The rescue dog that rescued me

I am a relatively recent Coloradan, having moved here (thanks to a job transfer) in late summer of 2004. The “plan” my husband and I had visualized was coming to fruition. We were born and raised midwesterners who had fallen in love with the mountains on a camping trip and had — impulsively for us– purchased a piece of land to build on for retirement. But the job opportunity moved that plan forward by several years, and here we were, breathless from the altitude and the scenery, actually living our dream.

Sally at rest

Unfortunately, even the best of dreams sometimes has a rude awakening, and by early 2006, my life took a series of unpredictable turns. I found myself divorced, relocated to a rental house, worried about my ill mother halfway across the country, and suddenly dogless. And to me “doglessness” is true loneliness. So the obvious solution was a call to Ark Valley Humane Society. I decided I wanted a small to medium sized dog, one that would be an easy but eager travel companion for the road trips I had already decided were in my future. I was told they had a new surrender named Sally that might fit the bill, so I jumped in my car and made the trip to the shelter.

I honestly can’t say that it was love at first sight, especially on Sally’s part. She seemed distracted, hyperactive, and very nervous. Sal was labelled by the shelter staff as a “Speagle”, a mix of some type of spaniel and  beagle. She had a glossy black and white coat, was approximately three years old, twenty-five pounds, and appeared to have had a litter of pups sometimes in her past. I took her on a walk to get acquainted away from the bustle of the shelter, and the strong pull on the end of the leash from such a small creature was surprising. All my previous dogs had been purebreds (on the insistence of my husband) and much larger. As I watched her straining forward to sniff the path ahead of us, I chuckled at the way she waddled on skinny little stick legs. They made quite a contrast to her rather stocky hound body. This was no fluffy lap dog, for sure.  The feeling grew that I had found my new companion. On our first evening together, Sal seemed certain that, despite the comfortable doggie bed I had purchased at Walmart, her place was under the covers, where she could thoroughly lick my feet before settling down for the night. I didn’t have the heart or desire to correct her. All I knew was that my world no longer lonely.

Life with Sal was an adventure from the start. I soon learned that she was a runner.  Any opportunity of an open door, a swinging gate, and she was gone. I got plenty of exercise those first few weeks dashing after her, and then carrying her surprisingly heavy little body  back home in my arms. I finally learned to have leashes accessible at all the exits, as well as being very careful with open doors. She also needed some housebreaking work, could be aggressive towards other dogs, and exhibited food guarding behaviors. So she had “issues”. Don’t we all? Events in her background that I will never know probably contributed to her behavior. To me she was nothing but loving. She was sometimes too affectionate, squirming in my lap and licking my face whenever I sat down. And my raised voice was enough to flatten her on the ground. The look on her face was so pitiful I soon learned to be gentle in corrections. Obviously in her past yelling was associated with some pretty scary punishment.

We had barely gotten to know each other and settle into a routine when I got the news that my mom’s health was failing fast. I learned this on Easter Sunday, and by that evening had a flight booked  for the very next day. But what to do with Sally? I had an ingrained fear of boarding kennels, having lost a young Great Pyrenees to heat stroke while being boarded.  But I had no other options. I called Wag-N-Tails and luckily they were able to take her on such short notice. And I have to say, their care of her as well concern for my situation made me a convert.

Two weeks later I arrived back in Colorado. I was a changed woman, a middle-aged orphan, still absorbing the experiences of the final vigil with my sisters, the funeral, and all the necessary paperwork afterwards. I felt truly alone once again. As I drove home from the airport, my thoughts turned to Sal. I had kept in touch with the kennel during my time away, but couldn’t shake the feeling that the sudden change in her life so soon after I had adopted her would affect our relationship. I needn’t have worried. She exuberantly threw herself at me when I arrived at the kennel, and her cuddling and foot licking at bedtime gave me the comfort I needed. I truly believe her presence in my life at that point — the need for walks, feedings, grooming, petting– are what kept me focused and able to move on. I saved Sal by adopting her and she more than returned the favor.

By summer we hit the road for the first of many amazing and hilarious adventures… more on those in future postings.