Thanks to our veterans and my wonderful job that doesn't pay much, but at least gives me paid holidays, I had Monday off all to myself last week. I took the opportunity to stop by the humane society to drop off some pine-sol that I picked up at Target with my BFF a few weeks ago. I think deep down inside when I bought it, I was thinking, hmmm, this would be a good excuse to stop by. Then I asked to browse through the dogs. There were only a few in the large dog kennels, I think about 4 or 5. They were all at gates of their enclosures vying for my attention, except one. I bent down to take a peek at him as he lay without making eye contact through the doggie door in the opposite side of his kennel. I made a mental note that I wanted him and kept on walking. Back in the lobby, I asked for more details from the lovely ladies that care for the dogs. They said he had been there a few weeks and in that time had made significant progress. One girl offered to take him outside so I could see him. His eyes were terrified the entire visit.
As I headed home, I realized that I was almost in a blur while I was there and forgot to ask some of the important questions, like has he ever shown any signs of aggression to humans, dogs, or cats. I couldn't dare bring him home if something would happen to my diva, Harper. I decided instead of calling and having them take a note and forget to call back or pestering them in person, I'd send a polite facebook message and identical e-mail to them and hoped they'd get back to me when they had my answers. Tuesday, they said that he was not aggressive to people or dogs and they'd test him with cats that day. Luckily, they have a huge supply of them in the next room. Wednesday I got a facebook message saying that he did great with cats and he tried to lick them like they were babies. For the remainder of the day, I had a huge cheesy grin on my face and everyone in my office shared in my excitement. I drove straight to the shelter that I volunteer with after work (and how convenient, I was actually scheduled to get off before they close for like the 3rd time ever). I didn't want to fool with phone calls and e-mails and delays and misunderstandings. As I told everyone at work that afternoon, I repeated to them: I can't make any promises like I did with Finn that I won't keep this dog. I asked for a little time to get to know him before he's all over the internet for adoption. They looked at each other and repeated, are you okay with it? I'm okay if you're okay. They called the humane society while I was sitting there and together we made the arrangements for me to pick him up on Friday. I even stopped by a few minutes before the humane society closed and measured him for a harness and collar.
Things were falling into place perfectly at this point. My dad was going to be out of town on Friday night and he offered for me to stay the night with the new dog at his place so we'd have some peace and quiet. I talked to a veterinarian friend of mine and he was able to find a sample of some flea medication that I could have since I'm volunteering. I ran around like a crazy person Thursday night, setting a crate up at my dad's, tackling some clutter at my mom's, and taking a good long shower since I knew I wouldn't be able to fit one in for myself the following night. I was hoping to pick him up between 5:30 and 6 on Friday, after the staff meeting at the humane society, but it went very late...I didn't manage to get this super shy dog into my car until about 6:30. I called my vet friend, his office now closed at this point, and met up with him in our tiny town for the very generous donation. To give my house and other pets the best chance of not becoming infested with fleas, I immediately gave him a bath at my mom's. Problem was, the bathtub is upstairs. The dog was completely freaked beyond being cooperative and going into the great unknown upstairs, so I carried him up when he was dry, and down when he was wet, and we headed to my dad's.
Guess who forgot about the alarm...Thankfully I had left the dog in the car for my first trip into the house because I completely forgot about his alarm system. I was searching through my phone for the code as it's blaring in my ears, and probably throughout the entire neighborhood. I put my hand over the box to try to quiet it and I think it knew. It got louder and louder and more vicious with each beep. Finally, I found the code and silenced it, hoping that my ears would stop ringing at some point that night.
Now feels about the right time to stop referring to him as "the dog" and tell you his real name, Shiloh. The humane society named him this and I'm not a huge fan, but also don't see a huge need to change it. It's not like it's Mister Vanilla Teddy Bear. He might actually respond to this name.
Here he is at my dad's on that first night. He looks pretty normal in the picture, but this is one of the only times he sat out in the open. He did the usual pacing, feared being cornered, and found some safe hiding places. He did not want to go in the crate at any point, so I figured, lets take a chance. I didn't want to create a crate-fearing beast like I did with Finn at one point, so I thought we could practice it over the weekend some more and work up to it for Monday morning. I left the tv on and a light on so I'd practically be sleeping with one eye open in case he decided to get into trouble. I woke up through-out the night and found him sleeping in his crate a few times and snoring in the corner behind a chair. He would come over to me now and then while I was laying on the couch, but only when he felt like it. I finally woke up for the last time around 7 and inspected the house for any sign of Shiloh damage. Nothing chewed and no accidents. Wonderful. I ran to the bathroom before I prepared to take him on a little walk and he followed several feet behind. I guess he thought if I was going to the bathroom, he should too, and lifted his leg on the corner of the wall. NOOOO! Not house-trained. We took a long walk around the neighborhood, Shiloh cautious of each step. He walks like a 12-year old dog with arthritis, even though I'm told he's only 4. His fear has a good hold over him, and I can't wait to see it loosen it's grip. I'm sure he'll get better with time. I took him back home to my mom's and so began the weekend of new adoption blues. I had a dog that didn't like me and peed in the house. More on that later.
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