Posted on December 28, 2011 by: WayCoolDogs

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At first I mistook her for another dog who had been adopted out, and I thought she had been brought back. She had the same unusual oriental-looking narrow eyes, but a closer look showed her mouth was darker in colour than Chloe’s. Still I wanted a name that sounded like her, so she became Clover.

She was in the cage with another dog and always deferred to her, even though the other one wasn’t aggressive or dominating. When I came by she would retreat to the back of the cage and try to look invisible, and when I reached out to her she looked startled, as if saying “Me?” Well yes, I said, and looped the leash around her neck.

She was frightened of coming out, planted her feet, and the first day I pretty much had to drag her. When we got outside she blinked in the sun, crouched and lay down, curled tight into herself. But I wasn’t about to let her off, and tugged her to an upright position, took her face in my hands, looked straight into her eyes, and told her everything was going to be fine. I felt her relax a tiny bit, and that was enough for me. I tugged her forward for a few steps and she dropped into a crouch again, so we repeated the process several times, and then I put her back in the cage.

The next day she wasn’t hanging back, and came out without having to be dragged. This time she walked a little further before retreating into her crouch, and gradually over the next few days she gained more and more confidence, till she wasn’t crouching at all, and was looking around as she walked, instead of focusing directly at the ground as before.

Now it was time to start enjoying ourselves. When I ran the comb through her fur it frightened her at first (obviously no one had really touched her before, much less stroked her) but then she decided she liked it. Hmmmm, yes, she liked that a lot. I perched on the cupboard under the tree and pulled her over to me to see what she would do. She looked doubtful and suddenly uncertain of herself again, so I had to put her front feet up, then manoeuvre the back half onto the flat surface with me. She crouched and curled up against me, and I started rubbing her ears, which was another new thing for her. She looked round at me in surprise, and decided that yes, she liked this too.

Soon she was jumping up on her own, and stretching right out (I had to hold onto her in case she fell right off), and giving me her belly to rub. Progress! It showed me, though, that she had a bit of a rash on her chest, so I started bringing with me a syringe of colloidal silver and rubbing it over her chest each day. After a few days it had improved tremendously, but the chest rub had become an entrenched part of the ritual, and there was no stopping.

The crouches were now a thing of the past, being completely replaced by enthusiastic wagging, and when I approached her cage she was at the front and up on her back legs, with her whole body engaged in furious movement. It got to the point where when we went outside it was she who pulled me over to the cupboard, where she would jump up and wait for me to sit beside her. We would spend a little while there in the shade of the ackee tree enjoying the breeze, with her wiggling until she got her head into my lap, where she could really savour the ears-rub.

She was most endearing though at the end of the day, when I would go round the cages with my usual bag of treats. All the strays got a dog biscuit, and some of them got two (this usually meant I used a whole bag each day, but it was wonderful to be able to give them something to get excited about). When I gave Clover her biscuit she took it very gently, and would stand with it in her mouth, just too pleased to eat it, looking at me and wagging, until I moved away.

One day the sign reading “No food – no water” on her cage meant that she had been adopted and was about to be spayed. She recovered very quickly from the surgery, and we resumed our daily walks, although each time I expected to arrive and not to find her still there. It made our time together more significant, somehow, as if they were stolen hours, and all the more delicious. Then one day it was true, and she was gone. I never found out who adopted her, but I still marvel at the change from cowering to confident and happy, and hope that whoever has her gives her a biscuit from time to time.

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Guest Post by Cindi Scholefield, a volunteer at the local animal shelter in Kingston, Jamaica. For any donations to Cindi and her dogs, please send to:
Eunice Crompton-Nicholas
c/o
Harry Dufour
9330 Dunhill Drive
Miramar
Florida 33025-3869

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