Nick's Story
It's the look in the
eyes that stays with you.
 His name is Nick,
and he's in the shelter; it's not his fault, and he deserves better. Two and
a half years ago, a family--mother, father, and children--brought him home to
be with them. For two and a half years, he stayed with them, good with the
children, never biting anyone. Shy.
I read the email
from a member of Carolina Border Collie Rescue. The County Shelter had sent
the information that they had a shy border collie. Perhaps Rescue could help,
especially as this dog's shyness makes him maybe not so attractive as other
dogs, and they have so many dogs at the shelter.....
I'm local, so
eventually I emailed that I could go look at him after school.
Nick had a routine
in his home. He was alone in the day when his people went to work; they
trusted him. He slept in the house with them at night. Day after day, for two
and a half years.
I arrived at the
shelter to find that the lady who had emailed us yesterday was out sick. But,
yes, they had a nice border collie. He is still in the intake area, not yet
available for adoption. I followed the worker, closing my eyes, hardening my
heart to the eyes that followed me as I passed. I could do this. I could
check this dog and make a report to the Rescue group. I could be objective in
this place of so many sad, begging eyes.
Nick was, I'm sure,
the best dog he knew to be with this family. He knows "sit" and
"come." He'll give a lick now and then. He loves them, for they are
all he knows.
I turned the corner
and saw kennel number K9. A black and white face looked out at me. Uh oh. I
knew I was in trouble.
His family had to
move. They were going someplace smaller, somewhere that they did not have
room for Nick. And so, they brought him to this shelter with so many, many
other dogs, so many strange people, frightening noises, terrifying smells.
They left him on Saturday. And here, on a Tuesday, Nick and I met.
"He's awfully
sweet," the worker said.
Nick looked
hopefully through the chain link door and lowered his head. Yep, shy.
"Can I take him
out?" I asked.
So Nick and I made
our way through the halls, past kennels of many, many barking dogs, to get to
the outside.
He was frightened, staying close to me, crouching away from the
noise, from the strange dogs. And yet, frightened as he was, he bravely
stayed with me, trusting the human. He's a good dog.
When we got outside,
he began a patrol of the perimeter of the yard, smelling, checking, smelling,
tail plastered along his body. I spoke to him softly as he made his patrol.
Then I spied the tennis ball. "Look, Nick," I chirped in a high,
happy voice. For a moment, his eyes would focus on the ball. Ah, he knows
tennis balls. A toss, and a movement I am so familiar with, as he leaped, all
four feet off the ground, agily snatching the ball in midair, his tail no
longer down. He dropped the ball at my feet, but, drawn by a hope I cannot
fathom, began again his checking of the fence. At a gate, he stopped and
looked up at me. "No, Bud," I said. "We have to stay in
here." And off we went again.
Periodically I could
entice him with the tennis ball. Then we reached the other gate. Again he
looked up at me. "No, Nick, we have to stay here."
I studied him as he
stood at the gate waiting for....what? Did I mention his beauty? He's leggier,
rangier than my Mac, with the typical white blaze and muzzle. His one white
leg has some black spots; the other three legs are black. His hair is silky
and curly. Beautiful.
And then his mind
went to work. He wanted out so badly. I'm sure he wants to go home. His
people must be lost; they might need him; he must get to them. But first, he
must get out of this place. And so he took the tennis ball and dropped it so
that it would roll out of the gate. He then looked at me, at the tennis ball,
at me, at the ball. Any human with a lick of sense would know that you have
to open the gate to get the ball. Since border collies don't have opposable
thumbs, that was, obviously, the human's job. "I'm sorry, Nick. I can't
open the gate." Such hope in those eyes. Just his luck to get a
slow-witted human.
I knelt beside him
and hugged him, causing a tail to wag, getting a gentle lick for my trouble.
"I'll try, Nick," I whispered. "I promise, I'll do all I can
do to get you out of here."
And then I took him
back to his kennel, to his cage, just another human that offered a ray of
hope and then left.
I got all the
information on him I could and begged and cajoled the workers at this kill
shelter not to put him down for a couple days. "No guarantees. It
depends on space needs." Ah, but the kennel manager caught my eyes,
smiled and nodded. I had bought Nick some time, not much, maybe, but I had
promised those eyes. I took the forms needed for our rescue group to be
recognized by the shelter and left.
I made it almost a
mile before I started crying. Those eyes. What if I couldn't get this dog
out? What if there was no foster home? What if, what if, what if. "He
just sits here," the workers had said. They are good people, these
shelter folks. They cared enough about a border collie to call us. What if I
let them down? I was a mess driving home.
I was also angry. I
was angry at Nick's people. I was angry at the shelter that has no choice but
to destroy beautiful border collies for lack of room. I was angry at myself
for not just getting him today. I was angry at anyone who EVER questions the
people who work so hard for no monetary reward or fame, who only work for
dogs like Nick.
I called my friend, who
had decided to give up fostering for a little while. She's going to Michigan
in a couple of weeks and has had a couple of difficult situations with dogs.
She listened to my story of Nick. She heard the pain in my voice. "And
why can't we get him out?" she asked. "And take him where?" I
ask. It's known I can't foster. What right do I have to want others to do
what I don't do myself? "Why, we'll bring him here," she replied.
"We can't let him be killed! And then we'll find a place for him."
And the world lifted
itself from my shoulders.
And then my husband
got home, heard my story, and said, "They did WHAT??? Bring him
here!"
And I knew it could
be okay--Nick can be okay.
And so, we are
making plans. Hopefully it will be tomorrow when we will go get Nick from
this shelter and give them information to prove that yes, we're a legitimate
rescue group, and yes, we want to know about border collies that show up in
their building. We'll get him to the vet to be all checked out. We'll post
his pictures and find him a new forever home--one where moving your family
includes bringing the dog along. And one that will make the shelter a sad
memory that fades quickly, replacing it with the happy life that a good dog
deserves.
Update:
Nick proved himself
to be the good boy he seemed at first look. After spending time in foster
care, Nick was adopted by a family in Springfield, Virginia. I had an update
on him even a couple of years ago, when he was fourteen, and he was, indeed,
loved and had the life he deserved.
(c) Jana Mauney
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