Rescue Dog

Melodrama alert!

Lobo saved my life.  True.

Not in one of those courageous acts you see on TV - you know the ones:  dog steps between hungry cougar and child; dog swims out and pulls flailing man to shore; dog runs to farmhouse and barks until occupants spot overturned car on lonely highway. Those are spectacular displays of intelligence and courage and loyalty, and while Lobo has yet to exhibit such a feat of bravery (which I'm certain he's capable of), his sheer joyful existence has been enough to save me from myself.

We found Lobo through ARF in August, 2009. He was less than six months old, living with a pack of 20 dogs on the Tsuu T'ina Reservation, struggling to find food, and failing to outrun the pellets that were being used on him for target practice. After he spent ten days with an extremely patient and caring foster family, we brought him to our home, eager to show him that a dog's life could really be a dog's life.

He hid under the deck.

Before my husband and I made the decision to adopt a rescue dog, I'd done a lot of reading. Blogs (two of the most informative I've posted on the right), several library books, and my favourite, The Complete Idiot's Guide to Positive Dog Training by Pamela Dennison, which I eventually bought and still refer to often.  Lobo hadn't done any research at all. It's a wonder he saw through all our bumbling, came out from under the deck, and allowed us to love him anyway.

(The cheese didn't hurt. But don't tell our vet - it was only used in those first few weeks and only in emergencies.)

From the dog who yelped at the first sight of himself in a mirror, who pulled his leash in the opposite direction whenever we encountered another dog on our walks, to the dog who waits impatiently for the signal to hop out of the car and explore the visitors at the off-leash park, Lobo's made quite the transition.  But as much as he's changed because my husband and I are committed to spending quality time with him, it's nothing compared to what he's done for me.

Our gorgeous Heinz 57 got my lead-filled butt off the couch and back to a positive reality. I'd been eating my way through litres of Breyers ice cream, shunning my favourite books for 'Lost' reruns and hours of Solitaire on the computer, and pretty much only existing in sleep and work modes. Clinical Depression and I had a solid relationship. If you've met, I'm sorry. I know what it's like to try to numb your brain so that you don't have to listen to it shouting at you anymore.

Loving Lobo shut my brain up, simple as that. I walked him twice a day. Not because some rude inner voice was berating me, but because I wanted to.  The Vitamin D alone has been enough to lift my spirits, but then there's all that exercise!  I researched dog food and began making my own - and yes, some of what's good for puppy (carrots, brocolli, blueberries) happens to be very good for Mom and Dad, too.  I would have settled for feeling as good as I do, but then the weight started coming off, I rediscovered my love for reading and writing, I began sleeping better.

Don't get me wrong, the endorphins aren't enough all the time, but when a crying jag wants to get hold of me I just get hold of my dog and have a restorative cuddle. Crisis averted.

So the rescue puppy rescued me.  Good dog!

One of my favourite new things is finding out how dogs have enriched other people's lives.  A couple hours a day at the off-leash park satisfies much of my curiosity. It's amazing how many fabulous stories are out there.

I'd like to tell you some of them.