Little Dog Found

It was Thanksgiving afternoon. A quiet day in the Greystone Community bordering the Cherokee National Forest. My dogs had alerted me to a commotion on the front porch.

There lying in front of the door was a small dachshund/beagle-looking dog. She was emaciated and bloated at the same time. Small trickles of blood ran from her nose and eyes. She looked through the glass at me with almost a blank stare.

I opened the door, and she ran.

Ever so quietly, we coaxed the frail creature into our back patio. At first, we thought she was pregnant, her ribs showing and her belly distended.

Her nose was cracked and dry, we offered her water in a large glass bowl. She drank an unbelievable amount, leaving the dish completely dry.

She warmed to our company, allowing us to wipe the blood and mess from her face with a warm wash rag. We put down some food, which she consumed in the same ravenous fashion with which she took to the water. She let us approach as she ate, and we examined the rest of her body. Something was wrong with her hips, and on her left side, we could see the points of ribs pushing out under the skin. They had obviously been broken.

We were afraid to touch them, but they didn’t seem to be causing her extreme pain. Realizing the serious nature of her injuries, we brought her inside, keeping her sequestered from our three other dogs until we could determine if she had parasites.

Her demeanor improved by the hour, and it was not long before the cause of her distended belly became evident. Now, safe in our mudroom, rehydrated, and food in her tummy, her intestines began to work again. A poo was produced, the size of which boggled our minds, for it was nearly as large as she was!

She was a bit embarrassed at her colonic production but was obviously relieved. Her waistline seemed to have shrunk instantly by at least two inches. We let her into a fenced portion of our yard and cleaned up the mess. This would be the first in a series of mega poos, as the water revitalized her digestive system.

The next morning, there was a large male coyote skulking about in our backyard. It is unusual for them to come near our house, and we wonder to this day if he had been stalking our poor little rescue.

We decided to call her Sheila. It just fit her personality. She had a tenacious, never-say-die attitude that probably saved her life. As we prepped her for a visit to the vet, it was obvious she would take nothing from our other three dogs without giving it right back.

When we arrived at the Animal Medical Center of Greeneville, the staff were ready for us. We went straight into a room where Dr. J and Dr. Al examined the little dog with urgency and great care. “This little girl has been through a lot of trauma.” Dr. J stated bluntly. They immediately prepped her for an X-ray.

Dr. J was able to determine Sheila’s ribs had already begun to heal, and while her heart was a bit close to her sternum, her lungs and other vital organs were okay.

After standard tests, shots, and meds, Sheila was on her way home. She quickly befriended our three other dogs and formed a special and precarious relationship with Ranger, who Dr. J had rescued herself not long before, and we had adopted only a day prior to Sheila’s appearance.

Rescue dogs just don’t see the world in the same light as pets who have always had a stable home. Ranger, a German Shepherd, greeted Sheila as she came through the door. She was wiped out from her ordeal and the urgent pace of her vet visit. He hopped up on a sofa and invited her to join him. She drifted off as he shielded her from an unfriendly world with his massive body.

The worst for the little battered dog from nowhere was over, but new challenges were beginning to manifest themselves. She would wake in the middle of the night in a terror, panicked to the point of breathlessness. She loved our two shepherds, and Charlie our Golden Retriever, but they were all giants in comparison. The damage her bones had incurred, and the fact that they had not healed correctly made every game and every wrestling match a serious threat to her safety.

We had to find Sheila a forever home. A place where she was the only dog, or at least among dogs her own size. There were several volunteers, but my sister Trish was able to make accommodation for her immediately.

 Sheila didn’t know what to think of her new home at first. The suburbs were nothing like the wilderness of the mountains.

It was a place where dogs her own size walked on leashes down broad streets and through well-manicured lawns. There were no coyotes, no bobcats for her to fear. Whatever human horrors she had known, that was another place. Another life.

Sheila’s panic attacks are now a distant memory. Her large, wild friends do come and visit on occasion. She walks her neighborhood with Trish twice a day, morning and evening, visiting her new friends along the way.

She still has a bit of a wobble in her hips, and a weird knot in her side that neighborhood children sometimes ask about. She has put on three pounds, and her coat has a healthy, sleek look.

The perplexities of squirrels and chipmunks occupy her thoughts now, as she peers out the back window. She has her own bed, and her own favorite chair.

Zoomies are a new thing. They’ve replaced terror in Sheila’s life. She will sit evaluating Trish’s designs and layouts, then the sheer joy of it all overtakes her. She will launch from her chair and tear down the hallway, back through the living room to briefly peep out the window, then back until she tires and takes her place again on her seat.