Strap yourself in
I usually rant negatively in this space. This story is different. Not a rant, but a rave. About the good people in my neighbourhood.
In June I adopted two standard poodles, a mother and a son that are so bonded they had to stay together. These dogs are quite beautiful physically. Mentally they are incredibly disturbed. In over three months of a quiet voice, a hand-cooked meal served daily, soft doggie beds etc. they are still reticent to come near me. The female is particularly wary. Even the giving of treats is fraught with angst. I have to place the treats down, then back off to a safe distance. Safe meaning I cannot suddenly leap up and grab or slap or slug anyone. Not that I have ever done that, or ever would. But from their actions and the abject fear in their eyes, I do know this is how they have been treated.
I purchased these dogs from a so-called animal rescue named Fur Baby Rescue. Do not deal with these people. They did not tell me that, in over 30 years of fostering rescued dogs, the woman who looked after them for some months places both of these dogs in the top five, of most disturbed dogs she has ever dealt with. I did not know that when I met them. I just thought they were nervous because they had travelled up from California just a day earlier. So I continue to care, to cook supper and actually leave my bedroom doors open to their fenced courtyard, so they can come and go as they please. (I just hope my feather tick is enough for me, come November.)
I got a new, and much larger dog-door installed last week. During the training, they both got out, then refused to come in. On Sunday, they left my garden and went adventuring. (Yes, I know. I should have waited until my area is safely fenced before I let them out, mea culpa.)
My neighbours’ daughter Sarah put up a notice on some local website. I got a telephone call from Lloyd, who recognized the dogs and telephoned me. I went in search, found them, and tried to entice them with treats. But the female led her son through a barbed-wire fence. At my age, with my knee, I could not follow. Within twenty minutes I got a telephone call. The dogs had been seen, about two kilometres from my house. They may have been on the way home. (It was suppertime.) But they are not familiar with the area, and I think were confused and scared. The caller Ross, said he and his wife, Raelynn would stay with them. In minutes, with their assistance and that of another neighbour Mike, the dogs were leashed and in my car. (I hope I have your name correctly, Raelynn—I was somewhat otherwise absorbed when I was told your name.)
Chris telephoned to see if my dogs were home. As did Shirley. And my next door neighbours cheered when I told them the good news. This is a neighbourhood worth celebrating.
I think I will stay here.
by Jessica Murphy
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