The Inevitably Triumphant Story of Wormtail

In 2010, I nearly lost my job. It was actually a blessing in disguise because I received another position in the company, a position that has led to a lot of career fulfillment I otherwise wouldn’t have enjoyed. But in 2010, I was notified I would be laid off, and then I got lucky and started a new position. It was very stressful. I remember the manager who hired me to the new position asking me if I could do certain tasks, and I said “No, but if you hire me, I’ll work harder than anyone to find out.” Turns out, that sealed the deal for him.

And I did work really hard. Long hours, then reviewing my work at home, everything it took to keep the company not just happy but thrilled to have me in that position. I knew I’d be the first in line to be laid off if my work wasn’t stellar. I work in aerospace, and this was the time when Shuttle came to an end. Tens of thousands of people, all super-smart, talented, and admirable people, were being laid off. At any time, I felt one of those extremely impressive people could point to my position and say “I want that one.” I wasn’t an engineer. It was obvious to me what the company would do. So I had to do it better than anyone.

Not long after, the family dog died. Princess was my daughter’s pet Labrador Retriever, but I’d been training her for a year in search and rescue. To this day she’s the best human remains dog I’ve ever worked. Most dogs learn to enjoy the game, but damn if that dog didn’t LOVE the smell of dead things. Like it was the most expensive, best smelling perfume in the world. Chanel Number Five had nothing on the smell of human decomp. Losing her was a gut-punch. It was tragic. Princess was only three years old. Everybody in the family was sad.

A few months later, I decided it was time to get a new dog. I wanted a white German Shepherd because Princess was a black Labrador Retriever, and sometimes in the summer you could reach down and pet her, and she’d feel hot to the touch. I didn’t like that. So, white coat.

I found a breeder in Buda, Texas who had a litter of white German Shepherd puppies. I left at dawn to beat the Houston traffic and begin the long journey. There’s no straight route to Buda. From Houston, you essentially drive toward San Antonio or Austin, then turn onto I35. And for those who don’t know Texas, it was about a four or five hour-drive from Houston. But I’d been hunting for a white German Shepherd for a while with no luck. My younger brother, who also owned a white German Shepherd (He Who Would Be Named Koda), checked out the litter since he lived in Austin at the time. With his confirmation that this was a decent litter, I made the appointment and drove to Buda.

Along a dirt road I found a small white house on a couple acres of flat ranch land. There was a litter of five or six puppies. I remember seeing both the mother and father, but I don’t remember what they looked like. I do remember the one female in the litter was peculiar. Most of her tail fur was scraped off!

The owner showed me the bloodlines and talked a bit about the dogs. Again, I don’t remember the event or what he said. I handed over a check, and he handed over the puppy, and we headed home. I put her in a kennel right behind me in the van, and she whined and cried out. She’d just been separated from her family. I felt for her, but I knew we were giving her a new family.

You know how the drive home is quicker than the drive out to your destination? Not this one. The puppy in the backseat might’ve had something to do with it.

At home, we fell in love with the little wormtail immediately. I took her to the vet, and they confirmed what we suspected. A mild fungus. An anti-fungal cleared it up in a week.

Trying to name her wasn’t easy. Of course, “Wormtail” was off the board immediately. We went through so many names, but where I’d been fine with whatever name my daughter chose for her dog, I was adamant that I approve the dog’s name this time. I wanted something with some punch to it. I’d recently seen Ghost Rider, and I was also a fan of the Clint Eastwood movie, Pale Rider. “Preacher? Preacher!?!”

And just as a reminder, I intended to work this dog on human remains. I kept thinking of the verse, “Behold a pale horse, and his name that sat on him was Death.” Perfect! I signed the paperwork and registered Pale Ryder Goodman.

Hindsight being 20/20, I should have seen the difficulties early on. Ryder, aka Wormtail, hated riding in cars. So I would take her, put her in the back of the van, and just sit with her. Even at 6 months old, her legs would tremble and her tail would hitch under her legs. So every day for two or three weeks I put her in the car. Sometimes I would have my awesome wife drive her down the block and turn around. I’d remain in the backseat and reassure her everything was okay.

When it got to where she could go a block or two, we tried taking her to parks to meet other dogs. She shied from dogs, big or small. I remember taking her to the dog park early one morning. She was the only dog in the run, and it was at least a quarter acre. Somebody came in with a little Labrador puppy that was all happiness and love. Ryder tucked her tail so far she should’ve been tickling her chest. Total fear reaction! She didn’t bite the dog, but she cowered from this little puppy that was maybe a tenth her size.

I’ve often wondered if Mojo had anything to do with her behavior. He was an older dog and a bit of a lone wolf, and I’ve wondered if one day he put her down too hard and she decided the world was just too damn scary for her.

As I’ve written before here and here, I put Ryder into SAR, but at this point it was mainly with the hope of socializing her. She had a great nose, but she was too afraid of the world to go out into it and find things. She’d try to run from dogs and dog-people when they approached her. The best thing for her was to have somebody stand with their back to her so that she could taste them and get used to them, but like Mr. Bunny I, once the person turned, she skedaddled.

Trying to find a way to help her, one weekend I drove her up to my parents’ place. They owned a couple of very casual, normal-personality German Shepherds. My hope was that a weekend playing with dogs not named Mojo would reset her brain into a more German Shepherd mentality. She didn’t have fun. Somewhere I have a photo of all the dogs sitting down together with me, and my dad is standing there, too. Marshall and Czar are happy and content. Ryder looks completely miserable.

I’d like to say that Ryder worked out of these behaviors and inevitably became a confident German Shepherd. Her story isn’t a movie, so it wouldn’t go that way. I will give you a for-instance. We host international students for two weeks every summer, and we’ve been doing it for the last decade. The students stay with us for two weeks, and it is usually a highlight to them when Ryder finally allows them to pet her. It usually takes about two weeks.

Years later, my daughter began SAR, and she took Ryder with her. Ryder worked for her better than for me, but she still was unhappy. But in her backyard? Ryder was alert and comfortable. So we stopped all SAR work with her and left her to the peace and comfort of her backyard paradise.

When Mojo died and Koda came to live with us, Ryder’s life changed. Suddenly she had a younger dog (he was nine and she was seven) who enjoyed playing with her on her terms. For us, it was fascinating. She was PLAYING. She’d never really played before. And she was happy with Koda. She liked to taunt him and tease him and boss him around, and he was always oh so willing to let her do it. She smiles a lot now. So the story does have a happy ending. Ryder has had two and a half glorious years in the backyard with Koda. She’s been the queen of her castle. And while now it is easy to look back on her life and talk about the things that could have been, I prefer to see the Wormtail who endured to eventually find happiness in her life, and I think that is all any of us can hope for is to find someone who enjoys being with us and gives us enjoyment.

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