Shadow's Legacy

Tristan with his toys

    

After my shepherd Cody died last year, I found it helped to write a blog about him, to write about what a special dog he was.  I am not yet ready to write about Shadow; that wound is still too raw.  But I can write about Shadow's legacy–the dog sleeping peacefully on the rug beside me. I had become worried that I might never be ready to adopt another dog after losing Shadow, for he was proving to be as loyal in death as he'd been in life, such a loving ghost that I could not bear to bring another dog into my house or heart.   Yet I did want to adopt again.   Eventually I realized what I needed to do—to give a home to a dog that might otherwise not find one. So I went looking for senior shepherds and the search led me to a 9 year old white shepherd in Florida named Hank. 

 

 

 

     We don't know his history, but he was not housebroken, which makes it very likely that he was always an outside dog.  He'd been on his own for a long time, for he was half-starved, so skeletal that it was painful to look at him.  But then his luck finally changed, for Joan Alexander, a volunteer with Echo Dogs White German Shepherd Rescue, pulled him from a kill shelter on his last day.  Then Becky Dunne was kind enough to offer to foster him.  Foster families are the unsung heroes of the rescue movement and deserve so much credit, for without them, countless dogs could not be saved.  It was obvious that Hank had never been in a house before; initially, he was fearful of any footing except grass and when he first saw a glass door, he tried to walk through it.  But Becky was patient in introducing him to this brave new world; she housebroke him in record time and began to teach him the family rules–no stealing food, no chasing the cats.  He thought that was great fun, but the cats were not too thrilled about it.  After a few weeks, he was ready to go up for adoption and I found him on Echo's website. 

       I'd been approved for adoption by Echo last year after I'd lost Cody, and so in less than a week, Hank—now renamed Tristan by me—was ready to go to his new home.  The only problem was that it was one thousand miles away.  But Echo has a network of truly amazing people who volunteer for missions like this.  In no time at all, Tristan had fourteen guardian angels lined up for his pilgrimage from Orlando to Aberdeen, MD, where I'd meet him.

        I'd worried that it would be very stressful for him—traveling through eight states in two days, being turned over from one stranger to another.  But Tristan proved to be a trooper, handling it with remarkable composure and élan.  As he began his journey, I posted status reports on my Facebook page—he's now in GA, he's just entering SC, etc.  I felt like NASA tracking Santa's sleigh on Christmas Eve, and Tristan was soon being cheered on by people from the US to the UK to South Africa to Australia!  The best description of his odyssey came from one of my Australian friends, Glenne Gilbert, who compared it to the passing of the Olympic Torch.

       A friend and I met Tristan on Sunday afternoon in Aberdeen, MD, and I like to think it was love at first sight for us both.  I will be eternally grateful to Lizbeth and Paul, who drove that last lap, to Jonathan and Ronnie, who took him into their home in VA on Saturday night, and to Becky, Joan, Alicia, Sheila, Trisha, Rebecca, Jez, and Trish, who were willing to chauffeur a skinny, elderly shepherd on his way to a new life.  I'd like to thank Jeanmarie, who organized our convoy, and Patrice, who offered to drive hundreds of miles to help out if need be, and Ellie, who met us in MD.   The only catch in an otherwise perfect trip was that we had to drive back to NJ in a monsoon; you know it was bad when I had to keep asking, "Are we still on the road?" 

      But Tristan was worth it.  He is such a sweet dog, as mellow as my Cody, who I called my surfer-dude-dog, smart and curious and very affectionate, brave enough to trust.  He has settled in as if he'd always lived here. He gets along very well with my other dog and I have no cats to tempt him.  He loves stuffed toys, probably because he'd never had any in his years of outdoor exile; he soon mastered stair climbing, and is so well behaved that I stopped using his crate after just three days.  Above all, he is happy, as happy as Cody and Shadow were once they'd realized that they were in a home where they'd be safe and loved.  And it is not always true that no good deed goes unpunished, for my vet thinks Tristan is younger than nine!

       I have such admiration for those who work in rescue.  They see the worst that people are capable of.  They see dogs that have been cruelly abused like Shadow or shamefully neglected like Tristan.  They give unselfishly of themselves for animals that are not theirs, teach them to trust again, and then let them go to new homes.  And they learn the hardest lesson of all—that they cannot save them all.

      This weekend, Joan Alexander, Tristan's guardian angel, is trying to rescue two white shepherds in Florida—Sheeba, a young female who has been running the streets of Key West, and Pistol, a young male whose owners no longer want him.  They are stunningly beautiful dogs, look like sleek white wolves, friendly and playful, dogs that deserve a second chance.  If anyone in Florida is interested in fostering either of these shepherds, please contact me and I'll put you in touch with Joan.  And if any of you are thinking about adding a loving, young shepherd to your families, remember that Echo delivers! 

     But even as Joan rejoiced that she'll be able to take Pistol and Sheeba under Echo's protection, she learned about a female white shepherd and her three pups, being held at one of Florida's worst kill shelters.  And until she can find foster or forever homes for Sheeba and Pistol, she can do nothing for that mother and pups even though their time may be running out.  For people in rescue, triumphs and tragedies are spokes on the same wheel.

       Their success stories keep them going, though.  My friend, Annalori Spaulding, is trying to find a foster or forever home for a sweet little girl named Buffy, a West Highland White Terrier.  She was suffering from serious allergies, but has made great progress.  Her problem now is that she wants to be an "only child," so she needs to go to a home without other dogs.  If anyone would like to know more about Buffy, you can find her photo on my Facebook page, or you can contact me and I'll put you in touch with Annalori.

       Annalori has three Westies of her own, all rescues.  She recently wrote about how she came to adopt Lily, who'd been used as a breeder at one of those infernal puppy mills, and her account is so eloquent that I want to share part of it with you all.  After you read about Lily Belle, what she endured, and what her life is like now, I hope you'll think about adoption the next time you want to bring a new dog into your families.  Now, here is Annalori.

       "I work with kids for a living, and not just any kids, but abused and neglected ones.  I work with the kids everyone has given up on, because I want to be the one who shows them that adults are just as capable of giving love as causing pain.  It shouldn't be a surprise, then, that when I went to Maryland Westie Rescue for adoption in July, 2009, I specifically asked for a puppy mill rescue.  Soon I was contacted about a girl who was nearly seven years old, had been used as a breeder, and had been abused.  I had to drive to Annapolis to get her and wasn't sure what to expect. 

       "As soon as she was led out and our eyes met, that was it, for she immediately ran over to me and tried to climb into my lap.  Those liquid brown eyes had hooked me and there was no way I was ever giving her back.  She was my Lily Belle."

        Annalori and her family soon learned that Lily had been abused by men, for she was fearful at first of Annalori's father.  She'd never been on grass before, having spent her life in a cage.  And she was so quiet because she'd been debarked, part of her vocal cords cut for the convenience of her puppy mill owners.  Annalori says that all she can manage is "a very hoarse, whispery kind of gurgle, which is both adorable and very sad."  She'd never had toys before and was puzzled by them at first; eventually she began to play with their cat's toy, so now she has her own pink mouse, which she sleeps with each night.  

       Annalori concludes, "Every time I see her, I remember what she was like when I brought her home, and I marvel anew at the difference that love and patience can make.  Athough she spent her entire life in a cage, she goes into her 'house' with wagging tail when we leave because she knows we are coming back.  I may have been the one to rescue her, but I think I got the better end of the deal.  For almost seven years, she experienced the worst of what humans can give, but hasn't let that stop her from being a happy, loving little girl who shows me by example every day that love itself is a miracle.  She rescued me, too, and for that, I will be eternally grateful."

       I don't want to ignore cats—they take that rather badly.  So I'd like to close with a story by Persia Woolley. I'm sure that many of you are fans of her writing and for those few who've not read one of her books, you are in for such a treat.   Persia recently moved and was planning to get a cat.  She was thinking of an elegant Abyssinian or possibly a Maine Coon cat.  But when she heard that one of her neighbors had died, leaving her cat in desperate need of a home, she felt compelled to go to see her.  In Persia's words, she found "a poor old wreck, too fat to walk normally, with broken-down ankles, a listless attitude, and terrible breath from eating nothing but tuna."  She also had serious kidney and liver problems.  Not exactly the ideal candidate for adoption.  But Persia knew the old girl would likely be put down if she didn't take her, and she found herself remembering Grizabella from "Cats," the old stray who got a second chance at life.  So Persia ended up with a cat utterly unlike the one she'd expected to take into her new home.   It took a while, about two months, for her to adjust, for she was likely mourning her former owner, but Persia wrote to me that "One morning I woke up to my face being patted by the gentlest little cloud-soft paw."   As her confidence increased, her health improved, too, although Persia knows she is probably on borrowed time.  She says that "She'll never be the bright, sprightly animal I thought I wanted, but we get on well together and tend to grin at the world while announcing, 'There is a dance in the old dames yet, toujour gaie, toujour gaie.'"

          I couldn't end on a better grace note than that.  I hope some of you (well, all of you, actually) will check out Echo's website and their wonderful white shepherds in need of homes.  http://www.petfinder.com/fpm/petlist/petlist.cgi?shelter=IN147,PA752,MO339,NH77,FL1031,TX1106&status=A&age=&limit=25&offset=0&animal=&title=Adoptable%2520Pets%2520from%2520Echo%2520Dogs%2520White%2520Shepherd%2520Rescue&style=10&ref=s9KU_pXEFbsw1ja    Tristan is sleeping at my feet as I write this.  My friend Jim sent him a stuffed duck which has become his favorite toy, and he is using it now as a pillow.   The photo below is one of my boy surrounded by his bones, practically radiating happiness.  All three of my rescue shepherds came frighteningly close to falling through the cracks.  I feel blessed that they did not.

March 18, 2011