Bringing Maya Home

The short version:

They picked her up and put her in the back of the Subaru, where I’d put the seat down and arranged some towels and blankets. She was quiet as I drove the 70 miles back home. When we arrived, I managed to get her to step down out of the car—and realized that on the drive she’d already chewed halfway through the harness I’d put on her at the rescue, and when I tried to lead her into the house, she looked directly at me as she bit all the way through the one-inch cotton lead I’d just purchased. So I picked her up and carried her into the laundry room. She went straight for the fluffy, cocoon-like “anti-anxiety” bed I’d gotten her, where she curled in a ball and silently remained for days, except for short periods of time when she was taken to the yard to relieve herself. One week in, she didn’t appreciate the sound of the dryer going, and as I watched, she excused herself by climbing over the “tall” pet gate I’d placed between the laundry room and kitchen. She trotted twice around the living room until she spied the den, then chose it as a much quieter habitat. I promptly moved her bed in there, where she spends most of her time sleeping next to my big writing desk.

She’s been here a month, and she’s made tiny increments of progress. She now (sort of) walks on a leash. Words in her lexicon:

No (when she starts to chew the leash—she learned this one in two days)

Collar (so she knows to sit still while I put it on or take it off)

Outside (whenever we go out)

Maya (not the name the rescue gave her)

On the first day, she was calm and lady-like in her meeting with Thomas, and he was equally a gentleman in meeting her. They now go in and out of the house easily together. The cats are curious about Maya, and she is curious about them, but everyone has made peace with the new pack member.

And they will all live happily ever after.

The long version (and this is the tougher one to read, so if you have things to do, click out, get on with your life, and just know that Maya Angelou Murphy is safe in her forever home now):

Last spring, I saw her profile on the website of a rescue I had donated to in the past. (Something I now deeply regret. Keep reading and you’ll understand why.) I saw her again in late December and was surprised she hadn’t been adopted. She was medium-sized and female, so she fit what I was looking for in a new hiking partner, since Thomas can no longer hike with me. I filled out an application and was told I could come meet her on the weekend.

Thus began a series of visitations with her that extended over a period of six weeks, during which time she began to relax a tiny bit in my presence, and simultaneously, I alienated nearly everyone (with one exception) on staff with the rescue.

The first time I went there, they had Maya in a small crate—with a chair sitting next to it. That’s how they wanted me to “meet” her. I explained that it would not be possible for me to assess her needs or her personality under those conditions, and I finally convinced them to put her back in her kennel so that I could sit with her in there, but it was a tense conversation, during which time the staff members admitted that because she “got upset” every time they put a leash on, they never did anything with her. No walks, no socialization—she had not even been spayed. I was told that “with a hundred dogs on the property,” there was “barely time to feed and clean up after them.” That was the care Maya received in the time that she was there—feeding and the feces removed from her kennel. Vaccinations when they were due. That’s it. She was filthy, her nails were overgrown, and she had no idea how to interact with humans. I thought they’d had her in these conditions for a year or so. She’d been like that for three. 

They told me she was three years old, and they listed that age on her adoption paperwork, but her rabies vaccination listed her correct age as six. At some point during my weeks of visitation, they finally had her spay surgery done. Her certificate of sterilization also shows her age as six. Staffers on site told me she’d been confiscated from a hoarder, but I later learned she was pulled from another rescue that had her for a long time and never did anything with her, either.

There were other issues with this rescue—too many to document here. On one of my visits, I was petting one of the dogs allowed to roam the property, and I discovered a huge, live tick (still trying to wiggle its way under his skin) on his neck. The staffer I notified was annoyed that I pointed it out. Nothing was done to eradicate or treat for the tick on the dog. Another small dog running loose tried to bite me. I managed to move my leg out of the way in time. There were, in fact, one hundred dogs on the property—barking, baying, howling, whimpering and spinning in their kennels. The noise and chaos were overwhelming every time, and after each visit I had to sit in the silence of my car for long minutes before beginning the long drive home just to decompress before getting on the highway.

Each time I left, I was heartbroken to leave Maya behind. But I couldn't bring her home if I couldn't somehow, at least minimally, manage her on a leash. Each time I returned, the hostility directed at me by the staff seemed to double, as if my request to simply sit on the ground in Maya's kennel and pet her was an imposition. But the day came when she finally relaxed and allowed me to handle her, so I decided it was time. I knew she wouldn't begin to recover until she came home to a quiet routine in a setting where she could feel safe.

The first day we met, at the so-called "rescue"

A dog like Maya is not what I went looking for. But….

A dog like Thomas is not what I was looking for when I brought him home, either.

Yep, it’s going to be another long road to recovery with this little girl. But doesn’t she deserve a chance? Just as much as Thomas did? Just as much as any dog does? And I would say to my critics (and oh my goodness, can I just say here—since my critics never read my blog anyway—just shut up. Shut up. No one asked you, it’s not your decision, and I’m the one caring for her), what is it you think Maya is going to take from me that I don’t have to give? Time? Love? Patience? Pffftttt.

I already know what I will get back from her eventually, and I can’t wait, but I don’t really have to. I love Maya… just as she is. Someday, she may be able to trust enough to love me back. Just knowing she is safe now, she has the care she needs, lots of love, good food, daily walks, ear scratches, a soft bed that she loves, treats, two kitty friends and a big brother carefully showing her the way we do things, is enough.

And they will all live happily ever after.