Denied Adoption, I Took a Dark Path

Kiki: Grunge era fashion victim
with stray dog in Puerto Rico.

Even in the 90's, tough adoption standards made me skirt ethics.

I must confess that when I tried to adopt my first 2 dogs from Arizona shelters I was soundly rejected both times.  Granted, I was in my early twenties and had dyed my hair black at the time, so it’s possible the staff thought I had priorities other than being a dog baby mom, but I was happily involved with an animal rights organization, worked in a doggy daycare/boarding facility and had grown up not only with dogs, but with an amazing variety of animals, some of which were brought to us by neighbors because they were sick, lost or injured.  I considered myself rather a catch when it came to animal companionship.  And yet here I was being told an apartment was inappropriate for the dog.  So my chosen baby was returned to her 4x4 prison cell until someone with a palatial mansion happened by and wanted her.  It made me terribly sad and made little sense.

Pop and the pooch.  A teensy bit of mis-
representation with the best of intentions.

So I sent my Marine father in to adopt her.  He was a very noble, law abiding guy, but like John Wayne, happily broke rules that were unjust or just plain silly.  He walked out of the shelter carrying my Joey like a baby.  Drill sergeants look so cute with puppies.

Turns out a dog will do alright in an apartment if you walk them, make sure all their needs are met, and love, love, love them.

Then came Elli.  I went to a different shelter to adopt her.  By now I had moved into a house with a fenced yard.  The shelter where Elli resided would be happy to know this, but since I was kind of a doggy kidnapper on the lam, I did not report that I had changed from an apartment and could now better accommodate a dog, nor did I indicate that I had ever set foot in a shelter for any reason ever.  I presented as a fresh faced ingénue about to embark on her first adventure into dog adoption because I was utterly paranoid. What if they found out about me and confiscated Joey!?  I lied about having another dog because I could feel the heat, if you know what I mean, but my confidence that I was no longer in an apartment emboldened me.  When I told them proudly about my beautiful grassy yard, they asked how tall the fence was.  At the time this threw me for a bit of a loop.  Was it a trick? I hesitated then told them it was about 4 feet.  Surely this was an acceptable height. 

Joey and Elli.  They are no longer with me,
but I will love them forever.

I was rejected yet again.  I don’t think they had an actual buzzer or that “Wah, waaaaah” sound to accompany my humiliation, but I didn’t let it deter me.  I looked into Elli’s eyes and silently promised her that while I was going to walk away, a quiet man with a crew cut was coming back for her very, very soon.

The funny part is, when my dear dad went to adopt Elli, a boxer mix puppy with tiny little feet, they were filming a promotional video for the shelter.  They filmed the whole adoption process with my dad, the dog rescue equivalent of the guy under-aged kids pay to go into a convenience store to buy them beer.  He carried little Elli out much like he had carried Joey, her little paws clutching his strong neck.  Well now they could absolutely and without question ID our illicit adoption scam ring.  I remember when he brought her to my house I was waiting anxiously on the porch.  He walked up to me and handed over the warm little bundle.  I thanked him profusely and we

Elli: Little dog, big attitude.

laughed a bit, as criminals tend to do when they get away with it.  As he walked away, back to his International Scout (an SUV before SUVs) she watched him go with a sad expression.

My dad didn’t live too much longer after that.  She turned out to be a tough guy just like him.

Turns out that in reality, my fence was a perfectly fine height.  Luckily the two puppies got along splendidly – which was truly a relief because that part of the plan was left entirely to fate, my biggest potential error in the whole adoption.

Joey and Elli in their couch potato golden years.

Joey and Elli lived 14 more years each, passing away within less than a year of one another.  The silence of a home once occupied by dogs that is suddenly bereft of their joyful noise is deafening.

They were my buddies and I know I made mistakes with them along the way...starting with their improper adoption, but they had a lot of love, a lot of fun, and a little gas sometimes.  I hope I am lucky enough to always have a couple of dogs kicking me in the abdomen while I'm sleeping.  I think if I have to go into assisted living I will just ask to be boarded at a dog kennel.

There are times when the standards are so high for adopting animals that very good people are weeded out.  It's a loss for the animal, the potential adopter, as well as the shelter.  So many of them are underfunded and full to capacity.  The staff in many of these places are volunteers or employees who are probably overworked and underpaid, but are called to save animals and do it with passion. Should they relax their standards?  I don't think so - not at all.  I will gladly abide home visits and lengthy applications because I know that this process makes it more likely that animals are going to people who will treat them properly - hopefully like family.  Urine samples?  Yes.  Need some blood?  Fine.

Joey's toddler years.  Playing with an orange.

I have read of people outraged that they were rejected, who then turned to a breeder or
pet shop to purchase a dog or other animal.  It is in every way a tragedy.  It saddens me deeply and it's a flaw in our system, but I truly cannot think of a better way to screen adopters.  I wish there was a scanner that could be swept over a person to instantly reveal their character in a tidy printout. Are there overzealous rescuers who are jaded enough that they make it impossible for loving adopters to walk away with an animal in need? Of course, but we can't risk the alternative of handing over animals with little more than the a hope they'll be safe.

-Kiki Nusbaumer

A Cautionary Tail (Adopt Capone)

Capone, a handsome, ball obsessed boy who deserves a good home.
He is available for adoption now at Rebound Hounds www.reboundhounds.org.

At Who Rescued Who? we are engaged in social media to communicate with our followers and to help us with research and promote our organization.  Each day as we peruse Facebook and Twitter there is a barrage of posts about animals in urgent need of rescue and placement.  We do our best to share the images of these dogs and cats who are earmarked for euthanasia.  These shares can save lives.  There is a powerful community advocating for these victims of the system, often surrendered by their humans for sometimes ludicrous, sometimes legitimate reasons.

On March 4^th the face of a beautiful one-year-old pit bull filled the screen as we checked into our Facebook account.  His name is Capone.  He was surrendered by his human who cited “personal problems” as her reason for relinquishing him to the system.  So often our personal problems become theirs.  One could argue that men and women who experience personal problems do not relinquish their children.  The evolution of animals as family has made its way through parts of society, but we’ve such a long way to go.  Still, if an animal’s quality of life will suffer because an individual or family chooses to uphold their side of the bargain we make with our companions, regardless of the adversity they face, is it better to re-home them?  Certainly this must be determined on an individual basis.  Who knows what agony Capone’s adopter experienced when she knew she could not keep him.

Capone was slated for execution at noon that Wednesday.  A snow storm was headed east.

Capone's poster.

We had three hours to put a hold on him so he would be spared for one more day.

When all the online paperwork was finished there was one half hour to spare.  A half hour more of life, had no one spoken for this dog.  But he was safe, for now.  We are in Richmond, Virginia and he was in Manhattan.  I proceeded blindly, not tempered by reason or practicality, but for the sole purpose of saving his life.  With the bosses' blessing and two days off for the trip, I planned to depart at 6am the next day.  The dogs, Molly and Mazzy, were in the car with their winter coats packed, sleeping bags spread out, for their trip to meet the big guy in the Big Apple.

The snow began an hour into our journey.  It piled on 95, at times slowing traffic to 20 miles per hour.  The windshield was constantly coated with dirt and ice and the shoulders of the road were littered with vehicles less fortunate than us.  We powered on in our Suzuki Grand Vitara, 4 wheel drive the whole way.

We made it in ten hours.

In New York we made our way to NYC Animal Care and Control and found a parking space directly in front of the doors.  This made it seem as if the trip was blessed by some higher power, but our luck was about to run out.

When they brought Capone down we met him outside.  He was one of the most beautiful dogs I’d ever seen, with a golden coat and rippling muscles, head the size of a basketball and a wide goofy smile.  My little pibble seemed comfortable with Capone, but my small, 9 year old mix, the dog who’d been a loyal hearing ear dog for two deaf pit mixes, seemed terrified, growling and barking and trying to make herself big next to this giant of a pup.  It was an unusual reaction from her and my heart sank.  I tried to make light of it and went inside to talk to the staff.  The adoption counselor remarked on Molly’s behavior, freeing me to express my fears that this may be a poor match through no fault of Capone’s. 

“I don’t want to be ‘one of those people.'” I confided in him.  I wouldn’t leave Capone to be put down.  After some discussion I learned that Rebound Hounds (www.reboundhounds.org) had stepped up to rescue Capone if he wasn’t adopted.  One way or the other the dog’s life would be spared, but I was crestfallen as I piled my dogs back into the car.  I was plagued with the knowledge that in spite of my best intentions, I had let Capone down.

So we left New York City, getting lost for an hour before finding the turnpike.  In New Jersey we hit a drift in the right lane and slid toward the guardrail, thankfully not out into traffic.  I put the car into 4 wheel low and crawled out of the snow bank and down the exit ramp to get gas and collect myself.  After pumping gas I turned to get into the car and found all the doors locked.  My old dog Molly was sitting on my key chain.  She had locked me out with her butt.  It was bitterly cold and my fingers instantly began to freeze.  I knew it would not stay warm in the car much longer.  I knew I’d have to break the window, but not before pleading with Molly to press the “unlock” button, suddenly hoping she had Lassie-like tendencies.  Smart as she is, she either couldn’t understand my pleading or was still mad at me for assuming she’d be happy with a big brother, and curled into a doggy circle to watch me lose it outside.  It would be a cold ride home with no window.

I was close to crying when a trucker came walking across the parking lot toward me.  He held an unfurled coat hanger in his hand.  It may as well have been a lance and his brown jacket a suit of armor.

“I saw what you were doing.  My dog just did the same thing to me!”  He said and pointed toward a big rig with a dog seated in the passenger seat.

He jammed the hanger through the rubber seal of the driver side window and tried for a good 15 minutes to get the doors unlocked to no avail.  Then two more guys came up.  They held the antenna of their pick-up.  Bending it slightly, they pushed it through the window.  With my trucker friend helping guide them, in just a few tries they pressed the button to unlock the doors.  I would not have to shatter my window.  They refused my offer to pay them for a new antenna, saying simply, as they screwed it bank into its place on their truck, “We always use it for this.”  3 heroes at a New Jersey gas stop.  They are indelibly tied to my memory of Capone.  There are still really decent people out there; people who would help a complete stranger on a freezing night.

So then came the philosophizing as we headed back out into the night and I wallowed in

Seeking a forever home!  Find Capone at Rebound
Hounds in NY www.reboundhounds.org

self-pity as I drove, white-knuckle grip on the wheel.  The optimist might have a different take on all this.  So far we were all alive.  Indeed even Capone was at least alive.  I would have to take solace in that.  There is always something worse that can happen.

I looked through the rear-view mirror at Molly and Mazzy as they slept on their sleeping bags in the back, the initial shine of a car ride long since tarnished, giving way to the kind of exhaustion an overly long journey can induce.  They were cozy and warm.  I thought more of Capone and hoped he had a warm blanket and a few hugs as he moved over to Rebound Hounds for the next leg of his journey, a cramp of guilt sticking with me as we pulled out of Maryland and into Virginia.  And all these dogs left behind and in our prayers and good intentions make me think now of a line from the Sylvia Plath poem called The Jailer:  "My ribs show.  What have I eaten? Lies and smiles."

At 2am we arrived home.  I ran Molly and Mazzy out into the backyard to potty before bed, cheering them on quietly in spite of my fatigue (sorry Cesar Millan, it’s just how we roll: peepee and poopoo are much like a sporting event at our house).  As I waited in the quiet dark for them to run up the stairs I tried to figure out what was learned on this otherwise fruitless journey.  I tried to figure out if I was accidentally a bad person.  The hopeful rush of well wishers as I informed them of my plan to race up to New York to adopt Capone, the joy at the prospect of bringing home a big brother for my pups, the anti-climactic departure as I drove away without him; the heavy little empty place in me that was supposed to be filled by Capone; what have I learned? 

The words of the Urgent Help Center employee at NYC ACC:

“We see too often situations where people adopted a dog to save them and the dog ended up returned, in a bad situation, MIA or dead, so I would advise you to think through the worse case scenario and what you would do. Let us know if you have any additional questions.”

-Kiki Nusbaumer