Fostering Fear

Fear is a powerful entity. I’ve seen it before, but the canines I’ve encountered have all had plenty of Hope and Love to defeat the dreaded demon. Until now.

I had contacted a rescuer named Amanda the week before Thanksgiving as she was looking for a temporary foster for a pittie mix pup. There was something special about this dog, and I had a feeling I’d be able to take this pup to work with me. It turned out many people thought this canine was a special soul because before she could call me back, an adopter was found.

She asked if I’d be interested in fostering another dog, and I said that I generally don’t unless I’m unemployed. Since I still had two weeks of work left, I wanted to wait until I was done. However, if it was a dire emergency and she thought a dog might be okay in an office setting, then I’d give it a whirl.

As we chatted, I browsed her adopt-a-pet page and came across a picture of a dog named Starlight. Something about his picture reminded me of my soul-dog Tia. In my mind, I wished I could foster him.

The next day Amanda called me and told me that she had a few dogs up at a trainer’s ranch that needed to find foster homes. The ranch was closing down. She thought Starlight would be a perfect fit for me. He was sweet and kind, and according to the trainer, probably would love to be an office dog.

I was hesitant to take him on because he was a whopping 70 pounds who had had trouble on leash. I told her that he had to be able to come to the office, or I couldn’t take him. She said she’d have a Plan B if it didn’t work out.

That little gut instinct let out a warning signal. But here’s the thing: I’ve taken in shelter dogs not knowing anything about them, so why not this dog? Maybe it was just Fear creeping in--Fear that it was a dog I couldn’t handle.

That initial instinct that he was the one I needed/wanted still held true. So, after almost backing out, I agreed to take him: my first foster while working.

His transport was delayed, and rather than coming in on Saturday giving me two days to work with him and get to know him, the transport didn’t arrive until Sunday evening at 5pm in Culver City. The sweet boy seemed to be just fine while I waited for Amanda to arrive with food, crate, and other essentials for his stay with me.

I had to hope that he’d be a great office dog and be house-trained, but he had just spent ten months at a trainer’s ranch. He was living a Dogtown-like life. He had his own kennel and spent his days with a pack of eight dogs who roamed in one of the many pens on twenty acres.

He had just ridden on the transport in a crate covered in a blanket in the back of a pickup truck. I assumed he’d be happy to be upgraded to first class. No more coach flying this kid: he was going to ride shotgun.

But alas, poor Starlight wasn’t too excited about getting back into a moving vehicle. I harnessed him into the passenger seat and the moment I opened the driver’s side door, he dove out, dangling by the tether. This wouldn’t be too bad if he was Norman’s size. But seventy pounds of squirming pit bull-mix canine is not easily wrangled.

I got him back in, squished myself into the driver’s seat and tried to calm him as he pressed into me, panting and crying. Okay, maybe car rides aren’t for him. But he might get used to it. I waited patiently for him to calm down and no longer be on top of me. Once on the freeway, he relaxed into the adventure, his legs draped across my lap, and his head center above the console watching the traffic on the 405.

As we chatted, I browsed her adopt-a-pet page and came across a picture of a dog named Starlight. Something about his picture reminded me of my soul-dog Tia. In my mind, I wished I could foster him.

The next day Amanda called me and told me that she had a few dogs up at a trainer’s ranch that needed to find foster homes. The ranch was closing down. She thought Starlight would be a perfect fit for me. He was sweet and kind, and according to the trainer, probably would love to be an office dog.

I was hesitant to take him on because he was a whopping 70 pounds who had had trouble on leash. I told her that he had to be able to come to the office, or I couldn’t take him. She said she’d have a Plan B if it didn’t work out.

That little gut instinct let out a warning signal. But here’s the thing: I’ve taken in shelter dogs not knowing anything about them, so why not this dog? Maybe it was just Fear creeping in--Fear that it was a dog I couldn’t handle.

That initial instinct that he was the one I needed/wanted still held true. So, after almost backing out, I agreed to take him: my first foster while working.

His transport was delayed, and rather than coming in on Saturday giving me two days to work with him and get to know him, the transport didn’t arrive until Sunday evening at 5pm in Culver City. The sweet boy seemed to be just fine while I waited for Amanda to arrive with food, crate, and other essentials for his stay with me.

I had to hope that he’d be a great office dog and be house-trained, but he had just spent ten months at a trainer’s ranch. He was living a Dogtown-like life. He had his own kennel and spent his days with a pack of eight dogs who roamed in one of the many pens on twenty acres.

He had just ridden on the transport in a crate covered in a blanket in the back of a pickup truck. I assumed he’d be happy to be upgraded to first class. No more coach flying this kid: he was going to ride shotgun.

But alas, poor Starlight wasn’t too excited about getting back into a moving vehicle. I harnessed him into the passenger seat and the moment I opened the driver’s side door, he dove out, dangling by the tether. This wouldn’t be too bad if he was Norman’s size. But seventy pounds of squirming pit bull-mix canine is not easily wrangled.

I got him back in, squished myself into the driver’s seat and tried to calm him as he pressed into me, panting and crying. Okay, maybe car rides aren’t for him. But he might get used to it. I waited patiently for him to calm down and no longer be on top of me. Once on the freeway, he relaxed into the adventure, his legs draped across my lap, and his head center above the console watching the traffic on the 405.

Fear happens. But dogs, like people, can overcome it. Starlight (whose name I had to change as soon as possible) rebounded well with the car. I had no doubts he would be up for other challenges. He had been in a foster home many months ago, so he had had a family-life, but it was half a lifetime ago for him. I hoped he remembered it quickly.

He walked easily on a leash, so either the trainer had done her job, or he hadn’t ever had the issue to begin with. His ad specified that he needed an “experienced” owner. There was no way this dog was getting adopted through his website. His name, his ad, his pictures... nothing was selling this pup.

Bringing him up to the kitchen door, I wasn’t expecting him to take a stand... or rather crouch. He wouldn’t cross the threshold.

I’ve seen a few dogs with this issue. It’s scary to enter a new place. I get that. Fear happens. I gave him a moment to try to work it out on his own, but I couldn’t wait for too long. I had to be work in 15 hours, and he needed to be able to handle it. A little coaxing, two feet through the doorway, and I had to haul him the rest of the way in before he tried to bolt away.

I closed the door and he scrambled into the corner, toppling over my shoes, and shivering with Fear. He trembled, panted, and almost knocked over a broomstick in his frenzy to try to disappear from this frightening situation.

First I tried to comfort him, but he would not accept my comfort. So I gave him some space to try to muster the courage himself. He kept staring at the reflection of him and me in the glass of the door. He was transfixed. He looked around the corner of the cabinet, and cowered at the sight of the galley kitchen and two more thresholds. How was I going to get this dog out of the kitchen?

Starlight needed time. He needed time and incentive to get off the uncomfortable pile of footwear and move forward into the room. He spit out treats I gave him. He wouldn’t come to me—who the hell was I? And so I turned down the lights to get rid of the reflection in the glass and went into the living room, allowing him to fight Fear himself.

Half an hour later, he walked over to the edge of the living room door. There he lay down and trembled, unable to cross the threshold.

There was no way this dog was going to the office. I’d never get him through the front door. And he didn’t respond to his name; his nomenclature more for purposes of networking than for practical application.

I left a message for Amanda telling her we needed to implement Plan B. The trainer might have thought he would like the office, but Starlight couldn’t even come indoors. Time was running out. I had to go to work in the morning and I needed a solution to him not going with me.

Starlight lay at the threshold of the kitchen for a good hour. I walked by him to use the bathroom and upon my return Fear rose its ugly head and he skittered back to the corner of the kitchen, huddled on top of my shoes again.

I couldn’t afford to give him the time he needed to work it out for himself. I took him by the harness, and guided him across the floor. He dragged his feet, not gaining traction on the slate. When his tail crossed the finish line just over the threshold into the living room, I sat down with the shivering mess of a canine. His back legs were unmovable, as if they had turned to stone.

I pet him until his legs became flesh again. He relaxed into the floor. I couldn’t push him any further. I was angry; this dog needed more help than I could give him. If I had been unemployed, he’d have all the time in the world to come to grips with this new situation. But I couldn’t risk my job. I had to go to work with only eight days remaining in my contract. I don’t have a job that I can call in sick.

Amanda called me back and I told her my problem. “He needs someone who has the time to work with him. I’ve never seen a dog this terrified. He can’t move.”

“I have nowhere for him to go tonight,” she said.

And that was it: nowhere for him to go. Packing him up and taking him to boarding in the morning wasn’t going to help this kid. He needed a foster. He needed security. He needed someone to help him discover his own confidence. What had the trainer been doing all these months?

My friend tried to bring out my own confidence. “You’ve had difficult dogs before. You always make it work. Yes, the dog needs therapy, I agree, but you’ll find a way to handle this. You always do.”

That’s what made me angry: I would find a way—because I had to. Now that the dog had entered my life, how could I turn him away? Sending him back to the trainer wouldn’t get him a home. Sending him to boarding wouldn’t get him used to house-living. And there were no other fosters who were willing and able to take him.

I was his only option. And now that I met him, I couldn’t give up on him.

Shit. I hate that about myself. My endless supply of Hope doesn’t allow me to give up or let Fear win—even if the Fear isn’t my own. But how the hell would I have time to do this?

I showed Starlight the dog bed I had across the room. It registered in his eyes, but he made no move toward it. I brought it closer to him. He raised his muzzle to sniff in its general direction, but still no movement. I brought it right up to him, and placed one of his paws on the soft bed. He let me place the other paw, and within half a second he scooched up his rear end and collapsed onto the dogbed.

There, he promptly closed his eyes, exhausted from the battle with Fear which had won the day.

I had never seen Fear win. A small battle, here and there, sure. But this was not good. Where was the Hope, the Love, the arsenal of weapons needed to combat such an enemy?

Starlight’s story was a tragic one. It was no wonder that Fear had overtaken him.

Found roaming the streets of Big Bear, he and his canine companion were chased by Animal Control. He zigged, his friend zagged... right into the path of an oncoming car. Starlight watched his only friend be killed, and without a moment to process that, the animal control officer focused her chase on him.

The officer caught up to the traumatized and shaking Starlight, and wrapped her catchpole loop around his neck. Starlight balked and fought, and she hung him high, choking him, trying to make him cease his thrashing. By the time he reached the shelter, he was on the edge of unconsciousness.

Starlight survived only a brief time in the shelter before his number was called. He was a sweet soul, but sweet, timid souls don’t make it out of the shelter alive. The person who had to euthanize him simply couldn’t do it. She called Amanda and begged her to help. She just couldn’t be the one to take this tragic soul’s life away.

Amanda didn’t have the funds or the ability to take him, but just like me, once a dog is in her life, she can’t turn him away. She found him a foster home and away Starlight went to live with a family.

As she and I spoke and I watched Starlight slumbering across the living room, she remembered that his first foster home also had trouble with his timidness. He didn’t leave the crate for two full days. But that had been ten months ago. 

The foster home sadly couldn’t keep him so Amanda made arrangements for him to be boarded at a ranch with a trainer. Starlight couldn’t walk on a leash; he was terrified of anything around his neck, and rightly so. He would cower to the ground and refuse to move. I use a harness with all dogs, so to me Starlight walked just fine—unless he didn’t want to go somewhere, i.e. through a doorway.

Amanda had given me a giant crate to use, and although I am not a fan of crating dogs, I had no other choice. Starlight couldn’t come to work with me. What was the difference of him being put in boarding versus being in a crate all day at my house? I had to come home in the middle of the day to walk him. It was a major inconvenience, but it was only a three-day week. I would have to make it work.

I couldn’t give up on this poor traumatized kid. He needed more than Love and Hope. He needed more than I could give him, but right now I was the only one giving him anything.

Amanda needed to find a new foster for him. But in the meantime, I had said Yes... I was all Starlight had. I didn't have the time and patience he needed right now, and that made me angry. My friend was right though: I’d make it work. Somehow. I just had to make it three days. Three days, and then I could give Starlight all the time he needed to battle Fear and finally win the war forever.