Shot and Left for Dead

When I heard her story, I had to tell myself I couldn’t do anything to help. I already had two dogs and was caring for my mother with Alzheimer’s. I had a high-stress, high-demand job. I had added the volunteer position of choir director to my church. I simply could not add to my list of things to care for. But, if you don’t know me by now, as in the song by Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes, “You will never, never, never know me.”

This story is about the black Labrador Retriever I adopted back in 2010. It started on one of the days I had taken mother to the lady who did her nails. Since mother had very little communication skills at that time, the nail tech and I conversed during the process to keep mother distracted. (Mother would get distressed when her nails were cut. She had always kept long, well manicured nails. With personal hygiene skills being one of the first things mother “lost” I got tired of cleaning her nails – so off they went.)

On this particular day, the tech was telling me about a dog they rescued but couldn’t keep. Their Yorkshire Terrier had a Napoleon complex and was biting at the new dog in the house. The family was in chaos over the whole thing, and they were discussing taking the new dog to the pound, even though they had spent untold amounts of money on the dog. I knew the local shelter was NOT a no-kill shelter. My mind said an immediate “no, I can't let her go there” then another u-turn to tell myself “no you don’t - you have too much on your plate.” I did not need to open my mouth and say I would rescue her - Until I heard her story. And I have not regretted it since the day I brought her home.

Part of the dog’s story had to be pieced together. My vet is the one who figured some of the history surrounding the dog and the most likely answer as to how she ended up dumped in the country.

In the summer of 2010, the nail tech and her husband were out in the country helping her brother mend fences. They heard rifle shots ringing from the driveway of the farm across the street. A large, black dog was racing across a field toward the street. Another shot was fired and the dog went down. She didn’t move. Everyone was sure she was dead. The neighboring farmer continued on his drive into his driveway. The group mending fences had a “so sad, too bad” conversation. Then the dog stumbled to her feet, staggered a few steps and sat down.

They raced across the road. The black Lab had a bullet lodged above her right eye. They raced her to their vet, surgery was performed, and she was diagnosed as going to be perfectly fine. They named her Ruby. They took this sweet dog home only to have issues rise from the first steps in the door. The Yorkie acted out on everyone. It was almost too much consternation to deal with on a daily basis. Discussions of what to do with the big, black dog ensued, but no friends stepped up to the plate.

My heart melted. I blurted out, “Bring her to me. I have a Rottweiler who is the best dog on the planet. I have fostered a number of dogs over the years for the Baytown Humane Society. I think we can work this out.”

So, Ruby came to live with me, Bella, and Maggie in the fall of 2010. She turned out to be a sweet and loving dog who only wanted someone to love her. I took her to my local vet for an exam. This is where I learned the rest of her story – or the most plausible explanation we could come up with. The vet said it was obvious Ruby had been used as a breeding lab. Since she ended up with heart worms, the vet assumed that it was probably a puppy mill situation where the dogs do not get good veterinary medical care. When she hit the age of being no longer valuable as a breeder, she was not worth the expense of heart worm treatment. Can you imagine the confusion of being left alone, the heartbreak of being away from any life she may have known, then the absolute terror this dog suffered after being shot and hit - all in the matter of a couple of days? Can you have any doubts to my reaction to open my mouth and volunteer to take her?

I addressed the issue of heart worms and brought all her shots up to date. Ruby came home to be welcomed into a family – not a breeding mill cage. She blossomed. She bonded. She and Maggie fast became running buddies. I quickly came to respect how smart this breed is. Then, one night, I fully understood why the Labrador breed is tapped for use as assist dogs in all walks of life for the handicapped. Their natural intellect is amazing.

In case you haven’t read about my dog Bella, she is my Rottweiler. She is a BIG gal. She also has no clue she is a Rottweiler. She has been known to be my 119 pound lap poodle. Bella is terrified of storms. Hence, on the night a big storm rolled in while I was doing laundry, Bella stayed as close to me as possible. I made the mistake of not turning on a light on the way to the laundry room. I stepped out with a big basket load of clothes in my arms, completely blocking my vision from the floor of the dark room. Bella had placed herself in my path like a huge, black speed bump in the dark hallway of the laundry area. I went crashing across the room. Clothes flew everywhere. I hit the floor with my right leg crumpled in the wrong direction underneath me. My left elbow was bent in another direction and my face hit the floor full force. I couldn’t straighten my leg. Mother was useless in the television room unaware of anything going on around her.

I was actually trying not to sob as I dragged my body toward a dining chair to pull up. Ruby came to my side and nudged me. “Ruby! Go away! I am not playing!” I shouted. Ruby bumped her nose against my side harder. I screamed at her to go away. I managed to clear the floor by about an inch as I grasped a chair leg. I was in agony. Ruby, again, slammed her nose against me. She slid her head under my stomach. Within a second, Ruby shoved her whole body underneath mine and stood up. She stayed there until I had control of myself against the chair. Then she stepped away and silently watched me to ensure I was going to be okay. Bella was still on the floor imitating the speed bump.

I would not have believed it if it had not happened to me. Ruby has continued to amaze me over the last two years. She has an astounding inner clock. She knows the exact time for the evening meal. Every time Daylight Savings Time rolls in, and we roll the clocks back one hour, it is impossible re-set that inner clock. When “Fall Back” happened the first time, she barked at me one hour earlier than dinner time. I was the dumb one who didn’t catch on. All three girls get a dog cookie after they come in from a noon trip to the yard. Two of them will dally a bit, but Ruby heads straight for her spot in the kitchen. If I am the one dallying, Ruby will bark at me to remind me to get my act in gear.

While she was under heart worm treatment, she had to remain quiet. I took her to work with me. She stayed by my desk. She got into the habit of sitting by my office partner to say hello each day, then returned to her spot by me. My office partner worked part time Monday – Thursday and was off on Friday. Ruby did her visit each day until Friday rolled around. Friday was a different story. We walked in, sat down and started the day. Ruby finally got curious about the vacant chair across the room. She strolled over to my partner’s chair, sat down facing the empty seat, turned and looked at me as if to say, “Where is she? She’s not here.” Ruby sat there long enough for me to dig my phone out of my purse and take her picture. It was the saddest little face staring at me. I could hardly get any work done that day.

As I was packing for this latest move and sleeping on the floor exhausted every night, Ruby would lie beside me. I swear she sighed every time I sighed. This beautiful, intelligent creature could have graced someone’s household for the first ten years of her life. I can only hope the two-plus years with us have helped erase some of the past. She is slowing down, her muzzle is graying, but her heart has lost nothing with age. I pray she has no memory of the days she spent dumped like trash and was shot and left for dead.