Shelter Dogs Aren't Broken

“Shelter dogs aren't broken. They've simply experienced more life.”

So states the touching Pedigree dog food commercial that ran throughout my On-Demand viewing of “Bethanny Getting Married?” last night.

I worked my wimpy abdominal muscles as I pulled up from my horizontal couch position and peered at her. She was sleeping soundly on her faux suede-covered bed. Her big paws were tucked under her hairy belly – one that never held pups.

I whispered, “Hey Greta girl. You doin’ alright?”

Though her eyes don’t open, she acknowledged me with a wagging tail that smacked the drywall behind her. That’s pretty standard pillow talk for us at 9 p.m.

Greta found herself in a shelter twice within six months when I met her at Halifax Humane Society in February 2007. She trembled and crouched silently in the back-corner cage as the other mutts yapped at me from the moment I peered in the “small and medium dogs” room. But she never did. Her eyes hardly met mine. She was arguably the most damaged hound in the place.

“Please go slow. I’m scared,” read the sign on her cage door. It was secured beside a doctor’s note and eye drips, signaled there’s a lot more going on inside this Bassett mix’s mind than most passersby would notice. The truth was: She was sad. She needed someone to love her. If we didn’t adopt her, I had doubts that anyone else would. I couldn’t leave it to chance.

She was strong on a leash – strong like an ox – and it took two of us, me and the shelter staffer, to wrangle her to the fenced in “meet and greet” area. She wouldn’t fetch, but she could run like the wind.

Three-and-a-half years later, she’s still Greta, but a healthier version of Greta. That tearing eye is from aggravating eyelashes, not an infection. That naughty leash behavior has been curbed with a “gentle leader” leash, though we flunked out of obedience school. And, she still runs like the cheetah – especially when flexing her freedom at Barkley Square Dog Park. No dog yet has outrun her there.

Her paws smell like Cheetos; it’s true. Her nails grow so fast (I like to think it’s from her nutritious diet), that I can’t keep her from tap dancing along our hardwood floors. She’s timid with strangers, but fiercely protective of her family. She likes children more than men. And she follows me around the house like a toddler…even to the bathroom.

She talks to me when she needs food or water or a walk. She kisses me when she’s feeling affectionate. She drives me crazy at times and keeps me sane at others.

I’m proud I adopted a shelter dog when I had the chance. The movie that plays in her head – the two years of her life before we adopted her – is one I’ll never see. But I know it wasn’t healthy. I see a glimpse of her reel-to-reel when she hesitates to take a treat from my hand. I see it when she flinches when I latch her collar. I see it when she goes nuts at joggers who come within five feet of my son.

The good news about Greta is she’s healing. I know I have begun to help her edit out the bad and bring in the good memories. Like those Pedigree commercial dogs, she’s from a shelter, yes, and she’s experienced more life. I’m happy for her that most of it will be safe, secure and with someone who cares. Every animal deserves as much.