The one that was left behind…

…Continued from “Hold On Puppies!  We Are On Our Way!

Approximately six months after the last Flintstone puppy was adopted, E’s phone rang.  Much to her surprise, their original “family” was on the other end.  They had held onto E’s number all those months and wanted to know if we would be interested in the little brown and white puppy that was left behind.  Their friend failed to ever give him a home, so he had slowly grown up in their backyard… rarely interacted with… never even given a name. 
 
Within a day, E and I were back in the car headed to the “woods” all over again.  The nearly-full-grown brown and white “puppy” was extremely fearful of people, essentially feral after having almost no human interaction.  It took three of us to wrestle him into his first collar, so that we could attach his first leash, put him a kennel for the first time and take him for his first car ride.  It was no wonder that the entire way home he cowered as far away from us as possible, terrified to move.  After a long discussion, we decided to call him Charlie.  All of the Flintstone names that were left seemed too light-hearted and a poor representation of the warrior that we were just beginning to know. 

 As Grace and Fred’s brother, there was no question who would foster Charlie… he was already part of my family.  The first night at our house, his first night indoors, was difficult.  I introduced him to the house gradually.  As soon as he spotted a kennel in the basement, he dashed inside and attempted to vanish into the back of it.  After an exhausting effort to pull the fifty-pound dog back out, I gave up and crawled inside with him.  I eased myself in beside him while petting and massaging his back.  I laid there, soothingly talking with him for hours before I felt his body start to relax.  He wasn’t much of a conversationalist, I must say.  However, the results were well worth the effort. 
 
Within a few days of focusing on Charlie’s every need, doing everything I could think of to comfort him, he started to melt.  Over the course of the next six months, the two of us bonded.  We developed a deep connection of trust and understanding.  When he saw me, his face would glow and he smiled as big as any dog could.  He cuddled with me on the couch and feel asleep in my arms, breathing faintly, but always on edge, constantly protecting me and himself.  Unfortunately, just as feral dogs are known to do, he bonded extremely tightly with me and refused to let anyone else near him. 
 

Even after months of progress, we had to admit that Charlie’s chance of ever finding a loving home were slim.  He fought with the other dogs, sending us to the Vet multiple times.  He growled at every person that came near him and growled even louder whenever anyone came near me.  But, I really believed that if we could find someone for him to bond with the way he had with me, it might all work out.  My Mom had been looking for a dog for a long time and after hearing Charlie’s story, she suggested that she might be interested in adopting him.  
 

With that glimmer of hope, I packed four dogs, a sugar glider and myself into the car and we headed to Wisconsin.  Without enough room in the car for everyone and kennels, Scott constructed a barricade between the front and back seats so that the dogs could not jump between the two.  Then, we tucked Molly’s (sugar glider) travel cage, deep under the seats to where the dogs could not get near her.  All went well until half way to Wisconsin when Fred and Charlie broke out into a dog fight in the backseat.  I pulled over moved Charlie to the front with me.  He proceeded to spend his time trying to sit on my lap and block my vision.  We didn’t even make it out of the parking lot before I had to pull over, tethering him into place by put his leash out the window and back through the door – giving him enough slack to lay down, but not get in my way.  That is how we traveled the remaining 500 miles. 
 

The dogs and I spent several weeks in Wisconsin.  Each day, Mom worked with Charlie… encouraging him to trust and bond with her.  Sadly, no matter what we tried, he continued to growl at her, snapping and nipping if she got too close.  Half way through our stay, Charlie and Fred broke into another fight and I ended up in the Emergency Room (blog on that to come another day), meaning that the two had to be separate at all times.  Finally, after giving it our best shot, we had to admit that he wasn’t the right fit for her.  Much to our surprise, however, Buddy (another foster that came along for the ride) fit right in and he became a permanent member of the family. 
 
Leaving Buddy with my Mom, I packed up our bags and the five of us headed back to North Carolina.  When we returned, Charlie’s behavior became even more violent and distressing.  I could do anything to him… brush his teeth, administer vaccinations, rub his belly, anything a normal dog would let me do.  But, the minute anyone else came around, he started to snarl and bite.  Finally, after Scott was bitten for the umpteenth time, we had to surrender to the fact that there was no hope left.  He was becoming too dangerous for me to control.  It was time to let Charlie go. 
 
After delaying it as long as possible, I gathered every ounce of strength I had and called the Vet for a euthanasia appointment.  Charlie laid in my arms and with each injection, I felt his muscles relax and his body go limp… life slowly leaving him.  It was the first time in his entire stay with me that he really relaxed.  His anxiety and fear was gone.  Unable to hold them back (even as I write this over a year later), the tears ran down my face and soaked his light brown fur.  I stroked his neck and told him how much I loved him before saying goodbye for the last time. 

I don’t believe any other dog has ever loved me as much as Charlie (except maybe Tally).  He took a piece of my heart when he left, a piece that will never be replaced by any other.  But, he also gave me determination.  Determination to know that I will never again leave one behind… because we could have done better for him.