Remembering Pete and Redmond

I've been volunteering for about the past five months, once a week, at the PAWS animal shelter in Lynwood, WA. I go out on Saturday afternoon and spend several hours walking dogs. It is by far one of the sanest things I do all week. The dogs are always so glad to see me (or anyone else for that matter) and so eager to get out and walk. I fall in love easily on those Saturday afternoons.

Of all the animals in the world, it seems to me, we are most closely linked, as a species, to dogs. In a way, we stand to them as God supposedly does to us: they have been shaped over vast stretches of time to our needs and our desires. We created them and they, unless they have been severely mistreated or abused, adore us. A dog is all loyalty, love and service. In many ways, I think they are better than us.

PAWS is a 'low-kill' shelter. That means they never euthanize any healthy, adoptable dog, no matter how long it has been at the shelter. Only those with severe medical or behavior problems -- such as dangerous aggression toward people or other animals -- are euthanized. I don't like to think about that too much. The dogs I am most drawn to are the "problem" breeds -- the ones which have bad reputations and which always have to be tested: rotweilers, pit bulls, chow chows, sharpei.

I met Pete just about the time I was finishing up my initial three month commitment as a volunteer. He was a chow mix, nearly ten years old, and completely deaf. I spent quite a bit of time trying to get him to sit before I figured that last one out. Sometime during his wanderings, someone had shaved all of Pete's hair off, probably to get rid of tangles and burrs -- so when I first met him and saw all the patches in his fur, I thought he had mange. He also had the black tongue characteristic of chows. His face looked like a large teddy bear. It was love at first sight.

It made me really sad to think that Pete had spent his life with someone and now, probably by accident, they were separated. Ten years old is pretty old for a dog. He was someone's lifelong buddy. The first couple of weeks Pete was in the shelter he was listless and depressed. I worried about him. At his age, he wasn't going to be easy to match up with a new home. One person adopted him and then brought him back because Pete spent too much time sleeping! Well, what do you expect? You should be doing so well when you're 70+. Gradually, with love and care from the staff and volunteers Pete began to adapt to his new environment and regain some enthusiasm. Of course, you never want a dog to adapt too well to a shelter, to become "institutionalized". I was getting more and more worried about Pete. I just about had my roommate convinced to let me adopt him, but our landlord was firm in his "no pets" policy. I put together an e-mail complete with Pete's best photo and sent it out to everyone I know. The staff at PAWS assured me that he would not be euthanized, that they believed in Pete and were determined to find him a home. Within a week or so, they did.

Pete and I took quite a few walks together, though. He wasn't much into playing games, not even Frisbee, but he liked to go out to the yard and run around. He also like to just be held in his pen, and sit with you. Chows can be somewhat distant, and Pete was like that sometimes, but he could also be very loving.

I used to think about Pete's deafness. I knew he had once been able to hear, and I wondered if Pete, or any dog in that situation, knows the difference between "can't hear" and "don't hear". That is, did Pete realize in some way that the world had once contained lots of sounds, and that now he could no longer here them. Or did he just assume, moment by moment, that everything was quiet? It seemed, somehow, like a very important question to me when I was with him.

I was very happy to see Pete get adopted, and also sad not to see him anymore. A few weeks after Pete left for his new home, I met Redmond, a shar pei/chow mix who was brought in one Saturday while I was working by the people who found him. He was a beautiful dog, and that week and the next I sat with him in his cell after everyone was walked and brushed him and just helped him feel less scared of the shelter, which is tough on a lot of dogs. Redmond was a very sweet dog ... to people. But he showed serious signs of aggression toward other dogs, and after he was given a behavior evaluation, it was decided that he was not adoptable. A shelter like PAWS cannot afford to adopt out a dog that might hurt someone or even someone's pet. The liability could destroy them. I had a pretty good idea how the story would end for Redmond: not as happy as Pete. The next week when I got back he was gone, and the staff gently confirmed that he had been euthanized. I have a lot of respect for, and complete trust in, the PAWS staff. I know they never make a decision like that lightly, and do what they think is best for all concerned. There really was no other choice in this case. Still, Redmond was becoming my friend, and I was very sad. I talked to other volunteers, to my friends, to anyone who would listen. I grieved. I dreamed about Redmond and discussed the dream with my therapist. I wanted to get a picture of him to remember him, but there were none.

Goodbye buddies.