We went to see a different dog than the one we came home with. Call it fate? We were the first ones to show up when the rescue opened at 9:00 a.m. that morning, having left the house at 7:30 a.m. - on a Saturday! - to be sure we would be. But the woman who met us must have sized us up pretty quickly. "Oh no - I'm sorry, that dog is already taken, but let me show you this other girl. She's a bit shy right now - they found her wandering up in Apple Valley, then the shelter there called us and we came to get her. She's only been here for two days, but we've gotten her cleaned up and made sure she's had all her shots. She'll need to be spayed. Let's get her out into the corral so you can interact with her a bit.
She was shy, for sure. We didn't quite realize how much. And we totally misunderstood each other - I thought she was saying we should give it a try; she thought I was saying we should. She sat in the back seat with the dog all the way home, while the dog shivered in fear, with now way of knowing or understanding what was happening. When we got her home she peed on the carpet, then ran out back through the dog door we already had installed (she knows how to use a dog door!) and hid in the bushes. It took two days and a lot of cheese to coax her back inside. That first week we were both thinking we'd made a huge mistake, and of course playing the "But I thought you said..." "No, *you* made it sound like you really..." game. Heavy sigh. What do we do? Do we take her back to the shelter? Then she finally spent a night inside. Then another.
She never wet the floor after that first day - always went outside to do her business, then came back in. Then sometime in the first couple months with us she had her first seizure. Well, first that we knew of. So off to the vet for exams, bloodwork, and daily medication that she'd be on the rest of her life was tough getting her to the vet since if you came near her with a leash she would run and cower. Poor girl must have had a terrible life beforehand. She wouldn't even go out the front door if you left it wide open all day long. She might - might - wander up and peek out, then quickly scurry away. "Nope. Huh uh. Big world. Scary. No thank you." Late in her life she *might* come out to great you if the front door was open - even going as far as to come down the front steps into the driveway. But that would be many years later.
Freya, they name she had been given for all of the 48 hours she'd been at the rescue, just had not seemed fitting for this stunning long-haired Japanese Akita, se after thinking about names for some time we re-christened her Megumi (pronounced meh-GOO-me) which we understood to be Japanese for blessing or grace. Princess Megumi. Magoo. Gumi Girl. Little by little we fell more and more in love with this dog the universe had entrusted to our care. Because she was so painfully shy and frightened we invested in private sessions with a fantastic trainer who specialized in positive reinforcement. We learned to play games like "get it" and "tough" and worked very hard to overcome her leash aversion. I don't recall how long it took until she didn't jump up and run out of a room if we walked in. That might have even been close to a year. And because she seemed pretty low energy to the trainer, we had more specialized bloodwork done and found she had a low thyroid, so added a second daily medication she would need for life. Good thing she liked cheese and peanut butter or I don't know what I would have done to get her to take her meds. Towards the end of her life, she would learn to lick off the peanut butter and spit out the pill. Smart dog.
Maybe a year and a half after we brought Megumi home we adopted a "little brother" for he. We only half-jokingly said we got him to be a therapy dog for her. Truth be told, she really needed another animal to let her know it was OK to be a dog. The rescue from which we adopted Teddy (the name he came with, and it fit) was very gracious when we explained Megumi's agoraphobia and brought Teddy to the house to meet us. It was love at first sight, all around, no question this was just the right dog this time. And even though he was missing one eye that had had to be removed due to a bad infection, he was very much *not* a special needs dog like Megumi, or the dog we had had before adopting Megumi. They became, or so we think, good friends. Neither dog played much, so they wouldn't play together, but they could often be found curled up next to each other. And with Teddy around, Megumi did really begin to come into her own, even eventually coming to enjoy going out for a walk around the block!
Megumi died last September, aged somewhere around 12 years. I guess that's not too bad for a largish dog with both seizure and thyroid disorders, but not long enough. Never long enough. It breaks your heart when a beloved animal dies. Yet as a friend once said "Yeah, they may break your heart, but they fill it up first." I like to think we gave her a good home - we certainly did the best we could. And there's part of me that secretly likes to think that the woman running the shelter all those years ago just knew somehow - knew that she could entrust this fragile and timid being to the care of these strangers. That it would all work out. That they would be a blessing to her and that she, in turn, would bless them.
— Zachary
She was shy, for sure. We didn't quite realize how much. And we totally misunderstood each other - I thought she was saying we should give it a try; she thought I was saying we should. She sat in the back seat with the dog all the way home, while the dog shivered in fear, with now way of knowing or understanding what was happening. When we got her home she peed on the carpet, then ran out back through the dog door we already had installed (she knows how to use a dog door!) and hid in the bushes. It took two days and a lot of cheese to coax her back inside. That first week we were both thinking we'd made a huge mistake, and of course playing the "But I thought you said..." "No, *you* made it sound like you really..." game. Heavy sigh. What do we do? Do we take her back to the shelter? Then she finally spent a night inside. Then another.
She never wet the floor after that first day - always went outside to do her business, then came back in. Then sometime in the first couple months with us she had her first seizure. Well, first that we knew of. So off to the vet for exams, bloodwork, and daily medication that she'd be on the rest of her life was tough getting her to the vet since if you came near her with a leash she would run and cower. Poor girl must have had a terrible life beforehand. She wouldn't even go out the front door if you left it wide open all day long. She might - might - wander up and peek out, then quickly scurry away. "Nope. Huh uh. Big world. Scary. No thank you." Late in her life she *might* come out to great you if the front door was open - even going as far as to come down the front steps into the driveway. But that would be many years later.
Freya, they name she had been given for all of the 48 hours she'd been at the rescue, just had not seemed fitting for this stunning long-haired Japanese Akita, se after thinking about names for some time we re-christened her Megumi (pronounced meh-GOO-me) which we understood to be Japanese for blessing or grace. Princess Megumi. Magoo. Gumi Girl. Little by little we fell more and more in love with this dog the universe had entrusted to our care. Because she was so painfully shy and frightened we invested in private sessions with a fantastic trainer who specialized in positive reinforcement. We learned to play games like "get it" and "tough" and worked very hard to overcome her leash aversion. I don't recall how long it took until she didn't jump up and run out of a room if we walked in. That might have even been close to a year. And because she seemed pretty low energy to the trainer, we had more specialized bloodwork done and found she had a low thyroid, so added a second daily medication she would need for life. Good thing she liked cheese and peanut butter or I don't know what I would have done to get her to take her meds. Towards the end of her life, she would learn to lick off the peanut butter and spit out the pill. Smart dog.
Maybe a year and a half after we brought Megumi home we adopted a "little brother" for he. We only half-jokingly said we got him to be a therapy dog for her. Truth be told, she really needed another animal to let her know it was OK to be a dog. The rescue from which we adopted Teddy (the name he came with, and it fit) was very gracious when we explained Megumi's agoraphobia and brought Teddy to the house to meet us. It was love at first sight, all around, no question this was just the right dog this time. And even though he was missing one eye that had had to be removed due to a bad infection, he was very much *not* a special needs dog like Megumi, or the dog we had had before adopting Megumi. They became, or so we think, good friends. Neither dog played much, so they wouldn't play together, but they could often be found curled up next to each other. And with Teddy around, Megumi did really begin to come into her own, even eventually coming to enjoy going out for a walk around the block!
Megumi died last September, aged somewhere around 12 years. I guess that's not too bad for a largish dog with both seizure and thyroid disorders, but not long enough. Never long enough. It breaks your heart when a beloved animal dies. Yet as a friend once said "Yeah, they may break your heart, but they fill it up first." I like to think we gave her a good home - we certainly did the best we could. And there's part of me that secretly likes to think that the woman running the shelter all those years ago just knew somehow - knew that she could entrust this fragile and timid being to the care of these strangers. That it would all work out. That they would be a blessing to her and that she, in turn, would bless them.
— Zachary
Oh, I love a dog story. Very sweet. Do you still have Teddy? (Macoff)
ReplyDeleteThankfully we do!
DeleteBeautifully written. So many bubbles out from the main story. Blessings abound!
ReplyDelete