Nick's Story

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