent some time being taken care of by people who truly do care. Their worst days are behind them."

Our shelter dogs really are the lucky ones. They have a chance for a wonderful life and a safe place to wait for their forever families to find them. The few who don't make it out will at least exit this world with a kind word and a gentle touch. And I am lucky too. Lucky to be able to play a little part in making their wait a good one.

Giving Katy some kisses.

Katy's Glamour Shot | Photo by Shannon Skalisky

If you are interested in learning more about Katy, or any of the other wonderful dogs looking for homes, please visit SacCountyDogs.com. Sweet Katy even has her own Webpage.

The Dignified Life of a Former Fighting Pit Bull | Ron

You would think by looking at the large black scars, the deep divot in his shoulder and the bulging calcified joints, that the eight-year-old dog standing in front of me had been through a lot.

You would be right. And after hearing that this animal was the survivor of a dog-fighting ring, you might even describe his experience as inhumane.

But when I spent a short time with Willard, a calm brown pit bull, on a sunny Sunday morning, I could only come up with one description:

Resilient. Noble. And a testament to the inherent good nature of dogs.

Two months ago, if you had asked me whether I would have put my face two inches in front of the jaws of a former fighting pit bull, I would have said you were absolutely nuts.

But that's exactly what I was doing on a little knoll outside the Sacramento Animal Shelter today. Willard, his prematurely white muzzle gleaming in the sun, barely moved as I came close to him. He took a piece of chicken gently from my hand. He sniffed. And then he layed down, his war-torn body resting against the cool grass.

There was not a hint of aggression in this dog. I mean, not even a smidgeon. This dog was calm. Relaxed. You wouldn't have been able to tell that Willard had an awful abusive history, if not for the history written on his body.

I couldn't take my eyes off the huge knobs on each joint of his two front legs. I later found out the reason for the injuries: His legs had been broken. Not by other dogs, but by humans. On purpose.

This kind of cruelty is hard to fathom for most people, but in an age when we are constantly bombarded by news of heinous acts around the world, it's not that difficult to imagine, I suppose.

I found out that most former fighting dogs are actually quite social when they're rescued. It surprised me. I always figured they would be highly aggressive and almost impossible to domesticate. Not so. These dogs only fought because they had no other option. Many of them were injected with steroids, fed methamphetamines and pushed into cages with other amped-up animals where they had no choice but to fight.

Willard walked and sniffed and walked some more. He enjoyed a little chicken and then strolled again, glad to be outside, if only for a few minutes. He's been at the shelter for two long years, waiting for the adjudication of his owner's case. Thanks to the PB Soc volunteers who regularly walk and socialize this guy, he's managed to stay sane.

When his case is over, perhaps Willard will be adopted to a home that appreciates a mellow, dignified dog who just wants to enjoy the golden years of his life.

A home where his new family sees beyond the scarred exterior to the gentle soul inside.

--Ron

Update 4.11.15: Willard is now available for adoption! His abuser was convicted and he is now ready to go home. For more on Willard please visit his webpage.

A Little Respite for Odin | Ron

Odin is a 35-pound pit bull mix who thinks he's a sled dog.  He likes to pull. A lot. He walks like he's on a mission. I'm not exactly sure where he's heading, but on Sunday, he merrily yanked me along on an hour-long excursion.

We paused for the occasional chicken snack and he was more than content to nest in my lap at walk's end, but this boy needs a happy ending. And soon.

You can't really blame little Odin for wanting to take you for a ride. He doesn't get out much.  He's been sitting in the Sacramento County Shelter for almost two years.

And he's not going anywhere, anytime soon.

Oh, and did I mention that Odin takes Prozac?

You see, Odin was taken into shelter custody, along with his litter of four other sibling puppies, when his owner was arrested for allegedly running a dog fighting ring.

A confiscated dog can't be adopted out until their owner's case is adjudicated. They also can't be spayed or neutered. It makes for some very overwrought animals.

PB Soc provides one of the few sources of companionship for these dogs. The volunteers work tirelessly to keep them sane, exercised and socialized.

There are many animals in just such a situation at the shelter. A lucky few get fostered out to await the outcome of their owner's case in a nice home. But most must sit and wait.

When Odin finally settled in my lap, I could feel the tension start to seep from his body. I scratched his chin and stroked his head. He could almost relax.

We sat there another few minutes.  He quietly watched the world go by, sitting motionless, feeling secure for the briefest of time.

And then it was time to take him back to his kennel.

To wait.

--Ron