Joe and I often visit our close friends and their strapping sons, who share their home with Emma, a beautiful two-and-a-half year old rotweiler/shepherd mix. Though delighted to see me she approaches quietly, breathes in my scent, then licks my hand, just once. Her tail wags gently. This beautiful chocolate and black dog has been terribly abused, but has managed to begin again.
This is her story.
Neighbors kept hearing barks from the abandoned house nearby. Sometimes a head could be seen gazing out one dirty window. Weeks later, when there was only silence, someone finally called the police.
Upon entry they saw bare, freezing rooms stinking of feces and urine. Where was the dog?
They found her in a back room, skeletal, standing in a corner with her head down, too weak to even tremble. She merely waited. When approached she avoided eye contact, turning her head toward the window, and daylight, past caring. They noticed her belly’s withered teats. She’d had pups, even that young, who’d vanished, along with the residents. This yearling dog had been kicked and battered, then discarded, like trash.
The animal shrank from the man, so his female partner sat on the floor nearby, making soft conversation. There was no response at first, but then she saw resigned acceptance in those dulled eyes. They gently wrapped her in a blanket and rushed her to the vet.
Emma was filthy, teeming with fleas and intestinal worms. Her body and ears had multiple wounds, indicating her short life had been brutal. Her coat was thin; fur fell out in patches. Offered clean water she looked fearfully around, but managed to sit up and lap. How long had it been?
After urgent medical attention, a warm deflea-ing bath and a meal of soft mash, this rack of bones was settled into a thick blanket in a roomy cage. Everyone fervently hoped for a miracle.
Weeks later she’d recovered enough strength to be evaluated. Her sweet disposition needed nurturing by a loving, patient family.
She entered her new home horrified by so many big, booted men. Rules and obedience commands were mastered immediately, to avoid upsetting anyone. Eating stopped because she wouldn’t turn her back, so her mistress fed her by hand, one morsel at a time. Meals took forever.
Eventually Emma understood that brooms just sweep, hands are gentle, and booted feet merely walk. Always.
Emma spends hours in her comfy bed-nest, placed so that she can look out at the countryside. She finds the view a constant delight.
Gradually she’s gained weight, and with it, some trust. She’s much more relaxed now, and eats on her own, head down, back turned. She loves deep snow, and is passionate about retrieving tennis balls hurled far into the vast white meadow by her family’s alpha male. She never returns empty-mouthed, though locating it might take awhile.
She’s even made a friend. Emma’s tentative teasing amuses Dexter, a large, easy-going apricot-and-white cat who keeps his sharp claws sheathed. The pair enjoys sharing space by the big wood stove, which keeps the farmhouse snug.
Emma’s becoming protective of her family, and, having found her voice again after nearly a year of silence, will bark - just once - when someone unfamiliar approaches the house. She doesn’t lunge or threaten, though she’s a big dog.
I love stroking her thick, soft coat. She holds my gaze for a really long time, before sighing. I believe it is from happiness. Emma has experienced the worst from humans, but has forgiven, and faces life with increasing confidence.
Best of all, she’s learning to love.
This is her story.
Neighbors kept hearing barks from the abandoned house nearby. Sometimes a head could be seen gazing out one dirty window. Weeks later, when there was only silence, someone finally called the police.
Upon entry they saw bare, freezing rooms stinking of feces and urine. Where was the dog?
They found her in a back room, skeletal, standing in a corner with her head down, too weak to even tremble. She merely waited. When approached she avoided eye contact, turning her head toward the window, and daylight, past caring. They noticed her belly’s withered teats. She’d had pups, even that young, who’d vanished, along with the residents. This yearling dog had been kicked and battered, then discarded, like trash.
The animal shrank from the man, so his female partner sat on the floor nearby, making soft conversation. There was no response at first, but then she saw resigned acceptance in those dulled eyes. They gently wrapped her in a blanket and rushed her to the vet.
Emma was filthy, teeming with fleas and intestinal worms. Her body and ears had multiple wounds, indicating her short life had been brutal. Her coat was thin; fur fell out in patches. Offered clean water she looked fearfully around, but managed to sit up and lap. How long had it been?
After urgent medical attention, a warm deflea-ing bath and a meal of soft mash, this rack of bones was settled into a thick blanket in a roomy cage. Everyone fervently hoped for a miracle.
Weeks later she’d recovered enough strength to be evaluated. Her sweet disposition needed nurturing by a loving, patient family.
She entered her new home horrified by so many big, booted men. Rules and obedience commands were mastered immediately, to avoid upsetting anyone. Eating stopped because she wouldn’t turn her back, so her mistress fed her by hand, one morsel at a time. Meals took forever.
Eventually Emma understood that brooms just sweep, hands are gentle, and booted feet merely walk. Always.
Emma spends hours in her comfy bed-nest, placed so that she can look out at the countryside. She finds the view a constant delight.
Gradually she’s gained weight, and with it, some trust. She’s much more relaxed now, and eats on her own, head down, back turned. She loves deep snow, and is passionate about retrieving tennis balls hurled far into the vast white meadow by her family’s alpha male. She never returns empty-mouthed, though locating it might take awhile.
She’s even made a friend. Emma’s tentative teasing amuses Dexter, a large, easy-going apricot-and-white cat who keeps his sharp claws sheathed. The pair enjoys sharing space by the big wood stove, which keeps the farmhouse snug.
Emma’s becoming protective of her family, and, having found her voice again after nearly a year of silence, will bark - just once - when someone unfamiliar approaches the house. She doesn’t lunge or threaten, though she’s a big dog.
I love stroking her thick, soft coat. She holds my gaze for a really long time, before sighing. I believe it is from happiness. Emma has experienced the worst from humans, but has forgiven, and faces life with increasing confidence.
Best of all, she’s learning to love.