The Dog Who Chose Me Back: What Rescue Actually Looks Like
Part one of a miniseries on rescue, relationships, and why not all rescues are created equal.
I'm going to say “who rescued who” exactly once in this post, because as cliche as it is, it's true. Now, I’ll roll my eyes at myself for it, and then we're going to move on and actually talk about what rescue looks like when it's real and when it's complicated, and why both of those things matter.
There. Done. Moving on.
My Step-Dad taught me this before I knew I was being taught.
My stepfather Bill grew up with dogs that all came from the Calgary SPCA. Not because it was trendy, not because he was making a statement, just because that was where the dogs were and those were his dogs and that was that. From him I learnt how to love those animals abandoned to the shelter my whole life and something about it settled into me quietly before I ever even though of having a dog of my own.
When it was my turn, I knew where I was headed.
Right to the Calgary SPCA, where I found Lola.
Sir Stanley of Earl Grey, El Diablo arrived home on a Tuesday in August 2019.
Rescue #4… eight weeks old. I picked him up from his foster mom's house and he was, to put it plainly, the size of a loaf of bread and twice as dense. He sat with me and watched Suits (he was obsessed with Lewis) that was it… there he was.
He is called the Spicy Black Bean because he sleeps curled up so tight he looks like a small bean boy and because he has, from day one, had opinions. Strong ones. Loudly held. About other dogs, about strangers, about the precise moment it becomes mid-day treat time (he points to the bathroom where the treats live, in case I have forgotten, which I have not), and about exactly how much of my agenda he is willing to cooperate with on any given outing.
The answer, historically, is some of it. On his terms. Negotiable.
Here is what nobody tells you about rescue before you do it.
It is not a transaction. It is not a feel-good moment that ends when you get home. It is a relationship that starts before you ever meet the dog, in the conversations you have with a rescue organization, in the questions they ask you, in the honesty you owe them about your life, your home, your experience level, and yes, your capacity for a dog who has his own mind and a high level of what we'll generously call excitability.
I have a quote I stumbled across somewhere, I think it originated with Best Friends Animal Society, and I repeat it to myself regularly while also rolling my eyes because it sounds like it belongs on a throw pillow and yet it is completely, irritatingly true:
No perfect person. No perfect dog. Just perfect matches.
I say this to myself and I cringe a little and then I look at Stanley pointing at the treat cabinet and I think: yeah. Okay. Fine. That cliche saying on throw pillow was right.
The match matters. The organization that makes the match matters. The transparency on both sides of that match matters. And that is the part of rescue that does not get talked about enough, which is exactly why this is a miniseries and not just one post.
Almost 20 years of that look.
I have been sharing my life with dogs long enough that I have watched this play out more than once. That specific look you that passes between you two when you share that inside joke. The “I know you and you know me and we have decided on each other” look. The one you catch across a room or when they turn around, tongue out happy as can be to make sure you're still behind them… it just lands.
That look is what you are signing up for when you bring a rescue home. All of it, the complicated parts and the bean-sleeping parts and the mid-day treat-pointing parts. You are signing up to be chosen back, every single day, by a dog who had every reason not to trust you and did it anyway. Knowing that one day, that dog will find their forever home and share those looks with their forever person.
That is not a cliche. That is just what it is.
More to come.
This is part one of a miniseries because there is more to say about rescue than one blog can hold. About what good rescue organizations look like. About what to ask before you commit. About what happens when the match isn't made well and what that costs, the dog and the person both.
I promise that it gets a little spicier from here. Stay with me.
In the meantime: if you're thinking about rescue, or if you already have a rescue dog who has completely taken over your calendar and your treat cabinet, I'd love to hear about it. Drop a comment below or send me an email.
And if you want Stanley's full villain origin story, you're already in the right place.