Do Not Euthanize #550.
This is #550.
Terrified, tense, and resigned to his fate, the only buddies he’d ever known – his mother and sister that were dumped there with him – were already in a back bin somewhere waiting to be taken to wherever they take the euthanized dogs. The dead ones. The destroyed ones. Somehow, an angel had been looking over #550 and he was spared the needle and brought into the Vet Tech program, only to be placed back on the Euth List a few days later. A worker at the shelter, Jenn Arias, had been desperately networking #550, but with only the below information to go on, a picture of a fearful dog, and the label of animal aggression, it became an arduous task:
2-17 returned from vet tech
Euthanasia Date 2/20/2012
46 lb intact male, HW negative, DHPP, animal aggressive(?)
resource guarder
editor's note: came in with other dogs that he got along fine with
2-9 had been scheduled for euth, but was held back
Remarks:
Shy
Trey and I had just experienced a tearful goodbye to Bindi earlier that Sunday morning, February 19th, and as I lay in bed listening to the soft noises from the TV, I was carefully monitoring the FB comments about this dog. An adopter gets a 10 day adoption trial to decide if they truly want to make one of our foster dogs a part of their family. If they decide it’s not a good fit, they are able to give them back in that 10 day period. But Bindi was in Vermont. 15 hours away in Vermont. Surely, there’s no way that she’s coming back and there were tons of other dogs that were pouring into my inbox that I had the ability to save. Morally, how do you play God and decide who gets to live and who must die? My inbox had a cute brown pup with a hurt lip, a brown and white happy-looking dog that was going kennel crazy from being at the shelter so long, and scared #550. Although he didn’t win the handsome award, the thoughts of #550 meeting death before he had even experienced life kept creeping into my mind. The fact that #550 was brought in with other dogs, yet displayed animal aggression got under my skin. The idea that he may not be saved at all because he was deemed a resource guarder made me angry. But most of all, the fact that #550 was unbelievably dirty in his intake picture hurt my heart. That was the final straw. This boy needed a calming, warm bath from a person that wanted to give him nothing but love, comfy bedding and a regular meal each morning and night. This boy needed me.
I emailed Jenn at 11:00pm, only single-digit hours until #550 received the fatal dose into his leg.
“Ok, I’ll take him.”
11pm is the time that most people are tucked into their beds, ridding themselves of the day’s stress with clean sheets and a peaceful sleep. But for shelter workers and animal lovers across the world, it is crunch time, networking like crazy to try to save dogs that don’t deserve to die. Jenn’s email immediately came back with the scary reality: DNE #550. A subject line as pleading as Times New Roman from Gmail will allow - as if they may toss her email away by accident in the bustle of life, absent-mindedly and indirectly killing this dog before we could break him out. But they didn’t. They responded and the next morning set up his shots and neuter for the following day. I was to pick him up after work on February 21, 2012.
The dog that Trey and I assumed he would be, even from being in the shelter and just going through surgery, was a totally incorrect assumption. We thought we’d still see the light in his eyes, a wag in his tail, recognition that these people were here to help.
There was none of that.
Fearful dogs can become a hazard extremely easily, and as Trey opened the car door, I watched his body language. Stiff, rigid, terrified, helpless. He wouldn’t even move his head to look at us, just watched with his eyes trained on us, judging us, trying to read us. As I gently picked him up to ease him in the car, his legs stiff, his body unmoving, I retrieved my stash of extra dog food from the glove box and tried to lure him from the other side. After a few minutes of pleading and prodding, we were able to shut the car door, but not before noticing that he was missing his bottom canine and part of his tongue. What kind of past did this dog have to survive in order to finally make it here?
As we pulled away, I said, “Trey, he needs a name.” I looked at the spot we had picked him up, Hooper’s Tavern.
“What about Cooper?”
*******************************************
The dog that we had seen that night became a completely different dog over the
course of the first day, first week and the total of 33 days. This dog was happy. Like really happy. Like makes-you-want-to-laugh-every-second happy. From wagging his tail constantly and with so
much force that it leaves red marks on your calves, or
pinning your shoulders with his paws and lathering your face full of kisses or
immediately rolling around in the grass every single potty break for at least the
first week, Cooper was ecstatic to be
alive. I only wish that I could have
bottled up his happiness and carried it around with me, taking frequent sniffs
to remind me to stop and smell the roses more often and maybe even take part in a belly
roll or two down a big, grassy hill.
Cooper was a stellar foster from the get-go - never showed any aggression towards my cats, never chasing, and being
extremely patient with both of them. His
only fault was trying to play every now and then when my lazy cat would do a
half-ass attempt at a swat. Cooper was slightly fearful of dogs bigger than himself but very gentle with dogs smaller,
and boy, did Cooper LOVE tennis balls.
Forget the flirt pole, forget Frisbees, just get a tennis ball and
he would be happy for an hour entertaining himself with it. This silly boy was a heartbreaker with crowds
at Home Depot and Lowe’s, leaning into people for love, leaving his trademark white hair with a touch of black on their
shins. When Cooper met my 11 month old
niece, he sniffed her foot and hand delicately before taking an exploratory
lick of her chubby hand, causing high-pitched squeals from her. Everyone loves Cooper.
And no one showed their love more than his newly adoptive parents, Matt and Jillian. This engaged couple had a soft spot in their hearts for pitbulls, but wanted to wait until after their wedding in September to adopt. That was before they saw Cooper and fell head over heels in love with our goofball.
They did everything in their power to make this dog an awesome part of their family, from following the suggestion for the Two Week Shut Down to buying the same crate and food to ease his transition. As Matt and Jillian drove away with Cooper last Sunday, they also took with them the powerful happy-go-lucky air that Cooper emits. Like a drug that had run it’s course, Trey and I seemed drained of his happiness and drove the hour and a half home, mostly in silence, but content, because knowing that Cooper is going to have a full and wonderful life is the goal of this. We were simply a stepping stone for him. An
You made it #550. We know angels were looking over you that day. And we know you’ll make those 2 look-alike angels from Doggie Heaven proud. Won’t ya buddy?
Check out Cooper's (now known as Capo's) journey below:
