Success and failure

We had a visitor at our house last week. His name is Stonewall, or Stoney for short. He stays with us whenever his mom goes out of town. He hangs out in the office with Molly, Emmylou, and me, generally on a bed placed under the desk and up against the wall.

Stoney is a real character. He's spoiled rotten and has managed to get pretty much anything he wants whenever he wants. He stamps his feet, snorts, and shakes his head when he wants to eat, play, or go outside. He is very expressive and there is never any doubt about what Stoney wants.

Like all rotties, Stoney has a big smile. He was given up a few years ago by a young woman who had been through a divorce, worked long hours, didn't have time, etc.

Shortly after I got him, I heard from our vet that a client of theirs had lost her rottie to old age and might be interested in another. She reads my blog and I'm not going to embarass her by extolling her virtues at great length, but suffice it to say that she is exactly the type of adopter I adore.

She was a great match for Stoney and I always consider them one of my best matches in rescue work. Every adoption is a great success for the dog, but every once in a while it happens that the needs of the dog and person are so closely matched, so perfectly complementary, that it is impossible to say who benefits more from the relationship. Stoney's adoption is one of those.

I don't take any credit for the success of Stoney's adoption. He and his mom are the ones who made it work. I do make plenty of mistakes in this business though, and Jake was one. He was a terrified little dog I saw huddled in the corner of his run at the Fluvanna SPCA one day when I went in to meet another dog. He was extremely fearful to the extent of being fear aggressive. He was about to be euthanized so I brought him home to see if he would come around once he was out of the shelter environment.

I kept Jake a couple months or more and never made a bit of progress. I never managed to touch the dog all the time he was here. He got along with the other dogs, was happy and playful, but when I'd come in to feed, he would run from me and bark aggressively. Before our trip to New York, I had to catch him to take him the boarding kennel. When we finally cornered him, he growled and snapped, and I thought that the chances of a bite were pretty high. I was able to drop a slip lead over his head but had to drag him out of the kennel. He fought the leash so hard, choking himself until he finally collapsed in exhaustion. I managed to get him into a crate and eventually into a run at the kennel, but I knew what had to be done when we returned.

Jake was not a bad dog. I have no idea what sort of life he must have led to make him that fearful of people, but I knew that I couldn't help him and that he was a danger.

I had decided long ago that it didn't make sense to jeopardize an entire rescue operation to save one dog. If I had unlimited time and resources, and if there were no other dogs needing help, I could have kept Jake and worked on him, or just kept him until the end of his days.

I doped him up on acepromazine and got him to a vet for euthanization. I held him and kissed him until he was finally at peace. Jake got a raw deal in this world; I hope he will have better luck in another life, another world, or whatever. I don't dwell on the failures, but I do remember them. Jake deserves to be remembered but not as a failure. He was a fine dog who was failed by humanity.