by Jim Gorant
Catalina and Davor looked at each other. Neither was quite sure at first but they soon realized that it must be true: Jasmine had just barked. It was a weak and high-pitched thing, like a puppy’s bark, but it was undoubtedly a bark. Jasmine had finally spoken.
There was no anger in the; little noise, but for the first time Jasmine had put sound to her fear; she’d voiced her struggle.
By the spring of 2008, Jasmine had been with Catalina for more than a year, and the bond the two shared was stronger than ever. Catalina sang Jasmine her song every day, and each time she did she felt as though the dog would look right into her soul with those soft brown eyes. Catalina could see how insanely happy this would make Jasmine, but she knew it made her just as happy. In the afternoon she would watch Jasmine and Desmond play in the yard and sleep in the sun. In the evenings she would work with Jasmine and then sit with the soft music playing.
Jasmine had become so comfortable and appropriate with other dogs that when Recycled Love took in a new dog and they needed to test its behavior, Jasmine was the dog they would introduce it to. Catalina decided it was time to get down to basics. She enrolled Jasmine in a general obedience class. She had no idea how the dog would react, but she wanted to try.
It wasn’t a problem. Jasmine fit right into the class and did reasonably well, although there were some things she would not do. For whatever reason she refused to lie down. She would sit, and walk on a loose leash, but she would not lie down. Likewise she would not come to anyone who called her except Catalina. In fact, if she was loose in the yard and anyone but Catalina tried to catch her-all they had to do was grab her leash, which she was almost always wearing-it was nearly impossible. Still, she did perform much better in class than anyone would have predicted a year earlier, and soon Catalina introduced her to a few new friends.
Catalina and Davor decided to take their kids to Croatia, his home country, for three weeks in the late summer. Catalina was reluctant to leave Jasmine for that long, but her family sacrificed a lot for her work with the dogs and she wanted to make sure she devoted the necessary love and energy to them, too.
The question was, who would look after Jasmine? Catalina thought about this for some time, and eventually settled on her friend, Robert. [4] He was great with dogs-he had adopted two pit bull mixes-and he was between jobs, so he would have the time. Robert and his dogs began joining Catalina and her dogs for long walks around the neighborhood and in a few local parks.
Jasmine quickly became comfortable with the other dogs and over the next few months she developed a working relationship with Robert. He was the first man to bond with Jasmine in any way, and that fact alone gave Catalina comfort that she had made the right choice.
The plan called for Catalina to put her other dogs in long-term boarding and for Robert and his dogs to move in with Jasmine. It would still be a huge and potentially terrifying adjustment for Jasmine, but at least this way she would be able to stay in her own crate and in her own home, with its familiar smells and routines, even if those who usually shared it with her were absent.
On the night before the trip, Catalina and Jasmine had the house to themselves. The other dogs had been boarded and Davor and the kids had gone to his parents’ house for the night; she would meet them the next day after Robert came. Catalina gave Jasmine the run of the place and Jasmine loved it. She loved having Catalina’s undivided attention and no one else around to worry about.
Shortly after Catalina went to sleep that night she heard the scratching of paws on the staircase. A moment later Jasmine jumped up on the bed. She circled once, plopped down and curled into a ball, and there the two of them slept.
The next day Robert and his dogs arrived. Catalina stuck around for a while to help them settle in. She stayed longer than necessary, certainly longer than Robert needed her to, but she was reluctant to go. At last there was no other excuse to stall and no more time for it. She grabbed the last few things she needed and turned to go.
Then Catalina and Jasmine said good-bye.
36
THE TOUR GROUPS COME through Best Friends on a daily basis. They’re packed with animal lovers, cross-country sojourners who’ve stopped off for a day or Grand Canyon refugees who’ve come to see the red cliffs and ancient cave drawings. They walk around the compound in tight groups, learning about what’s happening there and getting to meet a few of the animals.
One of the creatures most frequently brought out for the literal dog and pony show was Little Red. Although she was terrified when strangers approached her, it turned out that she was willing to perform for them when they kept their distance. Perhaps she was just channeling her anxiety into nervous outbursts, but as long as no one tried to pet her or get too close, she was okay.
Her personality had emerged over the months and it turned out she was a bit of a goofball. Like many of the Vick dogs, she was something of a puppy in a grown dog’s body. They’d seen and experienced so little that the whole world was still very new and exciting to them and they acted accordingly. When Little Red was brought out to meet visitors she became very animated, jumping up and running around, zooming back and forth, and chasing her tail. She would run across the room and jump onto her bed, which would then slide across the floor.
This would have been amusing in and of itself, but like puppies, many of the Vick dogs seemed to lack a degree of body control. Or several degrees. Perhaps being chained up all day stunted the development of their motor skills, because they lurched, they stumbled, they fell, they ran into things. They were clumsy. This lack of coordination provided the staff with plenty of comic relief on the obstacle course and even when they were simply out walking. With Little Red in front of the tour groups it added an element of slapstick to her excitement. She bounced off walls, she skidded around corners, her front legs slid out from under so that she face-planted on the floor. She looked for all the world like a newborn colt on uppers and the people loved every minute of it.
Little Red had more to offer, though. Her trainers had taught her to wave, and she would raise a paw and greet the crowd like Queen Elizabeth. And the crowning touch was her smile. The staff had so enjoyed Little Red’s nervous grin that they’d taught her to do it on request. This was not strictly for their entertainment.
By putting it to a command they changed it from an involuntary reaction to a learned behavior. It was no longer something that Little Red did reflexively when she felt threatened or scared, but something that she did intentionally when she wanted to connect through the praise and reward that followed. She owned it now, and when she flashed her canines to the crowd, she owned them too.
The best part about the smile was that it was now possible to make the argument that it reflected true happiness. With better care and feeding Little Red’s thin and scraggly fur had improved so that it was now thick and shiny. Her scars had faded and were covered up a bit by her fuller coat. She looked like a new dog.
Even while she was a hit with people, Little Red had also made progress in her relationship with other dogs. When the staff introduced her to Cherry Garcia, the meeting had gone well. The two dogs got along and enjoyed playing together. So over the following days the staff introduced Little Red to a few other dogs. Most were positive experiences, but not all. Curly, for instance, was nervous and uneasy, and Little Red sensed that, which made her anxious too. She went stiff with fear, and although she didn’t go after Curly, she showed signs that if something wasn’t done to alleviate the tension, she might react defensively.
Little Red’s caretakers understood that at least for the time being, she simply wasn’t comfortable with all dogs. Anxious dogs seemed to make her anxious, and they knew the only way to alleviate that anxiety was to let her keep meeting new dogs. The more positive experiences she had, the more she’d be able to trust that nothing bad would happen.
Her caretakers brought her together with Handsome Dan, another of the Vick dogs. He was tall and tawny brown with a black snout. Little Red was drawn
to him instantly. She went up and began licking his face as soon as she met him. She loved him, and he seemed to love her, too. Within a few weeks, Little Red and Handsome Dan were shacked up in a kennel for two. They had a full indoor-outdoor run all to themselves. It was a vision of bliss as they played together, ran together, and curled up at night together.
On her own, Little Red kept progressing as well. After about six months, the staff had introduced a new wrinkle: cars. Instead of just walks, they began taking the dogs for rides in the afternoon. Like many of the dogs, Little Red was somewhat suspicious and uncomfortable at first. She didn’t like the sound of the engine starting and the movement. She refused to climb in and had to be placed inside.
But the car gave them greater options. They could visit other buildings and new people. And Little Red discovered the creek, a winding waterway that carved through the bottom of the canyon. The first time Carissa Hendrick took Little Red to the creek, she had the dog on a twenty-foot lead. Little Red got out of the car, saw the water, and charged across the bank and right into the drink.
It was the first time she’d been introduced to a new place and met it without fear or apprehension. Little Red loved the water, and her time at the creek helped boost her confidence even more. Her caretakers continued to take her to new places and to introduce her to new things. They knew that every time she went somewhere different or interacted with another person or animal and had a positive experience, it would help her grow. Her fear was really a fear of the unknown, and once she had the confidence that the unknown was not a bad thing, she would be able to relax and see the world for what it was.
Little Red’s worldview began to change. Instead of greeting new adventures with a sense of “Uh oh, what are we doing,” she brought more of a “Hey, what are we doing?” vibe to the day. Her world wasn’t huge, but it was getting bigger.
At the same time, negative experiences could still cause setbacks. Taking Little Red out to sit by the road and watch cars, so she could get used to the sight and sound of them, required starting out well back from the blacktop. If the cars got too close, Little Red might become unnerved and the next time she saw a car she might be even more scared than she started out.
As with many of the other dogs, taking care of Little Red became a delicate balancing act. Her handlers needed to consistently push her into new places and experiences to help her overcome her anxiety, but they also needed to manage those excursions carefully and go at a deliberate pace.
Just like that, Handsome Dan was moving on. He and Little Red had been moved to Octagon #3. They were no longer sequestered among only Vick dogs but were living happily and easily among the general population at Best Friends. Little Red was progressing well, but Handsome Dan was doing even better. In the summer of 2009, he was moved to a foster home and that December, he became one of the first Vick dogs at Best Friends to be adopted.
Little Red still had work to do. She was much more open to new situations and people but her fears prevented her from passing her Canine Good Citizen test, a must before she could move to a foster home. One part of the test required her to behave appropriately while first being approached by a stranger and then being handled by that stranger. Little Red couldn’t get through that part of the test without showing her anxiety.
Now she had lost her buddy too. Hendrick worried that Handsome Dan’s departure could cause another setback, but Little Red seemed to handle it well. She clearly missed him, but to help keep her from wondering too much about what had become of him, her handlers decided to make Little Red an “out dog.” That meant that instead of spending her time confined to her kennel and run, she would be allowed to roam around the open areas of the octagon. She had the run of the place.
This would allow her to spend her day exploring and dealing with the people in the office on a constant basis. It would also expose her to changing situations and force her to deal with all the new people that came and went. It was a chance for her to continue getting comfortable with people she didn’t know.
Those encounters could still be tough for Little Red, but her time among those she was comfortable with was a pleasure. She visited with everyone and among such friends she was playful and snuggly. She goofed around, she sat on laps, she liked nothing more than being picked up and cradled like a baby. When someone held her that way, she did everything but purr.
Before long, she could jump in and out of a car without hesitation, and she would come and go from one building to another without fear. She was no longer unsocialized; now she was simply shy. The process of drawing her out continued.
A while after Handsome Dan left she befriended another dog, a pit bull rescued from a fight ring in Missouri, and they were put together to share a kennel, playing and running during the afternoons like old buddies. The charts tracking her progress continued to trend in the right direction. Her fear, which jumped as high as an eight on a scale of one to ten at the beginning, dropped to an average of less than two. Her confidence inched above five; her happiness approached seven.
37
WITH HECTOR IN THE house, Cris Cohen was back to square one. He was setting up the small plastic crate beneath the window in the dining room. He was walking two dogs separately every morning. He was getting tied up in the leash and he was retracing the same old route past the little school and on to Sunset Park.
All these things reminded him of Jonny. He certainly missed the little guy, but he knew that would pass. It always did. Having Hector around helped. He demanded Cohen’s full attention. Another big, fawn-colored dog with a black snout (he could have been Leo’s twin), Hector had a series of deep brutal scars on his chest and front legs, and a few more on his snout and back legs. Unlike Jonny and many of the other remaining dogs, he’d definitely been fought. He’d also spent his time in one of the sparest shelters. And yet here he was, not perfect but in better shape than many others.
It became clear to Cohen very quickly that Hector was exceptionally smart. That meant he had great potential, but also that he would require more work. Like Jonny he could be a bit restless-remnants of the kennel stress-and downright mischievous. He stole socks from Cohen’s room, hid shoes around the house, and dragged the area rug from the bedroom down the hall to the living room.
He was also very people-focused and warm. He loved to be petted and to sit with someone. As Hector settled into the routine and began to relax, he progressed quickly. Cohen was happy to see the results, but he was struggling. He couldn’t stop thinking about Jonny.
Every time he took on a foster he gave a piece of himself away. It was impossible to do what he did without forming a close bond with the dog. The animal itself was less accepting of training if it didn’t feel a certain closeness and eagerness to please the trainer. In the past, that bond had always faded over time for Cohen. He figured the same thing would happen with Jonny, but it wasn’t. Just the opposite. He felt like he missed Jonny more and more as time went by. He had talked to Jen about his feelings a number of times, but now he became convinced he needed to do something about it.
Cris and Jen had a unique relationship. It was a partnership that extended not only to their work with dogs but their entire lives. They’d been engaged for three years and dreamed of marrying on a Spanish galleon that sailed up the coast of California. Planning it was a feat of coordination that had kept them at bay for many months, but neither of them particularly cared. They were together and staying that way, so they’d get to the wedding when they got to it.
The couple was lucky to share such a unique perspective on life and a sense that making each other happy came before all else. Cris knew how Jen would respond, and she did not disappoint. “If you feel strongly about it, you should do it,” she said. “Call up and see if you can get Jonny back.”
What she left unsaid was the part that gave Cris pause. He knew that taking in a second dog full-time meant the end of fostering. He liked working with the dogs and feeling like he was helping to solve the pit bull pro
blem. When people asked him how he could possibly give up the dogs he’d fostered, after he spent so much time with them and put so much work into them, he would say, “Every one I keep is one more that ends up dying in the shelter.” In other words, giving up one gave him the opportunity to save another. Giving up those opportunities to help was itself hard for him to accept.
Besides, by now Jonny might very well have been adopted by someone else. Cohen dropped the idea and focused on Hector, who was turning into something of a rock star. By early May he’d passed the American Temperament Test Society’s canine test, a demanding multipoint examination of a dog’s disposition. If it passes it passes, if not, it can’t try again. Less than a month later, Hector aced his Canine Good Citizen test.
For Cohen these milestones were bittersweet; they were great accomplishments, but they brought back the dreams he once had for Jonny. He couldn’t get the little guy out of his mind. He continued to bring up the idea of getting Jonny back, and every time he did Jen encouraged him to go for it. Still, the foster question brought him to a halt, until one day a friend gave him a different perspective.
The friend pointed out that every time Cris went out with his dogs, to the school playground, the park, the corner store, people saw how well-behaved and friendly his pit bulls were. Simply by having these dogs and displaying the heights they were capable of reaching, he was helping the breed and contributing to the cause.
Cohen sat on that for a few days. He talked about it some more with Jen. Then one day he picked up the phone and called Donna Reynolds. “Can I have Jonny back?” he said.
All was quiet for moment, and Cohen knew what was coming. He’d waited too long. Someone else had adopted Jonny. Reynolds’s voice came over the line, slow and mocking: “Suckerrrr.”