No one looked at Bitsy. Ever.
It was a silly name for such a massive dog. She was part pit, part whatever … and she possessed the strength of a Mack truck.
Days and weeks passed, and Bitsy sat in her cage at the shelter staring glumly at the people who walked up and down the rows of dogs, always passing her by.
“Doesn’t she look scary?” I once heard a woman mutter to her friend as they glanced at Bitsy and moved along quickly.
Oh, Bitsy.
I’d like to say she was a favorite of the volunteers who walked her, but that would be stretching the truth more than a little. A relentless puller, Bitsy was tough to walk. Kind of like walking a Mack truck. Going downhill. At full speed.
She also enjoyed grabbing the leash at every opportunity. Bitter Apple? Yum! Chain leash? Chomp! And sometimes when she leaped up to grab the leash in her giant mouth, she’d miss … and connect with your hand or arm instead. Oops!
Bitsy wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. She was just another under-exercised, under-stimulated, under-socialized dog in the shelter.
The funny thing is, I liked Bitsy a lot. She challenged me and often wore me down, but I really liked her. And then the day came when I fell in love with her.
We were walking outside, and I was trying to get Bitsy to focus on the chicken jerky I had wedged in my fist. While she worked at getting the jerky out from my tightly-closed fingers, I moved her along forward, and I thought maybe I’d finally hit on the way to keep her feet on the ground and her head at my side.
Suddenly — I can still remember how everything seemed to happen at once — I heard someone shout “Loose dog!” and something small and brown charged Bitsy.
The dog’s muzzle was wrinkled and his lips were pulled back. He lunged at her neck, giving the kind of growl I haven’t heard a lot, but when I do, it always makes my blood run cold.
Now I have to tell you, Bitsy towered over this dog. And she had a good 20 pounds on him, if not more. Yet she rolled onto her back and offered no resistance to the brown dog’s attack.
He got in a couple of bites on her neck before I was able to reach in, grab his leash, and hold him at arm’s length until someone could get him.
I checked Bitsy thoroughly, gently feeling her all over and then separating her fur here and there to see if there were any bloody wounds. Fortunately, she’d only been bitten a couple of times, and they were superficial bites.
Once I’d finished inspecting her, Bitsy pulled herself into a sitting position and I kneeled down next to her, my arm wrapped protectively around her. I was vaguely aware that I was shaking all over.
I rubbed her chest and rested my head against hers. “I don’t understand,” I said. “You could have swallowed that dog whole. Why didn’t you defend yourself?”
Don’t get me wrong. The last thing I ever want to be around is a dogfight. But her behavior puzzled me.
Bitsy looked up at me. “Not my style,” she said.
Her eyes were a beautiful chocolate brown. Why hadn’t I noticed that before?
We sat like that for a good 15 minutes, and I found myself falling head over heels for this frustrated, misunderstood, gem of a dog.
In the weeks that followed, Bitsy continued to sit in her cage as people walked by, barely giving her a glance. But I’d now become her biggest supporter, talking her up to anyone who’d listen.
I also began walking her in a harness with the leash attached to a ring on her chest, and this made all the difference in the world.* It wasn’t like walking a Mack truck anymore. It was like walking a well behaved dog.
And then one day …
I’d just arrived at the kennel and as always, headed straight for Bitsy’s cage. A young woman was standing in front of it, reading the scant information on the card that was attached to the cage door.
She looked up when she saw me. “Do you know this dog?”
My smile must’ve taken up my entire face. “I know Bitsy very well. Let tell you about her …”
I invited the woman to walk with us outside, and the three of us made our way companionably around the property.
Adoptions can be funny. Sometimes you question an unlikely match, wondering what drew the person to that particular animal. And sometimes … you see an almost instantaneous bond between a dog and a human.
“What made you stop in front of Bitsy’s cage?” I asked the woman.
We were sitting on a grassy hill, and Bitsy was lying with her head in the woman’s lap. “I just looked at her, and I knew,” said the woman, stroking Bitsy’s ears.
“She’s been waiting for you,” I said to the woman.
This story is all about happy endings.
Bitsy went home with the young woman, and lives happily with an assortment of four-legged brothers and sisters. She goes swimming, takes hikes and enjoys wearing the pretty pink collar and leash the woman bought her the very day she adopted her “because this dog deserves to look beautiful.”
I couldn’t have said it better myself.
Do you believe in love at first sight with a dog?! Let us know in the comments section below.
*If you have a dog who pulls and you’ve never tried a harness with a ring on the chest, I urge you to go to your nearest pet supply store and get one. Forget about harnesses with rings on the back; they only encourage pullers to pull.
(Note: The dog in the above photo is not Bitsy.)
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