RESCUE ME

Rescue animals have always been a part of our family. Every single one of our dogs were from a shelter. Our cats were either strays my sister and I brought home, or also products of neglect, having found their furever home with us. We even acquired a senile horse to live out the rest of his days on the lush ten acres that made up my childhood home. And when my parents decided to downsize and relocate to a six-acre farm, they suddenly found themselves with a donkey and a miniature horse, and yes, both were rescues.

I was usually the one that went with my mom when it was time to replace the hole left by a dog that had passed on. You see, my mom had a specific way of picking a dog. She chose the most scared and saddest dog sitting at the back of the kennel, and if you asked her why she would tell you “because they are the least likely to be adopted, and every dog deserves a chance”…. Thinking about that still gets me choked up at twenty-eight years old. That idea, that specific reason, has been so deeply engrained in me at such a young age, that I truly believe every single dog deserves a chance, regardless of whatever stigma is attached to them.

Fast forward to when I’m twenty-five. I have a beautiful three-year-old German Shepherd that was adopted through craigslist, a story for a different time. This gorgeous gal and I immediately bonded as soon as we met, and to this day she’s still my shadow. About a year goes by and I notice she’s getting depressed and is having an increasingly harder time being left home alone when I’m at work. It was time to grow our fur family, so we set out on the internet in search of a four-legged child. I had made it extremely clear that our animals HAD TO BE rescue animals. This naturally led to a huge fight between us. But I was steadfast in my ways, and refused to waver. A RESCUE WE WOULD HAVE. And not just any rescue, but pitbulls happened to be my favorite breed of dog.

Now, it’s important to note that “pitbull” is not a breed of dog, but rather a word to describe a group of dogs that share the same physical characteristics. Of course, at first, my then-husband was not on board, leaning into the idea that “pitbulls” are vicious (insert aggressive eye roll), but with persuasion he found himself looking at rescues that had pitties (house hippos, dog potatoes, squishy faces, whatever you want to call them). A few weeks later we were picking up our new block headed house hippo, Arlo. At first Zephyr gave a look that only screamed “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS THING? AND IS IT STAYING?” It took five days and one huge fight between my then-husband and I, but Arlo became a permanent edition.

Read this part carefully because I wholeheartedly mean it: I have learned more about kindness and forgiveness from Arlo, than I have from any human.

Arlo was (and still is) the friendliest, most loving, eighty pounds of dog you’d ever meet in your life. Taking him to the dog park was a social event in itself. Once he stepped foot through that gate, it was like the party started. People would remember him after one interaction and the next time they saw him, his presence would create an instant smile. Of course, people loved Zephyr too, but she’s on a psychopath level and definitely not the most approachable. Arlo’s only mission in life is to meet as many people as possible. He prances up to anyone and everyone, with an ear to ear smile, leaning into their legs with all eighty pounds, clearly asking for good boy pats.

No matter what kind of day you’ve had, fantastic or horrible, Arlo was always there to greet you with a smile. I’d get down to his level and open my arms and say “hey buddy, can I have a hug?” Without fail, almost as if he understood exactly what I said, he’d prance up to me and lean his head into my chest so I could wrap my arms around his body. He never pulled away or gave the impression that he was annoyed. He’d just let you hug him as long you needed. I love Zephyr, but in true GSD fashion, she will allow two seconds of physical affection and promptly pull away.

The thing is, rescue animals have the most remarkable way of showing you just how grateful they are to have you, but you will always find that you needed them just as much as they needed you, if not more. And no, not all rescues come from horrific conditions. In fact, I don’t think Arlo was a product of abuse or neglect. If he was, he didn’t hold onto it. He embraced his new life and his new family as if it was his only mission in life. Every new surrounding he was taken to, every new person he met, every meal he ate, was as if it was his first and the absolute best experience of his life. He was (and still is) just as content hiking in the woods through the snow for hours as he is laying in the backyard in the sunlight all day.

Something I didn’t account for when he was adopted was the subtle backlash and judgement he would receive simply because he was a “pitbull.” Arlo is a Staffordshire Bull Terrier, which happens to be the breed of the first war hero dog. Although people loved him because of his big head and cartoon like body, occasionally we’d meet someone who assumed he was dangerous simply because he looked the part. We’d step inside the park and someone would turn to me with wide eyes and say “is he friendly?” and I would scrunch my face in confusion and respond “oh yes, of course he is.” But the thoughts running through my head were “why would I bring him here? What behavior in the first thirty seconds of being here even remotely showed that he was aggressive?” I was baffled and I started to respond to this stupid question of “is he friendly?” with “he’s a lot nicer than I am.” They’d laugh. I’d laugh. I’d walk away without saying anything else and let Arlo’s personality shine and show them that he was indeed the goodest of good boys.

Arlo reminded me to search for the light when I was feeling crushed by the dark. He found (and finds) excitement in absolutely everything. He also taught me to be less judgmental because people jumped to so many conclusions about him based on his appearance. Of course, I am human and I still judge people because, well, on average we are already making assumptions/judgements about people in the first seven seconds of meeting them. That is one thing I adore about dogs: they love unconditionally even when they’ve experienced the worst in mankind. They forgive. They forget. They love again.

So, when you’re thinking about growing your family with a fur baby, consider going to a shelter or rescue organization. Something around two million dogs are euthanized every year in the United States. You won’t be able to save all of them. It’s not your job to save all of them, a mindset I struggle with, but I promise you will not only make an amazing impact on one dog’s life, but also in your own.

“Those who teach us the most about humanity aren’t always human.”