Really, Really

I had to run up to Mom and Dad's for a quick pickup, and rather than putting Stella back in her crate, I decided I would take her with me.

She danced out the door in her new neckerchief and on her leash, but when I opened the car door, she totally wilted.  I told her to "load up," my all-time command to dogs to get in the car, and she pulled backwards, ears flat, eyes huge.  It took a minute, but then I realized what was happening.

Stella is a rescue.  As a tiny baby, she came into the system when the person who had her first tossed her and her sister out of a moving vehicle in front of a vet's office.  Fortunately, other than scrapes and scratches, she wasn't physically damaged.  Psychologically, though...  Does "even an animal" (a phrase I am not sure I trust very much) ever forget being treated like that totally?

Also fortunately, after that she was taken in by a rescue group in Madison that is wonderful.  She's had love, vet care, doggie companions, but she's never had a "forever home."  She's been taken to lots of events looking for the people who would keep her, and I suppose some of that was what she was reliving tonight.  Even though I know I'm reading it in to her behavior, I could almost hear her saying, "But you told me this was my HOME!"

I picked her up and placed her in the driver's seat.  Every other dog I've ever had automatically moved over to the passenger side.  She just sat trying to make herself as small as possible.  I finally got her to budge, and she was shaking as I cranked up.  I smoothed my hands over her, rubbed her, and talked to her.   Off we went.

The trip was brief.  Mom came out to hand off the items, and she put her hand through the partially open window.  Stella sniffed and licked, perking up just a little, but she was still clearly waiting for the moment when the door would open and her life would change again.  I started the car again, and we were headed back down the road.

She was puzzled but curious.

When we pulled up next to the house and I cut off the engine, she peered out the window.  When the scent of home hit her, she started wagging her tail.  I didn't have to fight her at all this time.  She unloaded, bounce mostly returned, and by the time we got on the porch, she was grinning and sassy again.  She pawed at the door with both front feet, chastising me for being too slow with the keys.  When I got the door open, she flew in and body slammed/hugged Chewie before racing around the living room.

I had a feeling she would be nervous when she got in the car.  I knew it might be a stressful moment.  We will probably have another one when I take her to the vet for the first time.  It's really important to me that she has good car experiences.  I want her to know that she's always coming back home.  This isn't another wayside station in her journey.  This is the place where the arms are open.  This is the forever home.

Stella Arrives

Tuesday, I got up early, loaded Chewie and Yelldo into the back seat, and headed two hours north to see a rescue pit bull.  She was beautiful and bouncy, but Chewie wanted nothing to do with her.  He was so deeply avoiding her that he turned his body in whichever direction she was not, like some kind of odd large white furry reverse weathervane.

So we loaded back up, drove back home, and I was very sad.

The lady at the rescue suggested that we needed a very young puppy to help Chewie feel less threatened, so after I took a long nap, I got up and started the search again online.  I sent several requests to rescues and shelters all over three states.  I asked for help on FaceBook.  I opened the PetFinder app on my phone.  Then I settled in to wait.

One of the FaceBook contacts responded to say that she had a pit who was about to have a litter of puppies.  If I were willing to wait 8 wks, I could be on the list for one of them.  It seemed like the best bet at the time, so I made my peace with it and went on about my life.

Then I got a message from the Madison ARK.  I had put in an application for Stella, a 5-month-old female, but I wasn't very hopeful after the debacle with the other young female in the north.  Stella had actually been on my radar for a long time; I remembered her adorable ears and her unusual light eyes from the search I had done before Dad's heart surgery this summer.  I talked to the people at the ARK, and I told them about my situation.  We agreed that I would bring Chewie out and see how he responded.  So yesterday morning, I loaded him into the car again and we set off.

Chewie behaved much better.  He walked along up and down the street in front of the rescue, and although he didn't seem to be very interested in being bounced on or playing, he did condescend to sniff her bottom and allow her to do the same, something he flatly refused to do in the meeting with the other dog.  I was hopeful. 

We took them in, and they continued to interact, and although Chewie would not engage her, he wasn't being the anti-dog weathervane, either.  The people at the rescue decided that he would probably just need time to adjust, and they asked if I would want to bring Stella home for a trial run.

I agreed.

We all came home, me driving, Chewie sitting in the middle seat and staring balefully out the window, and Stella confined in her travel crate in the back.  I pulled through Chick-Fil-A because Chewie always gets nuggets when he has to go do something, and after getting our order, we hit the interstate for home.

Upon arrival, I was fearful of how she'd react to all the other creatures and vice versa, so we shut her in her new big crate.  She was *most* unhappy.  She wanted to smell, to run, to play.  She saw her first cats as Dillon and Pearl came to stand in the doorway of the dog room, and she was fascinated.  Chewie and Yelldo came in to inspect the new addition, and Stella wagged and yipped.  

After an hour or so, I decided to see what was going to happen.  I put her on a leash and brought her out.  She bounced right across to Pearl who was watching from beneath the dining table and got her nose roundly slapped.  In true pit bull fashion, she blinked, sat back in confusion, and decided she loved Pearl too much not to try it again.   Poor Pearl....

Pearl has broken in too many dogs to be worried about something not very much larger than herself, so she held her ground, fluffed her regal mane, and growled like something from the pits of hell.  She looked like a pocket-sized grey lion.  Stella got weirded out and came and sat next to me.  Pearl simply looked down her nose at the dog and sashayed off toward the living room. Mission accomplished.  

We're twenty-four hours into the experiment, and Stella has been off-leash since about 4 pm yesterday.  She's been round and round the yard, sniffing like Roux used to, the noise I always called "truffle pig."  She's eaten half a large bowl of dog food by taking two pieces out at a time and running into the living room with it.  She's consumed two small exerhides in an epic battle of gnawing that took about 30 minutes each to destroy something Chewie crunches like a potato chip.  She's charged to the end of her leash after some unknown woodland beast in the dark of night.  I think she's having a good time....

She's currently unconscious on the floor next to my chair on a blue blanket having worn herself completely out most recently by going around and around my yard, barking her high-pitched little squeaky toy bark at my crows, trying to engage Chewie or Yelldo in play, sitting in my lap and giving me kisses, chasing the four hundred toys she has dragged out from the basket on the hearth, and generally being the precious little diva she is.  

In time, I really believe Chewie will warm up to her, especially when he realizes that he will still get the same attention as before. He is already consenting to be sniffed more often and following us around the yard. I look forward to seeing them run and play.

I have plans for her, too.  I want to see if I can train her for agility.  She can leap about two feet straight in the air just when something startles her, so I think she will be good at it and it will be a good release for her.  I will have to train myself to work with her, but that will be good for me as well.  

I love her.  She's not what I had thought would come to me, but she's perfect.  I realized two things about that.  One, her name is Stella.  She came to me with that name.  That was the name I had sort of picked for a daughter if I ever had one.  It's a family name on my mother's side.  I have always loved it because it sounds a little old fashioned and also because it means "star," which she totally is.  Additionally, and this didn't come to me until last night, if she's 5 months old, that means she came into this world about the time my Roux left it, almost as if Roux sent her to me.  While I know that 's not the way the world works, I can't say that coincidence didn't touch me.  

We have a long way to go.  There is bonding that needs to occur between her and me, between her and my other animals, between her and my parents.  I really believe all that will come in time.  She is going to be the most loved little baby pittie anyone ever saw.  By Christmas, her level of spoiled-rottenness should have reached really absurd heights.