Why I Rescue (And Always Will)

When I was preparing to get my first dog – waaay back when I was 20 – I didn’t know much about rescues. I wanted a purebred dog and that was that. So I made a list of breeds I wanted and scrutinized the breeds in true Type-A fashion. I knew I wanted a big dog – a very big dog; my favorite breed was the Doberman Pinscher, but I was afraid that wasn’t quite big enough (90 pounds). I seriously obsessed over this list. But that truth was, any time I saw a puppy anywhere, I wanted it. And I really do think that’s how most people are – we get some notion in our heads of what we want without stopping to consider if that’s what we need or what we will want in 5 years. But the fact of the matter is, we want a dog who will love us and comfort us and just be there. And, really, any dog can do that – that’s what dogs were built for. 

So I’m going to delve a little deeper into my story in the hopes that my experiences will inspire you, when looking for your next dog, to go to a shelter or a rescue instead of a breeder.

My Rescued Dogs

I never got the chance to buy my first dog because my first dog found me. Ted was a stray; fortune tossed him in my path. I’d delayed my scheduled gym session because I was immersed in the freshly-released Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. So, thanks J.K. Rowling. My then boyfriend finally death-marched me into the car and we set off. It was July and sweltering out. As we zoomed down Stone Avenue in Tucson, we saw a lonely black shape lumbering across the road; cars were veering to avoid him. I begged Ex-Boyfriend to stop. He did. I called the dog over, and he immediately came, tongue lolling and tail wagging. We loaded him into the truck and headed home. I never did make it to the gym that day.

Ted's first picture, July 2005 

I decided to call the dog Ted – the first name off the top of my head – and started looking for his owner. We never found that owner. Ted’s been with me for over six years now. He was my first dog and, thus, my guinea pig; through trial and error I learned how to be a responsible dog owner. I bought books on training dogs and explored various techniques together with Ted. I think I did ok. Ted’s getting older and grayer, but so am I. In those years, we’ve shared so many memories. He’s traveled across the country with me more times than I care to count. He’s seen two boyfriends come and go and one come to stay (probably hehe). He’s put himself between me and danger. He’s made me laugh every single day with his ridiculously expressive eyebrows, his “talking,” and his various quirks and habits.

Ted in 2010 

My second dog was a Doberman – my dream dog. Only the dream turned out to be a nightmare. Aiden was a 100-pound red, cropped and docked show stopper. I loved him. My sister loved him. Ted hated him. I had to watch them like hawks the first three weeks because Ted was constantly trying to dominate Aiden; fortunately Aiden put up with it, because Ted certainly wouldn’t have come out top dog otherwise.

Aiden, March 2007

But Aiden was riddled with problems. He was very underweight and bore the signs of a dog who had lived outside, unloved and uncared for. We soon discovered that he was unpredictably aggressive toward humans. I tried and tried to work with him but his problems got worse. I consulted behaviorists and they all told me his problems were extreme and that he’d always be unreliable. I called the rescue and asked what to do. They told me I could bring him back and he’d spend his life in an outdoor cage by himself or I could choose to put him down. I choose to put him down. I couldn’t stand the thought of him there, alone, every single day until he died. I also knew, if he ever seriously injured someone, he’d further jeopardize the reputation of his breed. I know some people will judge me for my decision, and I’ve accepted that. But I also believe that death is a very personal thing, and that we should try not to judge people acting from their hearts. 

It was the most difficult decision in my life, and I regret it. Killing an animal is a terrible, heart-wrenching decision to make. Sitting with that animal and watching him die is worse. I remember sitting there, with his head in my lap, my sister sitting with us, and both of us bawling our eyes out. He had been sedated and his movements had gradually gotten clumsier. I couldn’t stand it – this magnificently beautiful dog, reduced to an uncoordinated mess. They administered the lethal dose of anesthetic, and about 15 seconds later, told me he was “gone.” But as his last breath left his body, he convulsed and jerked around before he lay still at last. I will never forget that.

It’s been over four years since I killed Aiden, but I still can’t tell his story without crying. I run over and over in my mind what happened, wonder if I’d tried one more method or talked to one more person, he could have been saved. I feel like I gave up on him. I killed my own dog. And I will never get over it. Aiden didn’t deserve the life he lived; he no longer trusted humans and reacted violently when he felt it was appropriate. That was not his fault. It was a human’s fault. Looking back, I am comforted only in knowing that when Aiden died, he was sleek and had put on over 20 pounds, he was loved, and he left this world in the arms of people who cared about him. Although I’ve often questioned my decision to put Aiden down, I’ve never regretted adopting him. He deserved a second chance. I only wish I could have given him a better one. Although Aiden's story is sad, I prefer to remember his moments when he showed us the shadow of the dog he could have been. Because he could be very loving and he had hilarious habits: he had a whole barrel of stuffed bears and he'd carry the barrel outside and carefully arrange his bears then sit among them like a proud mother (then one day he ate all the bears...!). Aiden was a good dog. He was marred by bad people.

If I could speak to Aiden, I'd tell him: Aiden, I am sorry. Sorry I could not help you and sorry I gave up on you. I was not ready for you and that cost you your life. The work I do now is in your memory. You are always in my heart. 

Aiden, with my sister, the day after we adopted him.

I’d like to stop here and note that, in all my years in rescue, Aiden was the only dog I could not rehabilitate. He was the only dog with severe human-directed aggression issues that I encountered. It was such an unlikely situation, so sometimes I can’t help wondering if it happened for a reason. I know Aiden’s death is a big part of what inspired me to rescue and to work with a misunderstood and ostracized breed: the pit bull. Despite my experience with Aiden, I stand by my belief that saving a life is a risk worth taking. Every time. 

After Aiden passed away, I was broken. My sister was broken. I contacted the founder of Arizona Poodle Rescue and confided in her what I had done. She responded with genuine sympathy and empathy and for that I am eternally grateful. She asked me if I was ready to foster. Three weeks after I killed Aiden, she gave me Dylan.

Dylan was a 5-month-old puppy at that time. He has been rescued with his littermates from the backyard of a breeder (a breeder of show dogs who is still recommended by the Arizona Poodle Club) who had simply left these dogs to fend for themselves. And he was a mess. He was terrified of everything: he wouldn’t walk through doors, ran when someone tried to pet him, and wouldn’t be in the same room with a child. Shortly after I rescued him, I walked into the kitchen to find him standing on the table – I reached for him and, terrified, he bit me soundly on the arm. He needed so much work and I wasn’t sure what I could do. I had failed Aiden and I was sure to fail Dylan. But I started working with him. And it eased my pain. Perhaps, if I could help this new dog, I could forgive myself for what I did to Aiden.

But, slowly, Dylan got better. And I got better. And I knew I couldn’t let him go, so I adopted him. And today, he loves people and, especially, children. He is confident and struts proudly around. He is calm and well-behaved in public. Dylan constantly receives compliments for his behavior and stops traffic with his looks. He is every bit a show dog and he knows it.

Dylan swimming in the ocean in Louisiana 

My Foster Dogs

Over the years, I’ve opened my home to dozens of dogs, each with their own story to tell. These dogs all have been loving, affectionate, entertaining individuals. Many of them have been traffic-stopping gorgeous. Most of them enjoy walking and hiking and being outdoors. And they’ve all become fabulous best friends. Now, maybe rescued dogs are damaged goods. And maybe some of them come with some baggage. But so do we. It gives us character, and it does the same for dogs. I think it makes them even better companions than brand new puppies – they’ve lived life and they don’t take things for granted. Maybe I’m anthropomorphizing, but I don’t think so. I’ve experienced this gratitude time and time again from rescued dogs.

Jade, with her head in my lap while I work

After working with Arizona Poodle Rescue for a couple years, I was trusted to do just about everything, and that included visiting the high-kill shelters and pulling dogs. The work was smelly and dirty and just plain depressing. But that’s when it really hit me: these dogs were dying because no one came for them. These dogs, just about all of whom would make perfect pets for people like you and me, were dying by the dozens every single day. At that point I knew, I’d never buy a dog. Once you step behind the scenes at a shelter, you can’t really justify it. The dogs on the kill lists were usually young and often purebred. Death does not discern between pedigrees.

Sweetie, just after rescue 

It’s funny. We want purebred dogs because they look unique and because they possess a uniform set of character traits. But the reality is, they’ve been breed to all look the same and, really, breed only supplies a small percentage of a dog’s character traits. Sure, many Heelers will herd and many labs will fetch. But just about every dog I’ve met loves a good game of fetch – and I’m not really sure why any of us regular people needs a dog that will herd. In fact, the reason so many purebred dogs end up in shelters (about a third of shelter dogs are purebred) is because people failed to consider these variations, and failed to consider what made sense for their lives. At its most basic level, buying a purebred dog is a very shallow decision.

Dylan snuggles with Mya and Meg 

With my own rescue efforts, especially because I am constantly battling breed stereotypes, my mantra is: “every dog is an individual and deserves to be treated as such.” So, I urge you, go check out the individuals at your local shelters, talk to the workers, and let them help you pick out a dog that truly fits who you are. And I hope that rescuing a dog changes you and impacts your life for the better like it has for me. And when you do find that perfect rescue dog – because you will – walk with your head a little higher, because you just made a very real difference. You just saved a life.