Sheltered From The Storm
This post is my entry into the BlogPaws Blog Carnival Contest sponsored by BISSELL Homecare, Inc. It is dedicated to the animals who suffered during Hurricane Irene. May they find their way home.
May in Colorado is especially stormy, with raindrops verging on hail, thunder rivaling the “Overture to William Tell,” and winds reminiscent of The Wizard of Oz (unanchored objects – and people – may be blown to Kansas). When I hear the pounding of inclement weather on my house, I feel sorry for the woodland creatures living in surrounding forests. I worry for the delicate birds with their exposed nests and even the sturdier deer, which may not have had time to find adequate shelter.
May of 2007 was no exception. The storms didn’t last long, but they occurred almost daily, and when the rain fell, it hammered the ground. There was only one difference during that particular month: our second-ever Boston terrier foster dog, Bill, had become a “woodland creature.” It was completely my fault. I didn’t properly shut our back gate, and the terrified puppy mill survivor took it as his opportunity to go from perpetual confinement to unbridled freedom, for which he was completely unprepared.
Bill and me
I had only brought Bill home an hour earlier. His body seemed stuck to the bottom of his crate. This was understandable since at two years old, Bill’s entire life had been spent in a small chicken wire cage, and surely the few occasions he had been handled by humans were not pleasant ones. I couldn’t blame him for being too scared to move. Obviously, Bill’s running away was the furthest concern from my mind.
But run away he did, into the woods, where he hid… and hid. The rain pounded; the wind roared. We searched and searched. For weeks there were no signs of Bill. I worried; I cried. After two weeks, I tried to move on. Someone must have found him and taken him in. But then, would they have tossed him back out once they realized how emotionally damaged he was? He was more statue than pet, certainly not most people’s idea of a “dream dog.”
Then, on June 17th, three weeks from the day he disappeared, I got the call. Bill was alive! He was found by a person walking in the woods, who called animal control. They were then able to find MidAmerica Boston Terrier Rescue, the organization responsible for Bill, through his microchip. He was emaciated – down to 13 pounds from 20 – and had a deep gash on his leg requiring medical attention almost daily for a month. He was still unresponsive and practically glued to his bed, but at least he was home.
Bill, after the "rain"
Home? Uh, yeah. I was finally experiencing the good kind of “foster failure”: the “I’m keeping my foster dog” kind of failure, as opposed to the “my foster dog died in the woods” kind of failure. You could say that Bill put the “bil” in rehabilitation for me: he was my mess, and I was determined to fix him.
For a while, Bill and my relationship reflected the storms through which he had lived. His unwillingness to even respond to his name flooded me with hopelessness. During the first three months, he wouldn’t leave his bed. I even had to carry him outside to eliminate. Walks were a drag; he would abruptly stop moving and flatten like a pancake at noises as innocuous as crickets chirping. My parents called him “Duck and Cover.”
My thoughts flew back and forth, oscillating between resolve to help Bill experience happiness and despair that psychological well-being possibly just wasn’t in the cards for him. But, as a former professional athlete, my competitive drive won out over my anguish, and I worked patiently to help Bill achieve small victories. Hiring a dog trainer made a tremendous difference. Bill began looking at me when I said his name. He slowly warmed up to walking on-leash and eventually graduated to hiking off-leash. After about eight months, he got out of the car by himself, and then came his first little, uncertain “Woof.” These were all life-enhancing victories!
Happy Bill
You might think that rehabilitating Bill was more of a hassle than it was worth, but you’d be wrong. The happiness I continue to experience from Bill’s small but significant victories is like a double rainbow after a storm: beautiful and full of hope. Now, when rain falls, I dry Bill’s fur. When thunder crashes, I cover Bill’s ears. When wind blows, I anchor Bill’s body. Bill knows how much I love him, and he reciprocates without hesitation. Together, we are both sheltered from any storm.
So beautifully told…Only people who have experienced the joy and the struggles of rescuing a dog with ” issues ” can understand how even the smallest victories are the most amazing. It takes a special person to do what you do. And I have learned so much by reading your stories and adventures with Bill and I use those lessons with my own pack of rescues. Thanks you for all you do!