I drove 35 minutes to the animal control center to get Callie. Getting a dog at an animal control center was a first for me since I usually met returned dogs and their relinquishing owners in a parking lot or their homes. ‘Returned dogs’ are dogs returned to the rescue for one reason or another after they’ve been adopted. As it turned out, Callie’s whole situation was a first for me.
She was just over a year old, not old enough to cause all the chaos of the last month or so. All I knew going in was that her owner said she was dangerous and animal control had used a catch pole at the veterinarian’s office to take her ‘into custody.’ A catch pole is used to catch potentially dangerous animals, often feral animals. It consists of a pole with a loop on the end, which goes over the dog’s head and tightens around their neck. Callie was a house dog, used to a leash. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would need a catch pole to take a house dog out of a vet’s office. I was shocked when I heard this and Lucky Lab Rescue’s coordinator, Cindy, was aghast. It was pretty unheard of.
Because of her advance billing as a dangerous, out-of-control dog, I asked my son to come with me, in case I needed two sets of hands. We brought only a leash, some treats and a couple of poop bags. I was hoping we’d be okay.
The woman who’d adopted Callie six months before was mom to four children. Her 11-year-old daughter was the oldest and considered Callie her best friend. Her other children included a crawling baby and two in the middle, one of whom had autism. I’m sure there were lots of kids going in all directions and it’s sometimes hard to monitor the dog-child interactions. I get that.
What the mom first told the vet was that the baby crawled to Callie while she was eating her kibble and Callie growled then snapped. She waited till the next day to bring Callie into the vet for her scheduled vaccinations and by then the story had changed to a report of a vicious dog who bit a small child. The mom wanted to never see the dog again.
So the vet called animal control. They brought a catch pole. They considered euthanizing her, but Cindy’s pleading forestalled that. The dog who’d been cuddling and playing with an 11-year-old girl was dragged by the neck to a concrete cage and had had no human touch from then on. Since no skin was broken during the alleged bite, she didn’t have to be quarantined. On the drive, I wondered what I would find.
After we arrived, the animal control officer (ACO) said Callie had been isolated for two days. They shoved her food and water in her kennel but never interacted with her. The sign on the door of her kennel read ‘Dangerous Dog.’ There was a Great Pyrenees dog, twice her size, in the next kennel with the same sign. Great Pyrenees are wonderful dogs bred to guard. The ACO told me that the dog’s family were told they were getting a Golden Retriever and when the Great Pyrenees guarded the family’s daughter from her playmate, they freaked out. I wished I could take that dog home with me, too.
Callie was a 40-pound brown dog with floppy ears, probably a lab mix. She was brown all over: nose, eyes, nails and fur. She crouched in a corner and looked absolutely terrified and not dangerous at all.
I told the officer that I wanted to go in and put a leash on her so I could walk her to my car. The officer said, “She’s dangerous. She growls and she won’t let anyone near her.” I thought, If I don’t offer her my trust, how can she give me hers?
My son told the ACO, “You don’t know my mom.”
I went in keeping my back to the wall, talking softly to her. She stared at me, looked at the door, then came over, slinking low to the ground. I waited to see what she’d do next. She wedged herself between me and the wall with her eyes squeezed shut.
“What a good idea, Callie. What a good girl,” I crooned to her. I talked to her, sang to her and finally dropped the handle of the leash next to her. She nudged it with her nose.
“Want to go for a ride?” I asked as I put the leash on her.
I told the officer that she was ready to leave with me. “We can lend you a crate,” he offered. “I don’t think she should be loose in the car.”
“Thanks, but I think we’ll be okay.” My son piped up, “If my mom says she’ll be okay, she will.”
We gathered her records and walked outside, where she promptly did her business. She obviously knew what to do on a walk. She jumped without hesitation into my car, ready to leave the animal control center in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were wide, she panted and only looked a mite less scared. As I usually do with a new dog, I sang silly songs and talked to her. It took most of the drive before she relaxed, just a little bit. My son turned around and offered her a treat several times.
When I got home, I made careful introductions to my own two dogs and another foster, but everyone was pretty nonchalant. The other dogs didn’t consider her even a little bit menacing and I trusted their judgement. I watched them greet each other in the way dogs do as I read her records, looking for a clue as to how a happy young dog who’d belonged to a family ended up being considered dangerous.
People can look at a dog and make a snap judgement. To the 11-year-old daughter, Callie was a loving best friend. To the animal control officer, she was a dangerous dog. Right now, I was seeing tail wags and getting kisses. We’d see where we went from here. It was a matter of trust.
