Welcome to the St. Louis Senior Dog Project Blog. Pleasee check out our adoptable pets at www.olderbetter.petfinder.org. And ready on to hear about Zoe, a little white dog who'd spent most of her life in a puppymill before going home with Suzanne Murdoch and family. The Murdoch's weren't new to pet adoption. They already shared their home with Sammy, a puppymill reject adopted 10 years ago. Suzanne sent us the following story about how Zoe became their newest pet. She calls it "The Six Stages of Adoption."
1. Polite Interest
A few weeks ago a co-worker who had been fostering dogs for some years showed me a picture of a little white dog she was caring for. "She's real sweet," Virginia said. "Do you think you might be interested?" Well, that was an innocent enough question which called for a definite answer. "Well, I don't know, " I answered, "maybe." "Why don't you come and see her this weekend? We're having an adoption event." Well, I could t hink of all sorts of reasons this was probably not a good time, but what could it hurt? "I'll talk to my husband, " I replied. "We can probaby come."
2. Skepticism
On Saturday my husband and I and Emily, our youngest daughter, traveled the 35 miles to see her. Before we even reached the front door, we could see several dogs being walked through the parking lot -- whether by volunteers or prospective families I wasn't sure. This couldn't be good. We had a dog, and she was perfect. Once inside, I saw her immediately. She was a puppy mill momma, coming from 4-5 years in a crate, devoted to having babies and doing little else. Her fur was long and matted with two anomalous wispy apricot patches like a wide belt on her sides, sticking out straight and course through her creamy curly coat. She had been drooling -- a lot, probably exaggerated by a recent tooth extraction, the fur on her face laced with long wet brown streaks. Her eyes were lovely -- smoky, big, and brown. She nosed around nervously and alternately sat and got up, obviously unsure of what to do or who we were. Emily loved her immediately.
3. Procrastination
She wasn't Sammy. We needed to think, really think, about this. David suggested we bring Sammy sometime soon and visit Virginia to see how it might work. Virginia simply said, "I understand. You need a trial period. Take her home for a week or two and see. Give her at least a week." Well, this wasn't the plan. "But we don't have a leash or a way to secure her in our car How wil we get her home?" I protested. "In my loving arms, " Emily quickly asserted. Virginia handed us the leash. I was out of excuses.
4. Irritation
Emily held her, dog drool leaving lavish wet pools on my daughter's jeans. On the way home, we named her Zoe. Surprisingly, the dreaded first meeting with Sammy on our front lawn went smoothly with wagging tails and a few "getting to know you" sniffs. That first day was a disaster. As soon as we brought her in the house, she relieved herself. Grass held no charm for her; fortunately she found the perfect place to take care of her needs -- on our many hand-loomed Turkish rugs. Scraping up inchoate mess after mess, I fumed. Walking her involved an elaborately choreographed dance, alternately spinning, ducking, and unthreading the tangled lines. Zoe still steadfastly refused to share any of her bodily products with the great outdoors. What were we thinking?
5. Bargaining
By Monday evening, I was done. We had made a mistake, and we needed to return her. David agreed. "We agreed to a week, though," he rightly cautioned. I hate it when he's right, and I reluctantly agreed. We were to keep her just a little longer. Astonishingly, as we acclimated and Emily lavished her with love, the accidents were fewer, and we all relaxed. It had only been a few days, but we were making progress.
6. Home at Last
By Wednesday, it was done. I couldn't remember what had given me pause. Today, short days later, she is fearless, having mastered the stairs, house training, but not the leash. She is wonderful company for Sammy -- despite her occasional lapse of judgment and Sammy's need to issue a quick correction. The other day, our oldest daughter accidentally dropped Zoe's retractable lead and, as it jerked her way, she (Zoe) took off like a shot with her plastic pursuer skittering gamely after her. I thought we wouldn't see her again, and my heart sank. At the end of our cul-de-sac, she made an abrupt u-turn, and I held my breath. Now a white blur raced down the opposite length of our street, making a beeline to our front door, the leash battered but still attached. She was home.
Several months have passed since Suzanne wrote this piece. All is well and Zoe continues to be a beautiful ( picture is proof) member of the Murdoch family. Thanks for the story, Suzanne. And good for you, Zoe.
Ellen Ellick
President/Founder
St. Louis Senior Dog Project
EllenE9466@aol.com
