Godspeed Annie (rescue lessons learned: a dog from the streets to our home. . . we were never the same again)

When we brought Annie home, or I should say, when I brought Annie home, it was during a time when I was knee-deep into "rescuing" dogs, doing volunteer work with a couple of local animal organizations. We had more than a few rescues at home already. But some well-intended person I had met within the "dog rescue world" mentioned they had a lab mix that had been returned twice for "behavior issues". I don't know why this statement fell on deaf ears. It broke my heart. At the time, I had absolutely zero tolerance for such humans and their intolerance of dogs. I was shocked, "She's not an ill-fitting coat for crying out loud!" She came home with me joining our already growing family of canines. That was fourteen years and many traumatic encounters ago. I have to be honest with you, Annie was a wonderful dog, but also a very flawed dog owing to some obviously flawed humans. 

I'm not going to sugar coat our life with Annie. She loved humans, however, she was never a snuggler, hugger or lap dog. Never. She "allowed" you to pet her, and rub her belly--but only once in a while, if she felt like it. But rolling over on her back was never much her thing. As we would soon learn, there are reasons for this, not least of which was her having to defend herself. But beyond that, the typical human/dog bonding stuff never happened. She loved treats. Loved them. 

Other dogs, not so much. Except for one little beagle we had rescued from the country--she became her lifelong companion. And for other reasons I'll never quite understand, her partner in a canine "packing" order. 

Dogs pack. 

They are pack animals by nature. 

We forget this sometimes when we are--with the best of intentions--giving them loving homes, warmth, safety and security.

Annie and her best friend packed so well, they decided one night to begin to do what pack animals do: to rid the home of one of our dogs (my very first dog I had had since she was eight weeks old), a cocker spaniel named Lexi. She was our oldest dog and not in the best of health. Despite this, her other sisters respected her as she was seen as sort of the queen of the roost. To our eyes anyway.

One night we came home to a noiseless welcome. An eerie quiet. And only a couple of happy tail wags, minus one in particular--who always welcomed her mommy home. When we got to the kitchen, there was a gruesome scene. One so traumatic it changed my views of dogs being warm and fuzzy creatures to my now having an incredible respect for their capability of instinctual, primitive behaviors. And yes, Lexi bore the brunt of the hierarchy of the pecking order, to our complete and utter disbelief. But the question was, which dog(s) had committed the heinous act? 

A few short months later, we would find out.

It was as I was home alone and DH had left the house for an errand and I was there with our kiddos when an attack so vicious occurred, it knocked me off my feet. Annie and her cohort went after the second oldest dog in the home and were on a mission to now take her out. I was in the middle trying desperately to separate the jaws from the skin and in the process was bitten. I regained my balance enough to protect as best I could the dog being attacked. 

I was afraid for not only her life, but for my own. 

When DH returned home, of course there were tears and hysteria. Immediately, we had to get medical attention for our girl. The other two, completely unaware of their ill deeds, were being removed from the home immediately. I could barely stand to look at them. Our girl made it, thankfully. Annie and her cohort ended up in our city shelter not twenty-four hours later (which was then a gas chamber)--even though we took them to the Humane Society. (Apparently they are automatically put on death row when a "bite" incident occurs--this was what we were told then.) Needless to say, I have strong opinions on this particular philosophy, and let's just say it's been duly noted in my mind. And because I volunteered and helped rescue dogs with the city, they phoned me immediately after checking Annie and her partner in for their "final days". 

I was completely losing my mind by this point. I marched right down there and saw them behind those bars and couldn't bear the thought of them being "destroyed". I pulled them out and brought them both home. 

And here is where life with dogs for us changed forever. 

We took them both to our vet. He looked me straight in the eye and said, You really would be best served to NEVER, EVER let either one of these dogs around another dog again, they are now working on instinct alone. This WILL happen again, and again. And of course the option of a humane euthanization was discussed, but at the time, I just couldn't bear it. DH and I discussed this ad nauseam. It was decided we'd bring them home work out a system of gating them off and giving them free rein over half the house. It was painful, uncomfortable, but the other alternative was worse in my mind. 

When you love a dog, you will do almost anything to help them. There is no other creature on earth more connected to me than canines. I believe this to my very core. I am here for the dogs. 

Life with them is both precious and sacred. We are all put here for some greater good--I believe mine and my husband's are for the dogs.

The strays in this world did not ask to be dumped, left for society to clean up. And to those people who relegate these animals out into the streets, or "dump in the country"--there is a special place in hell for you. I am absolutely sure of this. 

The people who open their homes to these animals are angels. You have NO idea what you are getting no matter how many ways to Sunday some good samaritan's sworn the dog is "rehabilitated" and now ready for a "forever" home. You. Just. Never. Know. 

Nine times out of ten, the dog has been fostered, temperment tested, is in great shape and acclimates to its new home and all is well. But I cannot tell you the number of times I've encountered someone overly enthusiastic about their new "rescue" who is out in public for the first few times and their dog suddenly sees another dog and begins to exhibit behavior the new owners swear: "We've never seen her/him like this before." 

I understand. Believe me. I do.

When we decided to move, we had to give the floor plan great consideration. We had to have a home that would accommodate a two-pack family. When we left the home, we had to make doubly sure the security of one group of dogs from the other group was firmly in place. When we scheduled vet visits, the place had to arrange for either a separate entrance or for an appointment time when we would not encounter other dogs. When it came to dividing our time between the packs, we always practiced fairness and equal time share.   

Six years ago, I stopped "rescuing" or volunteering for animal organizations. 

We will always be a dog home, but a carefully vetted dog home. 

If Annie is anywhere now, it is some place where her best buddy, Mystique is. 

They are off somewhere ruling the world, running wild. 

We said our goodbye to Annie here at home Sunday. She was "ready". Sixteen (or more--we have no idea) years long for this world. We just could not bear to take her into a place to have her final moments shattered by the chaos and discomfort of a sterile office setting. I was a psychological mess. I still am. I have spent every single day with her for the past several years. 

Her schedule was my schedule and visa-versa.  

On Sunday, we enlisted Lap of Love here in St. Louis. 

This was our first time using this home service and all I can say is, Thank God for them. 

Her ending, unlike her beginning, was peaceful, loving, respectful and graceful. 

We wept. I am still weeping. I will have bouts of crying spells that will be out of nowhere. Then I will have moments where I can be completely stoic and discuss her without tearing up. My grieving process over her will take time. She was a lesson in unconditional love we will never forget.  

We shared memories, challenges, wishes and torments we'd had with Annie with the vet that came to the home. I'm certain she's heard a thousand, but for this calling, you must steel yourself for these stories and shared experiences. She was a wonderful listener, she was gentle and caring. 

For the first time in a long time, I was able to give Annie a bunch of big hugs and kisses and she didn't  squirm away or snap at me.

I wrote Annie a letter Monday morning in my journal. I told her first and foremost we loved her. No matter what, we always loved her. 

And of course, I told her I'd see her again. 

We love you, Annabella Rosillini. (Because that is what we called her.)