“I’m pulling my car over to snuggle puppies, I think I’m ready for another dog,” I said to a friend last April. After my rottweiler, Monty, died 18 months before, I took naps on his dog bed for two weeks. I slept on the living room sofa for three. I snuggled his plush squirrel. I heard his nails on the laminate floor. I heard him sighing.
“You can borrow my dog,” said kind people. I didn’t want to borrow a dog. I didn’t even want to pat a dog. Or talk to people about their dogs. I struggled to teach my Dogsafe canine first aid courses without my assistant by my side. By April 2013 – three months after he died -- I was able to giggle at the signs Monty was leaving to show me he was still close. And that August -- I cried again for two weeks straight.
“There are dogs who need a home, just go to a shelter and get another dog,” some people said. “I’m not ready yet,” I said. Grief is hard. But I know no other way to process it, than through it. For me, adopting another dog when I’m still working through my loss prevents a 100% commitment to my next dog.
By October 2013, I had sold my apartment and moved Dogsafe Head Office to Victoria, BC. I started to look at dogs on adoption websites. In February 2014, I visited the local shelter for a quick walk-through. A few months later, I visited again. And patted and talked to the dogs.
When Monty got sick, we had been planning a cross-country road trip. I had never been to the Atlantic Ocean. Nova Scotia called to me, especially Halifax. Maybe I’d find my dog along the way?
I left Victoria on June 15, 2014. I drove across British Columbia then south and east through Idaho, Montana, North Dakota and Minnesota. I was going to take my time -- maybe four or five weeks -- to visit dog businesses and shelters along the way.
Go east. Go east. Go east.
In Menomonie, Wisconsin, I asked the Dunn County Humane Society Shelter volunteer if they had any senior dogs. There was a 9-year old cocker spaniel and one 9-year old rat terrier -- neither was the one for me. I walked out of the shelter and cried. Am I not ready? I’m ready. I think. These dogs need homes, why am I reluctant to just adopt one?
Go east. Go east.
I ferried cross Lake Michigan, up through Ontario – declining offers to visit friends -- then south again and straight east across New York, Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine. Then north to New Brunswick to cross into Nova Scotia.
Go east.
On July 2, I arrived in Halifax, Nova Scotia.
You’re exactly where you are supposed to be.
I set-up my Dogsafe mobile office at the Shubie Campground. I loved Halifax’s harbours, the ferries, the running paths along lakes and the friendly people. “How long will you be staying here?” people asked. “I’m open, but I might take the ferry to Newfoundland and Labrador next week,” I said. I checked the website and learned that the voyage was seven hours and dogs were placed in a separated kennel area with no visiting. “I’ll have to go before I get a dog.”
After working in Halifax for a week, I visited the Bide Awhile Animal Shelter, a privately run organization. “I wanted to introduce Dogsafe to you, and I’m also looking for a dog but I see you have just one dog on the website,” I said to the woman who buzzed me in through the locked front door. My voice was shaky. My eyes got moist. “Sorry, this is emotional for me, I lost my dog over a year ago.” “I understand, I have dogs too,” she said. “We have another dog that’s been here only one week, a four-year-old black lab.” “A black lab?” I said as I wiped my eyes. “Yes, would you like to see her?” “I had initially thought of a senior dog, but, uh, yes, okay.”
I followed her to an outside exercise area. My gut crunched as I spotted the black, stubby-legged Labrador retriever with a square head and pink collar.
She’s the one.
Oh shit.
I sat with my back to the fence and peeked over my right shoulder. She was panting and pacing with her tail hung straight down. She walked close to the fence, then away. “Would you like to go in?” “Um, yeah, okay.”
I walked through the chain-link door and sat again. Lucy walked up to the volunteer and wagged her tail. I yawned and lip-licked – canine calming signals – and after a few minutes, she stood close enough where I could scratch her chest. “What’s her story?” I asked. “She was surrendered by her owners, young family with a 4-year boy. Apparently she was bought for the mother-in-law but they are all too busy for her.”
The volunteer left to answer the front door, leaving Lucy and I alone. I moved into the shade and she stretched out on the pavement beside me. Compact cat-like paws with short nails. Squishy forehead. Soft brown eyes.
“Do you have any more information on her? Do you do behaviour assessments?” I asked. “We don’t have trainers come in but you can speak with our executive director, Darrold.
I left the shelter. There were no tears.
That evening, my mind played devil’s advocate: “You don’t know anything about her. What if she is dog-reactive? What if she has severe separation anxiety? What if she hates camping? Gets car sick? Travelling has been so easy without a dog!”
“I’m a trainer and I’ll work with her on any negative behaviour. And true, travelling is easier without a dog but I cannot ignore what my heart whispers for.”
And my heart knew I could not leave Halifax without her.
The next morning, I met the executive director, Darrold, a large man with a grey beard. I saw a man of integrity who cared deeply for his organization and animals. I met with Lucy again – she was all tail-waggy with Darrold – in a private room and we were left alone. She followed me around while I held a loose leash and took pieces of dog biscuits. She sat and lay down beside me.
I explained to Darrold that I was a trainer, owner of Dogsafe Canine First Aid and was a long-distance runner and hiker who was self-employed and worked from home. “We do things a little different around here. We don’t need an extensive application since our assessment starts as soon as you walk in the door. There is the right match for each of our dogs and we’ll keep them until that happens. And I think the right match for Lucy is you.”
After an hour of visiting with Lucy and speaking with Darrold, I completed the brief application. “We give you a 24-hour cooling off period so no money is taken right now,” he said. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning,” I said.
On the way to the campground, I stopped to buy dishes, long-line, poop bags, brush and an engraved ID tag for Lucy. I bought a week’s worth of groceries for me. My camperized Honda Element was built with a dog in mind and I cleared space for her. The campground staff moved a motorhome to another site so that I could have their quiet shaded site with electricity. I could now work from the campsite instead of the local library.
What lessons will Lucy teach me? What journey will we take together? Why did she choose me? Oh my, am I ready?
The next morning, I paid the $200 and walked Lucy to my truck where she jumped in and found the dog treats on her new mat. We drove to the lake – she loves the truck -- and went for a two-hour, long-line adventure. Running. Hiking. Wading. She twitched and snored for 8 ½ hours that night.
In the morning, I was greeted by tail-thumping. She won't be an easy dog, though. She’s quite fearful of dogs and wary of all-things-new -- tents, RVs, bathroom tiles, strangers, especially men. So this week, I’m reducing stimuli by shrinking her world so we can re-introduce her at a slower speed.
I don’t need a two-week visit to Newfoundland and Labrador. I have one at my feet for a lifetime.
Written by Dogsafe Canine First Aid creator, Michelle Sevigny
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hey, why not join us for a DOGSAFE canine first aid course? Check out all our courses, find your closest instructor or register for distance education (available across Canada and around the world).
If you're not already subscribed, sign up here to receive future Dogsafe articles directly to your inbox or join the conversation on Facebook or Twitter.
© 2014 Michelle Sevigny. DOGSAFE Canine First Aid. www.dogsafe.ca. No text or photos may be reproduced without permission.
Photo by Michelle Sevigny
“You can borrow my dog,” said kind people. I didn’t want to borrow a dog. I didn’t even want to pat a dog. Or talk to people about their dogs. I struggled to teach my Dogsafe canine first aid courses without my assistant by my side. By April 2013 – three months after he died -- I was able to giggle at the signs Monty was leaving to show me he was still close. And that August -- I cried again for two weeks straight.
“There are dogs who need a home, just go to a shelter and get another dog,” some people said. “I’m not ready yet,” I said. Grief is hard. But I know no other way to process it, than through it. For me, adopting another dog when I’m still working through my loss prevents a 100% commitment to my next dog.
By October 2013, I had sold my apartment and moved Dogsafe Head Office to Victoria, BC. I started to look at dogs on adoption websites. In February 2014, I visited the local shelter for a quick walk-through. A few months later, I visited again. And patted and talked to the dogs.
When Monty got sick, we had been planning a cross-country road trip. I had never been to the Atlantic Ocean. Nova Scotia called to me, especially Halifax. Maybe I’d find my dog along the way?
I left Victoria on June 15, 2014. I drove across British Columbia then south and east through Idaho, Montana, North Dakota and Minnesota. I was going to take my time -- maybe four or five weeks -- to visit dog businesses and shelters along the way.
Go east. Go east. Go east.
In Menomonie, Wisconsin, I asked the Dunn County Humane Society Shelter volunteer if they had any senior dogs. There was a 9-year old cocker spaniel and one 9-year old rat terrier -- neither was the one for me. I walked out of the shelter and cried. Am I not ready? I’m ready. I think. These dogs need homes, why am I reluctant to just adopt one?
Go east. Go east.
I ferried cross Lake Michigan, up through Ontario – declining offers to visit friends -- then south again and straight east across New York, Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine. Then north to New Brunswick to cross into Nova Scotia.
Go east.
On July 2, I arrived in Halifax, Nova Scotia.
You’re exactly where you are supposed to be.
I set-up my Dogsafe mobile office at the Shubie Campground. I loved Halifax’s harbours, the ferries, the running paths along lakes and the friendly people. “How long will you be staying here?” people asked. “I’m open, but I might take the ferry to Newfoundland and Labrador next week,” I said. I checked the website and learned that the voyage was seven hours and dogs were placed in a separated kennel area with no visiting. “I’ll have to go before I get a dog.”
After working in Halifax for a week, I visited the Bide Awhile Animal Shelter, a privately run organization. “I wanted to introduce Dogsafe to you, and I’m also looking for a dog but I see you have just one dog on the website,” I said to the woman who buzzed me in through the locked front door. My voice was shaky. My eyes got moist. “Sorry, this is emotional for me, I lost my dog over a year ago.” “I understand, I have dogs too,” she said. “We have another dog that’s been here only one week, a four-year-old black lab.” “A black lab?” I said as I wiped my eyes. “Yes, would you like to see her?” “I had initially thought of a senior dog, but, uh, yes, okay.”
I followed her to an outside exercise area. My gut crunched as I spotted the black, stubby-legged Labrador retriever with a square head and pink collar.
She’s the one.
Oh shit.
I sat with my back to the fence and peeked over my right shoulder. She was panting and pacing with her tail hung straight down. She walked close to the fence, then away. “Would you like to go in?” “Um, yeah, okay.”
I walked through the chain-link door and sat again. Lucy walked up to the volunteer and wagged her tail. I yawned and lip-licked – canine calming signals – and after a few minutes, she stood close enough where I could scratch her chest. “What’s her story?” I asked. “She was surrendered by her owners, young family with a 4-year boy. Apparently she was bought for the mother-in-law but they are all too busy for her.”
The volunteer left to answer the front door, leaving Lucy and I alone. I moved into the shade and she stretched out on the pavement beside me. Compact cat-like paws with short nails. Squishy forehead. Soft brown eyes.
“Do you have any more information on her? Do you do behaviour assessments?” I asked. “We don’t have trainers come in but you can speak with our executive director, Darrold.
I left the shelter. There were no tears.
That evening, my mind played devil’s advocate: “You don’t know anything about her. What if she is dog-reactive? What if she has severe separation anxiety? What if she hates camping? Gets car sick? Travelling has been so easy without a dog!”
“I’m a trainer and I’ll work with her on any negative behaviour. And true, travelling is easier without a dog but I cannot ignore what my heart whispers for.”
And my heart knew I could not leave Halifax without her.
The next morning, I met the executive director, Darrold, a large man with a grey beard. I saw a man of integrity who cared deeply for his organization and animals. I met with Lucy again – she was all tail-waggy with Darrold – in a private room and we were left alone. She followed me around while I held a loose leash and took pieces of dog biscuits. She sat and lay down beside me.
I explained to Darrold that I was a trainer, owner of Dogsafe Canine First Aid and was a long-distance runner and hiker who was self-employed and worked from home. “We do things a little different around here. We don’t need an extensive application since our assessment starts as soon as you walk in the door. There is the right match for each of our dogs and we’ll keep them until that happens. And I think the right match for Lucy is you.”
After an hour of visiting with Lucy and speaking with Darrold, I completed the brief application. “We give you a 24-hour cooling off period so no money is taken right now,” he said. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning,” I said.
On the way to the campground, I stopped to buy dishes, long-line, poop bags, brush and an engraved ID tag for Lucy. I bought a week’s worth of groceries for me. My camperized Honda Element was built with a dog in mind and I cleared space for her. The campground staff moved a motorhome to another site so that I could have their quiet shaded site with electricity. I could now work from the campsite instead of the local library.
What lessons will Lucy teach me? What journey will we take together? Why did she choose me? Oh my, am I ready?
The next morning, I paid the $200 and walked Lucy to my truck where she jumped in and found the dog treats on her new mat. We drove to the lake – she loves the truck -- and went for a two-hour, long-line adventure. Running. Hiking. Wading. She twitched and snored for 8 ½ hours that night.
In the morning, I was greeted by tail-thumping. She won't be an easy dog, though. She’s quite fearful of dogs and wary of all-things-new -- tents, RVs, bathroom tiles, strangers, especially men. So this week, I’m reducing stimuli by shrinking her world so we can re-introduce her at a slower speed.
I don’t need a two-week visit to Newfoundland and Labrador. I have one at my feet for a lifetime.
Written by Dogsafe Canine First Aid creator, Michelle Sevigny
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hey, why not join us for a DOGSAFE canine first aid course? Check out all our courses, find your closest instructor or register for distance education (available across Canada and around the world).
If you're not already subscribed, sign up here to receive future Dogsafe articles directly to your inbox or join the conversation on Facebook or Twitter.
© 2014 Michelle Sevigny. DOGSAFE Canine First Aid. www.dogsafe.ca. No text or photos may be reproduced without permission.
Photo by Michelle Sevigny