PROJECT DOG

By Jolie Dorrell

“No adoption fee on that one. You can have him.”

“What? Why?” I asked, watching the large, wary Shepherd mix attempt to hide in the back of his shelter cage.

“One of the dog food companies gives us money to cover the adoption of dogs that no one will take, and no one wants him. Look at him. Been chained up on a ranch for five years. The wife brought him and that other one in because she started to feel bad for them.” She gestured to a different dog who seemed to be doing a little better than Rattler, as I learned his name was.

“Who had them?” I asked. She told me the name, and I shuddered. The family was well known in our small town as hell raisers, hard on trucks and horses. It figured they’d named him Rattler.

“What’s he like?”

“Well, he hasn’t bit anyone.” I stared at him, curled away from us in the far back corner of his cage. His long shaggy fur was unkempt, food untouched. He eyed me. I eyed him. His eyes were kind but wary. I had come in to drop off some things from our most recent foster dog, not intending to take on another animal. This guy seemed like a project. But in his cage, trying to hide from the world, I knew we could offer him more than what he had experienced so far in life.

“We’ll take him,” I said. We had been fostering animals for the shelter for years, and she knew he would be safe with us. Looking at the size of him and knowing his history, I wondered if we would be safe with him.

For weeks, he hid behind the couch. He watched, learned our routine, and came out to eat after we went to bed.

Our moves as a family became very calculated. We learned not to swing a coat around us to put it on, because he would hit the deck and crawl away in fear. Loud men’s voices on the TV petrified him. No one slammed a door anymore.

We could not pass him in the hallway. He chose to back all the way down the hall rather than turn his back on us or pass in close proximity. It took years to heal. He has begun to let us step over him, rather than jumping up in a panic if someone’s feet get too close. Mental scars. He has started letting out one woof of excitement when I get home, and then he gathers himself again. Slow tail wag.

The unadoptable dog has turned out to be a gem. He goes to school with me sometimes, as I am a teacher. He goes from office to office, showing everyone the love in his heart. They have asked that he have his own school job, in our Focus Zone, so that our anxious children can interact with him!

However, it has taken four years of one-on-one time invested in him. He doesn’t play. He has an old soul that does not understand chasing a ball or swimming for fun. Everything he does seems to have a purpose. Silly dogs that chase sticks or do tricks are foolish, and he watches them with thoughtful eyes. He never joins in. It’s as if he lived in misery for so long that he has no time for games, just quiet walks, some slow tail wagging, and a quiet nudge with his head when he wants more love.