UPDATE 11/10/03
Statement by AWCA President Jean Levitt
*Permission to crosspost*
Sammy was one of the Montana collies I worried most about. There were a great many in much worse physical condition, some in more emotional distress, but Sammy acted out his distress by literally bouncing off the walls of his pen. It was nearly impossible to walk him on a leash, he was terrified of anything that even looked like a leash, and when he escaped his pen, as he did frequently, he was so frantic it was extremely difficult to recapture him. Way back at the beginning of the rescue, when he was housed in the 4-H building in Shelby, an animal care specialist announced he was one of the dogs to be “put down” because he was unadoptable. That was when I determined two things about Sammy: 1. ONLY OVER MY DEAD BODY would he be put down, and 2. He would be adopted, rehabilitated, and trained, preferably by one of the foremost rescue collie trainer/behaviorists. I was shameless. I asked Sammy’s person to adopt Sammy, knowing her life was already very full, and that he was going to be a tremendous challenge. She said, “Yes!”
I send my gratitude to all of the volunteers who helped Sammy; to Thea Sperline, who fostered him until his person could take possession of him; and especially to his person, for making him part of her family and giving him a future.
A message to the volunteers from his forever home
A year ago to the day as I write this, a disturbing email brought me the unbelievable news of 170 collies confiscated from a tractor-trailer traveling from Alaska to Arizona. As the news developed, it got more incredible and horrible. An unimaginable number of dogs were packed into that abominable truck, days without food or water, stacked in their own wastes, one dog was dead…Will any of us be able to forget the shock and horror of the images, and the worry that the dogs would be condemned to return to this life after a brief respite in the safe haven of Camp Collie?
Because I have the skills to rehabilitate dogs that have suffered extreme abuse, I knew that I might be called upon to help one of these dogs. No person, or even two, could care properly for so many dogs, and at least a few, or even a large number of them, would surely be unsocialized and essentially feral with no ability to relate to humans. Like a doctor at the scene of an accident, I looked into my soul that night of November 2, and asked myself whether I could do this—or, how could I not? It was not a good time for me to take on a special needs dog. I was at my limit of dogs and training goals (and wasn’t this disaster in part about not staying within limits?). Yet, the rehabilitation of an unreachable dog is the most exhilarating training task of all—it makes getting a championship pale in comparison in its challenge, and on top of that, you get to save a life.
So I waited. Many wonderful souls stepped up to adopt these deserving dogs when the courts finally delivered justice. So many in fact that I began to think I wouldn’t be needed. Then in those days of late July moving into August, there were the last dogs left at Camp Collie. It’s not that no one cared about them--quite the opposite--but providing the most challenging dogs what they needed was not an easy goal to meet.
Of those remaining dogs, Sammy stood out, no question about it. He touched many hearts at Camp Collie through the very intensity of his anguish. When the conversations began about my adopting him, I shared with my family and friends and we all began to notice how often he appeared in the reports by the Camp Collie volunteers. My mother commented one day, “So, a blur of tawny fur exploding in his pen????” as she resigned herself to my next dog. He was too much of the very type of dog I love to work with for me to turn away from him. And the volunteers—they all cared so much about Sammy and more importantly worried so much about him. It would be an honor and privilege to be entrusted with a dog who himself embodied so much of the spirit of this amazing rescue.
Sammy went to a foster home while I prepared for his arrival and made plans to transport him the great distance to his new home. We arranged to meet the foster family half way. I’d asked a friend who is also a skilled dog trainer to come with me. I welcomed the help transporting a dog that might well be unmanageable under the circumstances, such as walking on a leash and getting in and out of a crate in a vehicle at highway rest stops. I could not imagine managing an exploding dog by myself, plus I took two of my dogs for his company, knowing that many of the Montana Collies were unable to adjust easily to life outside of a kennel.
As soon as my friend and I laid eyes on Sammy, we immediately realized that he was, well, OK. Simple as that. He was shy, yes, but he was engaged with life. He was tentative but still curious. He snuck up and checked us both out as we took the dogs for a potty break in a park near our motel. He took food from my hand, as a result of the hard work done by his foster mom in preparation for my taking him on, and by Marianne Sullivan, the AWCA behaviorist who’d spent many hours with him at Camp Collie.
Folks, I have to tell all of you who cared so much about Sammy and worried so much about him, he is going to be just fine. He is, believe this or not, much better off than the worst dog that I have successfully rehabilitated, and I have no doubt he will be a normal dog one day soon. Yes, of course, working with him will not be easy and will require many months and a careful plan tailored just for him. Letting him just hang out and figure out how to be a normal dog by himself isn’t on the program. On the other hand, he is a wonderful dog with enormous potential.
Sammy has an engaging, effervescent personality. He is playful and impish, a young dog I think under 2 years old. He is intelligent and sensitive, which probably is at the root of his problems in his former life. He wants desperately to belong to his pack, in a family where he has a secure place and is loved. That is all I need to work with a dog this deprived and unsocialized to allow him to become a normal, everyday dog.
Now, about the exploding part. After living with him for a month, I see that is part of his nature. He is quick and reactive but also full of uncontrollable fear, not a good combination. I fantasize that one day he will fearlessly explode off the start line in agility, and his quickness and small compact body will be great assets on the agility course.
Let me tell you how much he has improved since his days at Camp Collie. Although I have him lashed up to two separate leashes and collars as a failsafe against an escape, he now loves his nightly walks, which he takes entirely on a loose leash. The last two nights in fact, he has come to our driveway and stopped dead in his tracks, with a look on his face as if saying, “What? We just got started!!!” He greets me in the morning, and when I come home after being gone for a while, by twirling and running around with glee. I can see him out of the corner of my eye come up behind me and offer play bows. I usually feel him tugging at my clothing to invite me to play. Of course if I should turn around and face him, he would be gone like a shot.
My favorite times with Sammy are when he hangs out with us. He, more than some of my other dogs, just wants to lie on the kitchen floor while the humans eat dinner and talk. Sometimes he will suddenly start rolling on his back and kicking his feet in the air for joy. I feel his happiness and it’s contagious. Didn’t I tell you that rehabilitating a dog this extreme was exhilarating?
At this point in my journey with a dog like Sammy, the day that he will come running to me when I call him seems utterly impossible, an eon away if I can ever achieve it at all. Yet, a dog that came to me in far worse condition than Sammy was bounding to me as I called her in about a year and a half, after a careful and diligent program of hundreds of hours of training. That could sound pretty discouraging but to me it’s cause for hope. After all, life is about the journey, not the destination, and that is my view of dog training. I love the moments, the zen of this process, and focus on those, the opening up of a soul like the petals opening on a flower.
Calmly,
Jean Levitt, President AWCA
and the Officers and Members of AWCA