Our Rescue Pup

My granddog is a rescue.

Well, okay, scratch that. If we're being completely honest, my granddog rescued herself.

The details about her alleged abandonment are sketchy, and I will make if generic enough that the original owner can't come after me for making them look bad. Suffice it to say, the owner moved, and Muffin was somehow left behind. There was some sort of abuse involved at the place puppers was left at, and one day Muffin had had enough, and took off at an opportune time to see if there was a better place in the world than where she was.

She ended up miles from there, and followed the friendly dogs she found in a nice back yard through the convenient doggie door. And FOOD. The house owner returned to her dogs and their plus one chowing down in the kitchen.

House owner was already at the town's doggo limit, so she brought Muffin to work to see if anyone would like to give her a home. My stepdaughter fell in love, and by the end of that day, Muffin was being walked around her new small town with a new leash and collar. And visiting me, of course. My stepdaughter insists the "walk" was more Muffin taking her for a drag, trotting right up to my door, and demanding to meet the new friend she knew was inside.

This, of course, is nothing new in my world. If there's a critter in distress, it will do its best to make it to my door. I've rescued bats from rivers and suitcases and house walls, cats from that same river and roads and drainage ditches, and birds that rammed themselves silly into windows. (One of those birds almost got me a failing grade, I'd just rescued a pigeon that had smacked itself into the door a few students ahead of me as I was hustling with the crowd to our last batch of finals, and the prof accused me of hiding the answers under the bird's wings! It was an Ethics course, for crying out loud!)

Muffers was an intelligent and curious pup, and not young. We got a little information while tracing ownership so the kids could claim her outright: she'd been an indoors pup, but when left behind, had started hanging around a farm. The farm hands were supposed to feed her, but she was underweight when the vet examined her.

Muffin tried to fit into this new place. A new name to answer to (she wasn't Muffin before), new humans, and new procedures. Early on I suspected she'd been abused, because any quick foot movements were met with a yip and flinch. Especially when you'd give her food, and that just made me supremely angry. I assume someone got their jollies out of luring a hungry dog close, only to kick her when she got in range. I took her for afternoon walkies when the kids were at work, and she'd get a treat and cuddles and rubs afterward...but it took a long, looong time for her to trust me to get close enough for more than a quick pet or two on the head.

The leash was the hardest to get used to. Indoors, to outdoor farm - what leash was ever needed, when the house had a doggie door and a fenced back yard? And that had been long and long ago in dog years. So we took it slow, and I let her have her head as much as possible, and no tugging or jerking on the lead when she'd trot off to sniff. I'd do my best to warn her verbally when the sixteen foot limit was about to be reached, and walk with her to whatever intoxicating smell was outside that range.

But, unfortunately, we had to keep her on that leash outdoors. While hanging around the farm, Muffin was hungry, and was therefore forced to develop one of those tastes that can be deadly with an angry farmer nearby: fresh chicken. She'd rush the clucking herd, snag one, and devour half before anyone was the wiser. She'd even been caught and muzzled for a time, and that only increased the challenge for her. She still has a divot worn into the bone of her nose from rubbing it raw against the muzzle while de-feathering her prey.

And we're an agricultural area, where many "townies" also have chicken coops. There are three within audio range in the northern half alone.

Oh dear.

So Muff must be leashed outside, otherwise those poor unsuspecting hens will be visited by the terror which barks by day or night. And she's clever enough that no amount of training will keep her by our side leashless; she's too eager to meet new friends or sniff the next thing or chase the bunny that was hiding in the garden and just bolted when she got too close. And as used to roaming as she was, no amount of enticement will bring her back.

So, the next best thing - free range, indoors style.

When she visits her homes away from home - ours and my parents' - she has the run of the place. She didn't take to this right away; it took time and care. Did she want to make friends? Absolutely, almost desperately. But jumping up on furniture took time, and a bit of coaxing, and an inviting towel spread so she knew it was okay and a pet and a treat or two. Only twice did she jump up on a person's lap as we were dog sitting, and both times she really, really, REALLY wanted to make friends with the person. One was my Dad, who is definitely not an indoor pet person. He's come around when it comes to Muffin. Muffin actually surprised herself! I'm not sure which of them wore the more startled expression in that encounter. She looked so embarrassed when she hopped down. I petted her a lot to reassure her it was all okay.

Muffers is respectful like that. She refuses to go downstairs to the basement, even though we invite her down when we need to do laundry. No, though she'll stand at alert at the top of the stairs and listen to our voices to make sure we're still alive. If only my husband goes down, she'll stay with me, but sneak nervous glances towards the open door. When my hubby comes clumping up the stairs, she'll even growl a little, afraid it might be a monster. But she'll stay there, with her body between me and the unknown, just the same.

We usually stay on the first floor with her, but if one of us is upstairs, then her attention is so divided! Explore what's going on up there? Stay with the human she's got, who's petting her now? So many choices! But if sufficiently invited and encouraged at the same time, she'll gallop eagerly up the stairs, and sniff All The Things to her heart's content. And if the human then comes down with her, her happiness is complete, and she'll cuddle with one or the other till it's Yogurt O'Clock.

When my hubby is sick, he curls up in the library upstairs. Then I'll dogsit alone on the first floor, which Does Not Sit Well with our puppers. She'll stand at the bottom of the stairs and whine, and I'll urge her to go up and check him out. But she won't - till hubby croaks a welcome, then up she gallops, to give him a thorough sniffing like he's never been sniffed before.

We made her a sit-upon in our bay window, so she can watch the world go by at her convenience. She'll sit and maybe a stay only a little while if we urge her, then she's back with us for cuddles or pettins.

Nervous pup? Sure, wouldn't you be? Abandoned, then abused, have left her worried about her real home. Treats and love can only do so much to undo the damage, but we do what we can. And she'll let us know with whines and barks if it's been too long between visits, or if they're not enough treats in my pocket, or not enough walkies, or pettins that need to be solicited with careful paw taps. But we give her as much freedom as we can, and if my treats are always chicken flavored, well, she doesn't seem to mind.

She's our good puppers. Just don't tell the kids.