Home » When Good Dogs Do Bad Things ~ A Day In The Life Of A Rescue

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Two weeks ago, I made the very 'brave' decision to bring a very battered dog home. He was foun d limping along a typical Southern California freeway (by that I mean BUSY. FAST. FURIOUS) by another woman who couldn't keep him. I found him via a post she'd made on CraigsList. I wasn't really 'looking'...but I guess I was...because when I saw the ad entitled 'HELP', I just couldn't not open it. Anyway, after long and arduous consideration, I met the dog and just had to take him home. It was apparent that had she (or anyone else) taken him to a shelter, he'd have been dead in no time. Too old. Too damaged. Utterly disposable. But not in my world.

 

So, I brought him home, attended to his badly ravaged paw (I'll spare you...and believe me...you don't want to hear that description!) and fed him. all the while talking to him to assure him that this was his last stop. 'You'll be here until you leave the planet. I promise, you will be fed, have clean fresh water, brushed, attended to and til death do us part, loved.'

 

The very next day I took him to my beloved Vet, who'd already heard what I was going to do and offered his own generous donation: 'first visit is on the house' (gotta love a Doc like that!) After examining the critter he said to keep doing what I was doing (soaking/flushing/dressing the wounds) and bring him back on Tuesday for the day. He wanted a biopsy to see if it were more than an infection. His concern was cancer, so the biopsy was top of the list.

 

Four days later, after much pampering and loads of attention, I took Buddy in for his 'day at the spa'. Eight hours later, all anxious and in 'mom mode' I went to get the drunken puppy (he's not a puppy by definition, but to me...they're all puppies) and cringed as he leaned his skinny head up against my legs, unable to stand on his own. Doc said to give him the meds, keep up the daily cleansings and he'd call with the lab results as soon as he got them back. So, off we went, back to 'home' and a night of hands-on attention.

 

Fast-forward 10 days: Buddy is making tremendous progress. He's gained TEN POUNDS since he's been here (a total of 15 days now) and he seems to be getting his 'groove on'. He comes when I call, he responds to the 'safety' requests (sit, stay, lay down, etc.) and his paw is looking better by the minute. HIs water consumption has reached a 'normal' level (at first, he just couldn't get enough...dehyration and infection) and everything seems to be going along nicely. And then...

 

As I was about to go for some groceries, I absent-mindedly left the door of my truck opened as I went to close the gate to our property (a manual gate...not the new-fangled electric kind). It just didn't occur to me that he'd jump out of the truck. But...he did. The moment I saw his skinny body move toward the road, I called him to come. No dice. He walked across the road, ever so leisurely, and began to do what male dogs do...pee on every bush in sight. I kept calling him to come to me...and he kept trotting along, up the road and then down a very long driveway that led to wide open space...a huge field that leads to more huge fields and god-knows-where. When he hit that first field, he took off...full-throttle, top-speed, into-the-wind GONE (bandaged foot and all).

 

I tried to run up that hill, fast as my aching legs would take me, to no avail. He was GONE. And there I stood, in utter disbelief. I just couldn't understand why a dog who'd been so badly treated for so long, and then so kindly treated for these 15 days, would just run off like that. Now, I must side-step here and tell you this: I've had dogs my whole life. I've trained mine and other people's dogs under the kindest tutelage (there's really no need to beat the crap out of them...they respond quite well, with the right tones). I've never, ever, EVER had a dog run away from me. So standing there, watching him get GONE in a flash like that...well, my poor little brain just couldn't wrap itself around that. I was stunned.

 

I tried to THINK. What to do now? We live pretty rurally and I don't know most of my neighbors. It wasn't as if I could go home and start making phone calls. So, I walked, numbly, back to my truck and started driving ever so slowly in the direction he'd run. I had the window rolled down, calling his name at the top of my (very loud) lungs, trying to stay calm. I was praying as I did this, praying that somehow he'd hear me and come back before he got hit by a car or wound up in one of the canyons where the coyotes would surely smell his illness. About the time I was turning the truck around, a woman drove up from the opposite direction. Turns out, this woman was the very same woman whose husband I'd met a few years back walking my now-deceased Raja. We'd had a date to meet this very day, but neither of us was feeling all that 'brilliant' (her words) and we'd decided to postpone. But, in the midst of this huge dilemma...there she was.

 

I was crying and trying to explain; she said 'follow me'. We drove to her house, a mere minute away, and she got on the phone in an instant. In less that 30 minutes, there were 4 people (none of whom I knew) ready to 'roll' out to look for Buddy. I showed them all pictures of him so they knew who they were looking for and we were discussing who'd go which way. And then...my cell phone rang. It was my neighbor who lives on the same property, calling to tell me that Buddy had shown up on another neighbor's porch, bleeding all over the place and licking his paw. She leashed the dog and put him in my house, then called to tell me he was home. I thought I'd drop right there.

 

It's an odd thing, this bond we can develop so quickly. Buddy was thrilled to see me; I was trying as hard as I could to stay calm. I wanted to shoot the knucklehead (not really...but I was furious by way of my fear). I just could NOT understand why he'd run from me. I couldn't see why a dog who'd never been given a chance (until now) would choose to go elsewhere. What I didn't realize was this: sometimes, even when we are kinder than kind, the instincts just kick in. Even though he'd been treated so well for these past 2 weeks, it wasn't yet enough time to erase what may have happened before. He was still (IS still) running on instinct. How can you fault a creature for that?

 

Does it mean that what he did was 'okay'? Absolutely NOT. But there are other means to the end...and one of those is that we must stop and LISTEN. While Buddy may not have known what his running could have caused (reopened wounds....among other things) he did what he KNEW. He ran to what was most familiar...wide open space. And, as surprising as that may seem to me, it's not at all hard to understand. Perhaps, to him, that 'freedom' is the difference between life and death, beatings or not being beaten, even if it means he doesn't get to eat. Would you rather eat and be beaten, or not eat and NOT be beaten? Such a harsh choice. But one this 'mom' can kind of understand.

 

Good dogs don't go bad things for no reason. There is ALWAYS  a reason. Our job is to figure it out before we react. They're counting on us. And it's up to us to be there, until death do us part.