Summer came to us late in the winter of this year. We brought her into our home with strong words of caution that we were only to let her out of her crate when she was inside the house and all doors closed. She was a runner and very untrusting of humans and not at all like the typical friendly dogs we brought in with the rescue, Paws for Love, that I volunteer with.
Once out, Summer darted to the corner of the room, tucked her head into her chest and shook. I took a good look at her: beautiful German shepherd cross, maybe a year old, skinny with pronounced hip bones. I could count her ribs. For a moment I thought she didn’t have a tail, until I realized it was so tucked under her, tight to her belly, it could barely be seen.
I let her rest in the room that night with a bit of food and water. I didn’t want to overdo it. Her stomach would be small and better to increase the amount of food a little at a time. My older dog, Tuck, also a rescue, knew what to do. He settled down on a mat and cozied up for the night, showing Summer that it was going to be just fine.
Kim, the director of the rescue, suggested that I feed her by hand so we could bond.
I brought the dog food into the room that morning and held out my hand expecting Summer to come to me, ravenous and wanting a good breakfast.
I was wrong. Summer was ravenous, but no, she didn’t trust me, so it was going to take more time. I sat on the floor and tossed a piece of kibble her way. She looked at it and ever so slowly, she bent down and took it.
So far so good. I tossed more food, and she ate, then I tossed it a little further away from her and closer to me. She glanced at it and then looked away, curled her head into her chest and did not move.
Too far, too soon. I threw the next one closer to her, and she ate it, with great hesitation.
We repeated this over and over again, breakfast, lunch, supper and then again the next day. Still, she hesitated every step, her eyes fixed on the ground, her tail nonexistent.
I wondered if she would ever eat from my hand, and then one day, while I sat on the floor, a piece of kibble close to my leg, she came to me, ate the food and stayed. I held out my hand filled with kibble and waited. I didn’t look at her, I didn’t say a word. Then there was a sniff, followed by a nose touch, and then she took it. I wanted to jump for joy, but of course I didn’t, but if I had a tail, it would be wagging.
It took days before Summer came to me willingly, without any great amount of fear, to eat out of my hand, and even then, one day she would be fine and the next she wouldn’t. While she learned to accept me, I learned how to be patient. I never made any expectations, and she never expected anything from me, although every day I wanted so much for her to put aside her fear and trust me.
I was told to never try to read the story behind a dog. For one thing, dogs can be naturally nervous, and it doesn’t necessarily mean they’ve been abused if they have a fear of you. And when you think you know the story, you start to make excuses for the dog’s behaviour and you subconsciously let it block the dog’s ability to progress. But Summer’s fear was intense and the scars on her flanks made me think that something terrible had happened in her life. I wished she could talk.
It was the same routine for everything that was new to Summer: leash training, walking, getting her used to other people, even steps taken to pet her were slow so she didn’t spook. One day, in a moment of happiness, I tried to hug her, but she wouldn’t have it. She saw it as a threat and ran away, slinking back into her corner.
Whenever I give my dogs their treats, they always sit and wag their tails, waiting patiently. But Summer just sat in the background, looking at her feet, hiding her tail. Then one day, finally, she came to get a treat, sat, taking the cue from my dogs, and waited. I gave her a milkbone that she promptly dropped on the floor and then ran back to her corner. Oh well.
The next day, it was as if she had a stern talk with herself and decided that the woman who the other dogs had accepted, was probably okay. After all, they wagged their tails when she came near them, they seemed to love this thing where the woman rubbed their bums, and nothing bad had ever come from their interactions. Why not give it a try?
I called my dogs over for some tasty pieces of hotdog and while they sat and waited patiently, Summer inched forward, tail tucked under, slinking in as if she was trying to make herself invisible. She sat and I gave her a piece of hotdog, and she ate it.
I could have jumped for joy. When three months passed, we thought that with the right kind of person Summer could find her forever home. We put her up for adoption and waited.
I worried that the description we provided in her write up would scare people off. After all, who would want a dog who was so timid and needed a patient person to understand her? But someone did apply for her, and looking over the application,
I thought that maybe it was worth a try.
We spent the next week doing little visits with the potential adopter, going for walks, feeding by hand, and each day I grew more relaxed, thinking that perhaps Summer had found her new family.
I brought Summer to her new home later that week and took her for a walk to get her bearings.
Everything was so new to her, but she walked ahead on the leash, sniffing and smelling and looking around at the new sights. When I brought her inside her new home, she went straight to the mat that her new owners had put out for her, curled up and sighed.
The next step was to introduce Summer to the rest of the family. The couple’s granddaughter was visiting and she eagerly took some treats from me and approached Summer with no hesitation. Summer looked up at this little girl and gently took the piece of weiner from her outstretched hand. Then something happened that had never happened before. The little girl bent down, wrapped her arms around Summer and gave her a big hug. And Summer just stayed there, as if it was the best thing in the whole world. I think I may have even seen her tail lift too.
Summer had found her forever home. I thanked her new owners for being such kind and wonderful people and said goodbye to Summer. When I walked out of the house, my heart was filled with feelings of happiness and sadness, but I knew my heart would sort it out: all of the time and work spent with Summer was for this very moment. Besides, when I got home, I would have to put thoughts of Summer aside because there would be another dog waiting to be rescued.
