Angel’s Story; Life At Home

You know, the adaptability of erstwhile abused dogs (and other animals) never ceases to amaze me. Pet adoption is never something to be taken lightly and, prior to Angel and Vinny moving in, my husband and I had gone to great lengths to anticipate every possible problem that might be encountered. To some degree or another I’ve been involved in pet rescue all my life and for the last 10 years my husband has been right there with me. Considering the severity of Angel’s abuse, however, we were very concerned how she would react to another major change in her life. Enter Vinny…….again.

Stacey Hall from Southern Hope rescue really knows her stuff. She was adamant that Angel and Vincent stay together and she was so right. Vinny came into our home as if he owned it. He was casual with our nine cats (that’s another story) and they pretty much had no problem with him. He exuded bonhomie with us and with everyone he met; was a model of responsive canine behavior. He was home and had no doubt about it. All of which, I am convinced, had a far greater impact on Angel than anything my husband or I could have done because Vinny was, most of all, Angel’s protector and guide.

Although Angel’s physical condition had improved dramatically her emotional state was still fragile. Her abuse had been so incredibly severe that she had even been used as a poster dog for Southern Hope’s Don’t Get A Dog campaign. She was afraid of just about everyone and everything but Vinny was her ally. His immediate acceptance of, and faith in, us rapidly transmitted to Angel so that within a couple of days she was very much at ease in the home and in the confines of the back yard. The dogs took turns chasing each other round the garden shed, wrestled with their toys, ate their meals with gusto, slept deeply on their sheepskin bed and relished the love and attention they were getting from us.

This status quo was maintained for a while with the exception of a visit to the vet for check-ups. Angel got as far as our front door and refused to budge. Nothing would get her past the portal; not treats, pleading, firm command, not even Vinny. Each time we reached the door she would shiver and shake, park her paws on the floor or bolt under the dining room table with tail between legs and ears back. In desperation I had to carry her to the car, quivering in my arms while I felt like one of the lowest forms of humanity on earth for forcing her to go. Once in the car she accepted her fate and lay meekly in the back fixing me with those big, soulful eyes every time I looked round to check on her, as if to ensure that my guilt would not mitigate. Vincent, meanwhile, was delighted to go for a ride and, as with the house, pridefully claimed the car as his domain by alternately barking or wagging his tail at every other vehicle we encountered.

Funnily enough, once at the doctor’s Angel was a model patient. She’d had lots of practice, of course, but I had expected her reaction to be one of some trepidation. Instead, she was as sweet as could be to everyone and they, in turn, were really sweet with her. Our return journey, while not exactly jolly, was at least less tense and the return home called for a burst of wrestling and chasing throughout the house.