Good article. The only part I quibble with is the bit that dogs are the only non-primate species that makes eye contact. Every person who lives with cats knows of their intentional, direct eye contact from a cat—including in the form of slow eye blinking (affection) .
dogs
Jill’s Journey to a New Life
by Rob Hopf
Jill was a young dachshund mix we fostered. She came from a kill shelter in the south. In these harsh environments, dogs have only a small number of days before they are euthanized to make room for the never-ending tide of homeless pets pouring in.
We often don’t know specifically what these dogs have endured, but they tell us about it through their actions and their fears. We could tell Jill had had a hard life. When she came to us, she didn’t want to be touched, and hid behind the furniture.
Her tail was gnarled from being chewed. She would chase it for long periods of time, spinning in circles, a sign of trauma likely stemming from neglect. Sometimes she would catch her tail and chew it, inflicting self harm.
We coaxed her out from her hiding place, and brought her out with us to show her some affection. She shrank from us at every touch, not believing we would be kind to her.
Finally it was time for bed the first night. Our dogs always sleep with us, so we brought Jill up to bed with us. We got in bed and placed her between us. Our dogs took their places curled up at our feet. We patted Jill and invited her to lay down and settle in for the night. Suddenly a look of astonishment came over her face, like a bolt of lightning. She looked at me, then my wife, then back to me. All at once it hit her: she was going to sleep with us, snuggling in the warmth and safety of our bed. Like Family! She was instantly elated, leaping back and forth between us, licking us with gracious kisses, wagging her stubby little tail as fast as she could.. She couldn’t believe it – she was going to be loved! After a prolonged outpouring of appreciation, she finally settled in and had what may have been the most restful night of sleep she ever had.
After that, she was different, not fearing us or hiding. She became playful and loving.
Before long, she was adopted into a loving family. We wished her well as she headed off to her new life. This was not the last we saw of her, however. We did dogsit her for a week when her family went on vacation. Her family had gotten her help for her lingering anxiety. She was on medication which helped alleviate her trauma.
Many foster dogs have experienced hardship, but few have such a sudden epiphany as Jill did. Instead, it usually dawns on them slowly over days or weeks that their lives have changed for the better, and they can rely on people to be kind to them. Because of this, the one thing they all have in common is a profound gratitude for being rescued. Even though they don’t understand the complex financial, legal, and medical issues surrounding their larger circumstances in society, they do understand very clearly that they’ve been rescued from a terrible fate. And they are eternally grateful for that.
Ollie & Spuds – Chapter 6
Think, Think, Think
Spuds wakes up and sniffs the air. It’s warm-cool and carries the smell of green growing things. Feeling hopeful, Spuds stretches and then gently paws Ollie’s cheek to wake him.
Ollie twitches and opens one eye as a warning to Spuds. Spuds pointedly turns away and looks upward, as though the sky is suddenly interesting. Then she leaps onto Ollie’s back. This sends shivers up Ollie’s spine. He sits up abruptly, which sends Spuds careening off of him. She lands gracefully, looks at him expectantly, and paces. We need to go out, now.
Ollie does a down-dog stretch and then shakes. The motion starts at his tail and progresses to his snout, from which spit flies like raindrops. Spuds squints against this.
They walk out the alley and onto the street together and make their rounds: trash cans, dumpsters, the park. Ollie finds half of a bagel beneath a park bench and offers to share it with Spuds, who has no interest. She’s scanning the area under a thicket of shrubs for any movement of mice. No luck. They amble on, skirting a stray dog working on a garbage bag, and slip down a side street.
Ollie smells something delicious. His raises his head, flares his nostrils, and takes off at a trot. Spuds runs to keep up with him. Ollie’s nose leads him to a truck parked in an alley. The door of the truck is rolled up and delicious scents come from within it. They look around, see no one, and scamper up the ramp.
There are cheeses, lots of cheese—in wheels, in boxes. Ollie selects a ripe-smelling cheese wrapped in cloth, holds it between his paws, and tears the wrapping. Together the animals devour it, their snouts covered in soft cheese. Partway through their feast they glance at each other with glee.
So engrossed are they that they do not notice a man approaching the truck. He is unaware of the animals and rolls down the steel door. Ollie and Spuds dash toward the opening. Spuds sees she can make it through the remaining opening, but Ollie is too chesty. She stops. Ollie looks at her, wrinkling his brow. Spuds looks away.
Slits of daylight edge the door. The engine starts and the truck jolts forward. Ollie and Spuds splay their feet, lower themselves to the floor, and look at each other with wide eyes.
As the ride proceeds smoothly they are able to stand up. Ollie is nose level with a round of cheese. He takes a bite of it. Spuds watches and then jumps up on the cheese wheel and eats as well.
They eat until the truck lurches to a stop. They hear voices outside the truck and position themselves at the side of the door, Spuds first, Ollie behind. When a man rolls open the door, they leap from the truck and run, looking back. One of the men stoops down and calls to the animals, extending his hand outward, palm up. The other man says, ”If we can catch them, I’ll drop them off at the humane society on the way back.”
The men walk toward them slowly, calling softly, but Ollie and Spuds sprint toward the woods. There they tuck themselves behind a boulder and peering through leafy undergrowth, watch the men walk away.
When the men are out of sight, Ollie and Spuds look around. The fields that surround the town from which they fled are dotted with clusters of trees and farms and edged by hedgerows. In the far distance, there is another small town. At the bottom of a steep slope behind them they hear a stream and walk toward it, Spuds picking her way gracefully, Ollie sliding downhill in places. They drink their fill.
Ollie lies down, rests his head on his paws, and closes his eyes. Spuds paws gently at Ollie’s snout, and when he opens his eyes she looks pointedly, repeatedly between the deeper woods and Ollie.
Ollie rises with a groan and follows Spuds through the woods. She doesn’t always choose a path suited to Ollie’s size; at places he has to scoot on his belly. They come to an outcropping of rocks protected by thicket of bushes and there lie down. A large animal ambles into view. It chews slowly in a circular way, bending its head toward the earth and raising it, its mouth bristling with grasses. The creature looks at Spuds and Ollie with a long, steady, neutral gaze. Spuds nestles closer to Ollie, and they sleep.
(c) 2024 Carolyn Cott – To be continued
The Freckles on My Sister’s Snout
I wandered alone for a long time, but it wasn’t always so. I have vague memories—little scraps of images—from the past: the tumble and tussle of warm fur, the shimmer of sun on my brother’s back, the freckles on my sister’s snout. We were given away, placed in a box in a grocery store parking lot and given to anyone who would take us. We were held up, cooed over, and carried off under people’s arms.
The person who took me changed his mind when I grew larger. He tied me up in the backyard for months—with intermittent water and food—and then took me on a car ride and left me on the side of the road. I fended for myself then. Sometimes I was thirsty, sometimes I was cold, often I was hungry.
This morning, a man saw me, stooped down, and called to me. I watched him warily and then darted away. I have trouble trusting people. He left and then came back, carrying a bowl that smelled good. He sat quietly beside the bowl and I approached carefully, then backed away, then approached again. With one last sideways glance at the man, who looked at me calmly, kindly, I stretched my neck toward the bowl and began to eat. The man reached out and stroked my fur, first tentatively, then steadily. When he slipped a lead around my neck, he bent down to my level and said, “Come with me; we will find you a home,” I go with him, to the first warmth and comfort I’ve known in a long time.
Steps to Take To Help a Stray or Lost Dog
Most people assume that a wandering dog is owned and/or temporarily lost and will find his or her way home, but many do not. Rather than assuming things will work out for the dog, consider taking action. Yes, it’s a tad inconvenient for you, but what you’ve done is save a lost or abandoned animal from dehydration, starvation, exposure to the elements, fighting over scarce resources, and injury from animals or automobiles.
Here are some safe ways to help lost dogs.
If the dog is friendly:
- If the dog seems friendly and is willing to come to you, call him, and slowly move your hand forward palm down (palm up can signal that you might strike). Exude a calm confidence rather than fear. Talk to him, let him sniff you, and then stroke him gently.
- If he has a collar read the info and make the appropriate call.
- If he does not have identification, see if he will enter your (often calling him and simply opening the car door will inspire him to jump in) or corral him into an enclosed area, like a fenced yard or a room in your house. Provide water and food.
- Call your local SPCA, humane society, or police to notify them that you have found a lost dog. To find the number of your local animal rescue organization, search by “animal shelter,” “humane society,” or “animal control.” Public animal care and control agencies are often listed under the city or county health department or police department. You can use this link to find animal rescues in your area: https://www.petfinder.com/animal-shelters-and-rescues/search/
- Either deliver him to the shelter (where they can check him for a microchip with identifying information) or ask that someone pick him up.
- If you choose to retain him while searching for the owner, staple easily readable flyer (if possible, with photo) on telephone polls, put a free listing in the local paper and in the “pets” section of Craig’s list, rubber band a flyer to neighbors’ mailbox flags, and provide the local animal shelter veterinary offices with his identifying features so that they can check their database for a match.
If the dog seems unfriendly:
- If the dog seems unfriendly, do not put yourself at risk. Immediately call the police and your local animal rescue organization with information on his last-seen location.
- Put down a plastic, disposable bowl of water and food, which not only will slake his thirst and hunger, but help to keep him in that location so that authorities can find him.
Thank you for doing what you can to help animals.
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Humane Society International
Charity Organization
This Elderly Woman Was Afraid of this Pit Bull – Until He Saved Her Life
Everyone who knows Simba agrees the four-year-old pit bull is a very good boy. Unfortunately, the pup’s stellar reputation didn’t sway all of his neighbors, including one elderly woman who routinely rebuffed the friendly canine’s attempts to say hi.
“He always tried to greet her, but she called him mean and looked at him with fear,” Mehana, Simba’s guardian/owner, explained to The Dodo. “She never liked him because he was a ‘bad’ breed.”
Photo: Instagram/arjanitmehana
But the elderly woman’s chilly reception didn’t stop Simba from being a good neighbor. One day, Mehena and Simba were climbing the stairs to their apartment when the dog started acting peculiarly. “He stopped,” Mehana recalled. “He began to bark and run to the door where the neighbor lives. I pulled the leash but he refused to come.”
But when Simba’s owner bent down to pick the dog up, he noticed a muffled noise coming from inside the apartment. “I heard a weak voice shout for help,” Mehana said. “She said, ‘Please don’t go.’”
Photo: Instagram/ arjanitmehana
When Mehana opened the door, he found his elderly neighbor had broken her hip and collapsed on the floor, where she’d been waiting for help for two days. If Simba hadn’t heard her feeble cries, she would have continued to go unnoticed. The dog likely saved her life.
When the elderly neighbor realized that Simba had saved her, her previously frosty demeanor thawed completely. “She said, ‘Thank you for hearing me,’” Mehana recalled. “I thought she was talking to me at first. But then she said, ‘No, not you — the nice doggie.’”
Photo: Instagram/ arjanitmehana
The heartwarming story of Simba’s heroics have improved his reception around the apartment building, where residents had previously dismissed the pit bull based on their ignorance and fear. “I know Simba is a wonderful dog,” Mehana said. “But I hope this event will make people see bully breeds differently. We, as human beings, must deserve their loyalty and love.
J. Swanson is a writer, traveler, and animal-enthusiast based in Seattle, an appropriately pet-crazed city where dog or cat ownership even outweighs the number of kids.
From: https://theanimalrescuesite.greatergood.com/clickToGive/ars/home
The Dogs in the Knotty Pine
I stare up at the knotty pine ceiling in this sweet old cottage and see dog faces. There’s one that looks slap-happy. There’s one that’s long-faced. One that’s reproachful. Another, expectant.
Here, in this place of meadow and forest and pond, where the Milky Way is deep with stars, I remember our dog, Beez…
Beez, of the expressive eyes and sense of things as they are. Beez, without layers of history, complexity, and interpretation, just pure emotion.
I see him lying on his bed, unmoving except for his eyes, missing nothing. I hear the tick-tick-ticking of his toenails on the pine floor. I see him looking out the screen door toward the grass, the pond, the sun and shadows on the distant hill. I see him lifting his nose to the wind.
I see Beez trotting down the lane between the cottage and the pond, tail swishing side to side. I see him fishing, ankle deep, in the shallows for pumpkin seed fish, pawing and pouncing, catching nothing.
I see Beez on top of the world—a flower-dotted high meadow with a 180˚ view of the mountains. Storybook clouds drift across the sky. Beez and I walk along with the wind whispering, the 
insects buzzing, the birds singing.
I see Beez walking down the lane ahead of me, returning home. He has turned toward me, waiting for me to follow. Then he moves into the shadows of the deep woods, disappearing from sight.
It’s Cold Out There
Please bring your animals inside. Fur helps but doesn’t do much in icy winds and frigid temperatures.
Please, have a heart. Bring dogs and cats inside. They feel pain too.
photo courtesy of Spaniel in the Snow by Tina Phillips, freedigitalphotos.com
Part III – I Came from the Deep South
I’ve had two names in my time. Maybe three, if you consider no name a name. At the beginning I was part of a brood of too many puppies in an overpopulated, under-inoculated part of the world: rural Alabama. I was named Delaware by my rescuers, who named the 50 of puppies each a state name. One day when I was four months old, I became Lucy.
People walked through the rescue’s kennels every day. Some were caring for us, some were looking to adopt one of us. I noticed a woman walking through with the shelter director. The woman was talking about wanting an older dog. Oh well, I thought. When the woman walked by our kennel, I sat down and looked up at her, willing her to choose me, choose me, choose me. We locked eyes for a moment, but she walked on. Seconds later the woman backed up, as though drawn backward by an invisible force. I like to think it was my intent. She leaned down and put her fingers through the gate. I looked into her eyes and gave her fingers a gentle slurp. The woman sighed, slid her eyes to the side, looked back at me, then walked on. I watched her as she went through the swinging door and disappeared from sight. I turned back to my kennelmates.
A half-hour later, the shelter director came back, clipped a leash to my collar and led me to an outdoor pen where the woman was saying patting Jenny, the sweet black pitbull who had been in the shelter longer than I had been. She watched the pitbull leave then turned to me and smiled. As I ran up to her, she stooped down to greet me. Mine.
…to be continued. Part I Part II
Untold Animal Stories 