We started the great dog search before Christmas, because this seemed like the best way to use my vacation (as well as naps, lots and lots of naps). I was still experiencing occasional waves of grief over Miss Butterfly, but I felt a desperate need to at least try to find a second dog, someone small and gentle and loving. Cricket loves me, of course, but not like she loves her Grandma. She greets Grandma, and pines for Grandma, and guards Grandma, and, every once in a while, she comes over to visit with me.
The first shelter we visited was about forty minutes away from where we live, with a friendly staff and separate buildings for different groups of dogs and cats. We walked through a hallway of barking dogs who were all a little, or a lot, too big for us, and then we met a Lhasa Apso. She was white-haired, eight years old, and had cataracts in her eyes, and it all made me stop breathing for a moment because she looked so much like Butterfly, with a bad haircut.
We left that building pretty quickly and were led over to the infirmary, where the little dogs were recovering from spay and neuter surgeries. There were Chihuahuas, a Pomeranian mix, a Dachshund mix, a senior Shih Tzu, and a Puggle. The Pom mix was adorable, but he snapped at the volunteer who opened his cage, so he wasn’t allowed out to meet us. Instead we visited with Ursula, a one-year-old Puggle. She was adorable, but we happened to have arrived just when the vet tech was filling Kongs with peanut butter, and Ursula was utterly distracted. Freed from her crate and on her own feet, she moseyed over to the tech, sat down, and gradually inched her butt closer and closer to the peanut butter. She was the right size, and terribly cute, but she barely looked at me. I felt like I should wait for some kind of spark, some flash of connection. Just being cute couldn’t be enough.
Of course, I felt guilty leaving her behind, even though the staff assured me that she’d be scooped up in minutes. There’s something awful about looking at abandoned dogs, and judging their looks and age and health and character, and then rejecting them as not the one. It makes me long for the days when I didn’t know about puppy mills, and could walk into a pet store and believe that beautiful puppies just grew on trees.
I built up the nerve to try again a few days later, and we decided to visit the shelter where we’d adopted Butterfly. They have an extensive medical program with subsidized care, so there was a safety net if I bonded with a dog who had some health problems. I’d seen a few small dogs on their website, some poodle mixes and dachshund and terrier types who all seemed around the right size and age to deal with Cricket. It was raining and cold, and we ran from the car with our hoods up to get to the adoptions building. But, because of renovations in progress, the adoptions had been moved to a smaller location, and the line of people waiting to see the dogs was outside and down the block. My emotions were still raw, with the guilt of leaving Ursula behind, and the gnawing pain of No-Butterfly, that the disrespect of making people wait outside in the freezing rain just to get a chance to fight over puppies enraged me. I knew the dogs would all be adopted, or fostered, or kept safe and warm and medically cared for, but I felt like the shelter was telling me that I didn’t deserve to be treated well. And I couldn’t accept that. Mom shrugged and followed me back to the car, and the day devolved from there into a huge pool of self-loathing and hopelessness that even chocolate couldn’t fix.
A few more days later, we heard about a shelter, more than an hour further out on the Island, where they had rescued a hundred small dogs from a hoarding situation. The website only had a few blurry pictures of the dogs in their original home, with no description of breeds or ages or health, but with a hundred dogs, we figured it was worth a try.
When we finally walked into the office, the woman at the front desk barely looked up from her computer and told us to look through the photo album on the desk. The pictures of the dogs were blurry and dark, with names under each picture, but no sexes or ages or descriptions. The first five names I mentioned had already been adopted, but then there was Twinkle. A volunteer brought him out and he was so much tinier than I’d expected. She put him in my arms and he shivered, in fear or cold, I don’t know which, but when I sat down and put him onto the bench next to me, he climbed back into my lap and held onto me. I looked into his eyes and he looked right back at me and then licked my nose. He could have been part Rat Terrier, part Chihuahua, part Schnauzer, but they had no idea. He loved the gentle scratches on his matted grey and brown and black coat. He was so much smaller than I was looking for, but I’d felt that spark, and it wasn’t going away. I asked the woman at the desk if she knew anything else about him, and she looked down at a sheet of paper next to her, and said, he’s nine years old. My heart broke. I’d promised myself, and Mom, that we wouldn’t get another senior dog, at least not this soon after Butterfly.
A volunteer came to take Twinkle back to his cage in the back, and I felt his absence immediately. Then someone turned on the lights in the little room next to us, and it was filled with more of the hundred dogs, but these were in the three to five year old age range. We were allowed to go in and sit with the dogs, still in their crates, and they very loudly asked to be let out. Some of them looked more Schnauzer-like, some more Dachshund-like, some with wiry red hair, and others with soft black hair, but they were all, obviously, related. We visited with a few of the dogs individually, and a staffer explained that the woman must have started out with a handful of strays, and then, since she didn’t spay or neuter, the family grew exponentially. They were an incest family. The dogs were all being adopted out to different families, but the backstory made me uncomfortable. The staffer told us that we’d have to bring Cricket in for a meet and greet, if we wanted to adopt one of the dogs (and no one else already had an application in on that dog), and then we’d have to bring the dog back to be spayed or neutered. They gave us the extensive adoption application and we left, to drive the long way home and think it over.
The trip home was, again, painful. All of the other dogs receded in my mind, except Twinkle. But Mom had serious concerns: not only was he a senior dog, but he’d spent nine years as an un-altered male in a house with no rules, and he might not understand that he couldn’t climb on Cricket; and we had no idea what health issues he might have, or how long he could be expected to live; and they had no subsidized medical program, and even if they did, we couldn’t drive more than an hour each way to make use of it.
I kept dreaming about Twinkle, though, and feeling sick at leaving him behind. I couldn’t figure out if the spark was because of his sweetness, or his neediness. I couldn’t separate out my healthy loving instincts from my possibly pathological ones, and I was overwhelmed. Mom hated watching me suffer, so back online she went, to see if there were any other dogs in the area. She found some prospects at another shelter we’d never heard of, about twenty five minutes away from home. This would be our fourth shelter in a very short period of time, but I was still on vacation, so off we went.
One of the dogs we liked was still available: a seven month old, black haired Miniature Poodle named Traveler. When we arrived and asked to see him, a handler took us to what seemed like someone’s living room, and then brought Traveler in on a leash. He had soft, curly black hair and big black eyes and he sniffed the whole room. I asked if I could sit on the floor with him, and within minutes he had brought over a tennis ball to play with, and started licking my face. When he got tired, he rested his head on my leg, tennis ball firmly in his mouth.
The handler warned us that we shouldn’t bond too much, because the application process would take a while, and the staff would decide who they thought was the best match for the dog, but I wasn’t worried. We filled out the two page application, including phone numbers for our vet, and three personal references, and lots of details about how we would raise the dog, and what our other dogs’ lives had been like, and on and on. In the car on the way home I was already planning the new toys we would buy, and the training classes we would take with Traveler, but I was also still thinking about Twinkle, and wishing I could have both of them. They would balance each other out, I said out loud, to which Mom said a big fat no.
Of course we didn’t get Traveler, but it took two weeks for the phone call to come telling us that he’d gone to another family. In the mean time I’d found out that Ursula and Twinkle had both found homes, and I was back in school and busy with work. I wondered if maybe the universe was telling me I wasn’t ready, but then the loneliness hit me again and I went back on Petfinder to look for more possibilities.
We brought Cricket with us to visit one dog at a PetSmart adoption event, but while the dog was adorable, he was completely uninterested in us, and barely even sniffed Cricket, which I took as a personal affront.
I kept finding dogs at more and more shelters I’d never heard of, all over Long Island and in Queens and the Bronx and Brooklyn and Manhattan, but each rescue had their own application, and each one was more intrusive than the last. One rescue organization, in its online application, asked for a picture of your driver’s license and the names you use as aliases on social media. We applied for another dog in Queens, a black and white Maltese Shih-Tzu mix, but she was adopted before we could even finish the extensive application process.
We didn’t go through any of this when we adopted Miss Butterfly five years ago, because she happened to be eight years old, with health issues, and yet she was the one I wanted. Now that I want a younger, healthier dog, I see how competitive the Rescue market has become, and how much power the Rescues have to determine who qualifies as worthy. Adoption fees are much higher, applications are longer and more intrusive, and you’re still not guaranteed the dog you met and fell in love with, because someone else is, in the eyes of the Rescue’s staff, better suited to care for that particular dog.
In theory, this is progress. It means that people have learned to adopt, not shop, and fewer dogs are ending up in kill shelters; but it also leaves the power to decide who’s worthy of a dog in the hands of fewer people, people who have their own prejudices about what makes a good dog owner (able to afford higher adoption fees, owning a home with a fenced in yard, etc). I wonder if it’s like this across the country, or it’s specific to the northeastern US, or even just to Long Island.
It almost feels like it’s not worth the effort. I look at other people who walk into a pet store and leave with the exact puppy they were looking for, less than an hour later, or I think about Cricket’s breeder, who was friendly and responsible and raised the puppies in her home, with their Mom, and I wonder why I’ve committed to rescue a dog at all. But I know it’s because of Butterfly, and wanting no dog to have to go through what she did for her first eight years, producing puppies in a puppy mill. But all of these applications and rejections feel personal, and my inferiority complex, and guilt complex, and every other complex, is being kicked up like a dust storm that is going to choke me any day now.
I feel like I need twenty-four hour a day therapy to get through this process, or better yet a therapy dog, but Cricket doesn’t want the job. I have a sneaking suspicion that Cricket has been calling the Rescues to say, no, no, we’re not really interested. That would explain a lot.
You write such interesting and captivating stories. Thank you. Wishing you the best in this circumstance.
Thank you so much!
Maybe someone will read your blog who knows of just the right dog for you. No doubt the application processes for rescues can be frustrating, but on the other hand they are doing good work and trying to find positive situations for the dogs. Good luck!
God bless you and lead you to just the right dog. You are to be commended for your love and dedication to the search. Now, if Cricket would just quit calling to tell them no…
Rachel, Butterfly reminds me of one of our dogs growing up, named Muffin, short for rag-a-muffin. Keith
My sweetie pie.
Wow! What a journey you’ve been on! I’m sure the right dog will come to you
Ha ha ha, Cricket probably has 😀
Rachel, I so admire your and your mother’s fortitude. I really can’t go to the shelters without wanting to bring all the dogs back with me. Pretty is exactly the same way so we (she) began researching online when Spike and I begged for another small dog two years ago. She would show me a picture and I would say, oh, yes, let’s get that one. But then she would say well, don’t you think we should go see it first? So then she would contact whatever place and there would be a problem of some kind that would mean we couldn’t get it…until the day she found Charly a/k/a Dawn at the time. We prepared an intrusive application (not limited to Long Island) and after approval finally, finally went to see Charly who was her exuberant joyful self, and I told Pretty, I need a good dose of this. Pretty told the young girl we wanted to take Dawn home so we did and the rest is history. Even Spike perked up out of his depression.
I firmly believe Cricket will be glad when your right dog finds you.
Keep on keeping on…bless all of your hearts for trying.
It’s so overwhelming, though. Each dog that doesn’t work out…
Yes, I know…but one dog is looking for you, too…
Good luck in your dog search. It sounds very frustrating. If any of those shelters have a dog who has been there a long time it could be easier to get. Both my current and former dogs had been at their respective shelters nearly a year, the dogs nobody else wanted and we got both of them right on the spot. And they are/were both great dogs after going through a dog training class with them.
Those are very lucky dogs to have found you!
Wow! So difficult. I didn’t know it was so difficult to get an older dog. I always hear about how they are hard to adopt out because everyone wants puppies. I am not sure how it is here in California. I wish you luck. Perhaps have faith that the perfect dog will come along when it is the perfect time and it will all work out perfectly!
Just thinking about you today. I took care of a really cute dog recently, Until a new owner could be found. It was a puppy though, and a lot of work. The owner was practically giving it away — she just couldn’t handle it anymore. I seriously thought about keeping the puppy, but I really love my 2 bunnies and the dog didn’t leave much time for them. Also, my husband gets upset if I get too busy with pets. t will be fun to read how your search progresses.
Cricket is so smart!
She really is. Oy.
But you don’t choose a dog – a dog chooses you…
Rachel, here’s a group in your area I think that might have a rescue you’d like..
Fingers crossed that you get lucky soon
Hi again Rachel. I thought of you this week because someone else I follow has made several posts about his dog who has also recently died. I don’t know if reading the posts would make you more sad or would be helpful. But in case you’re interested, you can go to: https://clivehicksjenkins.wordpress.com/2018/02/24/gentleman-jack/. That post and the following two are all very heartfelt. All the best.
You’ve expressed your raw emotions and burdensome uncertainties with clinical precision; I could feel your angst and fear! Thanks for such a great story; may the Universe smile upon you and help you in your quest!
Really broke my heart. I know you’ll find a great dog. It’ll be worth the effort, for sure 🙂
I hope so. Thank you!
I hope the dog meant to snuggle with you will walk right into your life!
Hang in there! I hope you get the dog that is best for you and your mom and also best for the dog. You have a big heart and I am certain you will meet the right dog for you and the dog will meet the right family for it. We have just adopted a Dane – not my choice really as we are used to Pyrs and I wanted to give Zack all the attention now that he is old – which the Rescue Centre asked us to adopt. Danes are so different from Pyrs, and I am still learning. They don’t react the same way as Pyrs do. But it is lovely to know that he is starting to settle down in his new home.
A Great Dane is my dream dog, but it would never fit in the apartment.
Hi Rachel – Any update on the Great Dog Search??
Nope. We’re taking a break from the search for a little while. I’m hoping to refill my hope tank before trying again.
I particularly liked and appreciated when you wrote: who’s worthy of a dog…:) ❤
My daughter and I went to our local city dog pound, hoping to find an older female poodle type dog (hypoallergenic?). We were sitting in the lobby discussing the dogs we had looked at when a woman came in with a carrier. I asked her what kind of dog she had in there and if she was dropping it off. She said her friend had moved and left the dog with her, but she was unable to care for it. She opened the crate and out ran a terribly malnourished chihuahua mix, right into my grandsons arms. And that is how I ended up with a male puppy chihuahua. How could I have left him there? So much for thinking I had any choice in what dog I would get. Plus, he was free since she never went to the counter to drop him off.
Good luck with your search, your dog will find you!!
What a great story!
What an interesting story. I hope you find another dog soon or maybe that special dog will find you. Ever consider getting a cat?
I’m allergic to cats, but it’s always a temptation.
Cricket doesn’t want the competition. I found my dog at a pet store by accident. We went in to find a part-time job for my daughter. No job but we found a Maltese on sale. He was older than the other puppies because he had a hernia operation. When we met each other, it was love at first sight. You’ll find one when you least expect it.
I hope so. Thank you!
You’ll find the one.
I hope so!
Wow. That’s a process. We’re really lucky that there’s donna at Morgans dog rescue, forty minutes up the road, who is great at matching dogs.
Our old dog Aya was dog reactive, so she spent hours making sure they’d be okay and we picked Peter up the next week. He was better with dogs than people (man had eight un-housetrained boarder-collies in a regular terraced house) and he was the perfect dog for Aya, even if it took a month to fully integrate them. And when Aya has to be put down Donna knew us so she was able to source the perfect dog for peter, from Ireland, our lily. We literally picked her up from the back of a van. She went from her foster home, on a van on a ferry, to the back of donnas van, to our car. I have never had such a people orientated dog. The very first ‘pack’ walk we did she jumped into a random mans arms while I was stood holding the lead… just gapping. (When we got Aya we found she didn’t like black dogs and men. She did warm to some blocks who weren’t scared of dogs. But never at first sight!)
We got both dogs for a months foster to see how they got on with the resident dog at the time. That was the only question to whether or not we’d get the dog. She judged our worth based on our dogs. We took peter home a scared little skinny rat, who honked because we couldn’t pet him let alone wash him, he panicked when the led touched his leg, he still doesn’t like cars, and the vets let us go when no one else was there so he didn’t shut down again. And took back a dog who was on a diet cos his weight had shot up and was relaxed. Donna cried when she put him in the back of mums car and he wouldn’t talk to her! 😖
TLDR maybe take recommendations for a smaller rescue locally to you? And good luck!
Hi Rachel, good for you for continuing the process of adoption. In the South, shelters send so many of the unwanted dogs and cats to shelters up North because they stand a far better chance of adoption and/or fostering than they do here. Something I’ve found here is that animals seem to be disposable and many people just let them run loose. Unneutered and unspayed, they make more unwanted animals. It’s really sad. Right after the election (actually the day after the election), I adopted Ella, a mix of pit bull and black Lab. She is so sweet and a good find. I’ll write about her soon. Keep looking until you meet the right one.
It sounds a really traumatic experience and yes, some of those questions about prospective owners sound intrusive and arrogant. So much simpler with cats. Unfortunately there are always some strays or cats having bad experiences. There are cat rescue projects and of course not only do bad owners abandon or mistreat, but good owners die or become unable to care for their cat. But my experience is: have a cat flap, be friendly and a cat will adopt you. Now microchipping for cats in richer countries is becoming more common, you can also easily check you haven’t got someone else’s loved cat.
Suzy adopted me by a very firm decision six months ago, she was healthy but had loads of fleas so had not been properly cared for and her sister is still a visiting stray. Suzy could not be more loving.
Cats are very good at choosing the owners they want.
You’ll just know when the right one comes along xx
I hope so.