Don’t Forget Us!

Every year it’s the same. The day after Christmas I was in Pet Smart and there were all the happy families shopping for their new pets. And as callous as this may seem, the thought that was uppermost in my mind was “How many of them will survive”?

About this time all too many of those holiday pets will be nearing the end of their family days. Shoes and remote controls will have been destroyed by sharp little teeth; the kids whine incessantly about having to walk the dog or clean the litter box; mom is fed up of cleaning the “accidents”; the barking is driving everyone mad. Fact is, no-one really thought about what it would take to care for a four-legged friend.

I don’t want to get into a discussion right now about the fallout from Christmas-giving; just watch this video. It’s an ad that was run by the ASPCA; the song is In The Arms Of An Angel by Sarah McLachlan.

And don’t forget to click every day to help feed animals in shelters around the country. It costs you nothing and only takes a moment of your time.

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.

Saving Angel

I’m going to start with Angel. Because, after all, that’s what this blog is really about.

She must have been another warm, cuddlesome, adorable puppy. And another one of all too many who end up with some unmitigatingly mean, heartless or just plain ignorant human. I don’t know much about the bastard who took Angel as a happy yet helpless pup. Who broke her bones, destroyed her trust, then left her to starve to death. I do know there’s a bench warrant out for his arrest. I know the odds of that warrant ever being served are absolutely minimal. I know that if the warrant is served, punishment will be barely more than a slap on the wrist; nothing that will remotely fit the crime. And I also know that the odds of him abusing, and slowly and deliberately destroying other creatures is very high.

Anyway, we’ll get to more of that another time. As I said earlier, this is about Angel.

Sometime around the eighth month of their lives, Angel and her sister were rescued from their living hell by Southern Hope Humane Society in Roswell, Georgia. Both pups were near-dead from starvation but one was in even more desperate condition. Pressed into the corner of her torture chamber (a chain link dog kennel with no shelter from the elements), the body emaciated, skin laying loosely over the skeleton, the head seeming too big to be on those thin shoulders, her body was not only battered but horribly broken. Her rescuers didn’t know it at first but the “bastard” must have beaten her so severely that she had a broken hip and leg, for which she had received no treatment.

Something else was different about this little pup…….. her eyes; after all the savage cruelty and depravation, in the eyes there was still just a glimmer of hope.

I wasn’t there when Angel was found but I know those eyes well now. I’ve studied the images of that sweet, sad face and I’ve read a host of things in those eyes – fear, resignation, misery, pleading and, yes, hope. That, together with an innate will to survive and the tender ministrations of the folk at Southern Hope rescue saved her life. Her broken leg was mended. The hip had already begun to calcify (imagine how long she must have suffered with that pain) so was left alone. Her flesh began to fill out.

Don’t be misled, though. For Angel, the rescue and rehab were both painful and frightening, yet she never showed even the slightest aggression. Only ever offered a grateful lick or wag of the tail and was always an angel. Hence her name.

Now came the truly hard part – learning to trust, building confidence, becoming a normal, happy dog in a normal, happy family. Stacey Hall, president of Southern Hope Humane Society, deserves much credit for starting Angel on this journey. She took Angel into her own home to rehabilitate with her family and her dogs. At the same time, Angel had more help when along came Vincent.

Vincent is a miniature poodle of seemingly good pedigree and certainly noble heart who became Angel’s best friend and constant guardian. No-one knows his past; he simply turned up one day, a little thin, flea-infested and instantly attracted to Angel.

I first saw Angel and Vinny when they were featured together in a newspaper article – This Love’s Bred to be True – and knew instantly that they belonged with my husband and me. A few months earlier we had said goodbye to our much-loved Muttley, who left this life at the age of 16, and we were very ready to fill the emptiness that his death left behind. So I went to meet both dogs at a pet-adoption event. Vinny crawled straight into my lap. Angel was too traumatized to come out of her cage but lay curled in the corner doing her best to hide, so I crawled part way in to pet her. When she looked at me with those expressive eyes I was even more certain that our connection was meant to be.

Adoption proceedings weren’t simple. Southern Hope is very thorough in vetting potential “moms” and “dads”. About 10 agonizing days passed before word arrived that my husband and I were apparently acceptable parents. I say “apparently” because the adoption was not official until our home had been viewed by Stacey as well as Angel and Vincent. Happily, we were given a four-paws up and the twosome moved in.

The story doesn’t end here. Stay tuned to read: Angel’s Story; Life At Home.