For families with young or disabled children, an older shelter dog may be ideal because they have typically stopped biting, jumping, and chewing – all puppy-like behaviors that can be dangerous to a helpless child.
My harrowing search for a pet to suit two daughters, one tomboy and the other severely disabled, finally came to an end when the solution knocked on our door.
The saga began one sunny morning while washing the breakfast dishes:
“Mom, can I have a dog?” asked my six year old daughter Jackie.
I shrugged. The dreaded day has arrived: all children inevitably ask for one. And why shouldn’t they? Movie dogs like Lassie drag you from burning buildings and keep you warm when you’re lost in a snowstorm. But by the time we’re adults, we’ve learned the truth about them: They pee on their new wall-to-wall carpets, dig holes in their leather recliners to hide their rawhide bones, and bite their neighbor’s child.
“No, you can’t have a dog,” I said, preparing myself for the old argument.
“Why not?” demanded. “I promise I’ll take care of it. I will, I really will!”
Sure, I thought, knowing like all mothers that I would be the one who would end up walking in the pouring rain. “Honestly,” I said, “we can’t risk having a dog with your sister.” He hated to admit that. He didn’t want her to blame her little sister, three years her junior, for being so fragile. But taking care of Elizabeth, who was quadriplegic from cerebral palsy, was enough work without adding a dog that could playfully bite her.
He! I’ll tell Jackie the “lip cut story.” That will convince her that we can’t have a dog around her sister.
“When I was 13,” I began, “I convinced Grandma and Grandpa to let me have a Weimaraner. His name was Bogie (short for Humphrey Bogart) and he was a nipper.” One day my two-year-old cousin Suzannah was playing on the floor under the table with a popsicle stick in her mouth. Bogie broke the stick and bit his lip! My grandmother pulled her lip out of the carpet and wrapped it in a paper napkin to take to the hospital. could not be sewn. A surgeon fixed Suzannah’s face, but when we got home, my mother loaded Bogie into the back seat of the car and took him to the vet. I never saw him again. He took the ‘long walk’ as they say in the movie Lady and the Tramp. “
I paused so Jackie could let the horror of the incident sink in.
But all he wanted to know was: “Where is Suzannah’s lip now?”
“God, I don’t know! Last time I saw her lip was glued to the napkin, all wrinkled and like a mummy on my grandmother’s shelf. But that’s beside the point, can’t you see how it could be a dog? Because of your sister? She can’t speak, what would she call us if she was in another room and the dog was bothering her?
Elizabeth was born severely disabled because I caused cytomegalovirus (CMV) when I was pregnant with her. He was unaware of the precautions women should take when caring for young children who often carry the virus in saliva and other bodily fluids. Elizabeth’s case was very serious: she could not roll over, sit or even feed herself and required constant practical attention. When she wasn’t receiving therapy at her special education school, I kept her propped up on the couch so that my husband Jim, Jackie, or I could easily sit next to her and stretch her stiff limbs. Naturally, a dog would also try to sit next to you. He could imagine him landing on Elizabeth when he jumped onto the couch. He would stand on her scrawny legs, scratching her with his nails and licking her face. Elizabeth would be trapped!
With Jackie now crying, I suddenly came up with a temporary solution. “Jackie,” I ventured, “I want you to have a dog, but only if it’s meant to be. So … if God brings one to our door, then you can have it. How’s that?”
“Actually?” he asked, a smile spread across his face.
“I guess my childhood dog Donald Dog was meant for me because he came to my parents’ doorstep. If one shows up on our doorstep, I will assume it is a sign that he is a special dog that will be kind to Elizabeth. “
I felt bad, all I had really given him was a little hope. What were the chances of a homeless dog showing up on our doorstep?
In an effort to get Jackie to completely forget about a dog, I thought of the perfect “starter” pet: a hamster. Thus began seven years of one dysfunctional pet after another: the hamster that didn’t run in its wheel, a Stinky Rabbit that did even less, an ant farm that killed its ants, and the cat that attacked Elizabeth’s face.
Frustrated by our inability to find a good family pet, at age 12, Jackie tried one more time, “Mom, why can’t we just have a dog?”
Wearily, I reminded him that his sister was still too frail and reiterated my promise of “If God brings one to our door.”
Jim and Jackie decided that if that day ever came, they would name the dog Riley after the dog in the movie, “Homeward Bound II.”
Unbelievably, a few weeks later a big brown dog, shivering with cold, wet and dirty, tried to get into our car as we were leaving to go out with friends. “God really does answer prayers!” Jackie said.
Stunned, I knew that Jim and I had to keep our commitment. But first, I posted “found” ads, put up signs, and called the police. Reporting her to the Hi-Tor Animal Care Center in Pomona, New York, Deputy Director Donald said that an overwhelmed owner had likely left her. Donald gave me a free dog training video, some chew sticks, and some good advice on raising puppies.
Jackie didn’t want to name the puppy Riley because she only knew male dogs named Riley, so she named her Gabrielle-Gabby for short.
Gabby was cute and friendly in public, but at home she was terrifying. Now I was the overwhelmed owner.
All my fears of having a puppy came true. Gabby didn’t just pee on our new wall-to-wall carpeting and nibble on everything, she was a clamp. He playfully attacked every passing ankles and grabbed Elizabeth’s feet dangling over the sofa with his sharp teeth. Many nights I stayed up wondering where I was urinating and I was worried that I had hurt Elizabeth.
Upon learning of my distress, a friend who adopted older dogs and children wisely advised me: “A dog is not like a child; you can give it up.” However, how could I break my promise to Jackie? Perhaps you would agree to upgrade the dog for an older, calmer one?
Moments after I came up with that solution, Jackie started yelling from the laundry room, “Dad, get Gabby off me! She’s attacking my feet again.”
That is all. Without saying a word, I picked up the phone and called Donald at the shelter. “Help! The puppy we took in a month ago is driving us crazy. Can you find another home for him?”
“Puppies are easy, I can find him a home in a week.”
“Do you have an older, quiet dog? I have a disabled child, so I have to be safe.”
“In fact, I have a big, fat, lazy Lab-mix male who wants nothing more than to lie on a couch all day. Not only is he a TV junkie, he’s a whole bag of potatoes!”
“Perfect! What’s it called?”
“Riley.”
“Riley! You’re kidding! Hang on to him. We’ll be right in there!”
Jackie felt sad on the trip to the shelter with Gabby on her lap, but in awe of the name of the dog we were taking home. “Mom, that has to be a sign.”
She was right. And it was a good sign.
Not only did the Riley arrive completely neutered with up-to-date vaccinations, but he was completely tame. As soon as she settled into our house, I patted the couch next to Elizabeth to let her know that she could join her, and that’s what she did. And in the eyes of outsiders, that’s pretty much all he did!
But for Elizabeth, Riley did more: He became her loyal sofa companion, never running away to do housework or homework. Though they couldn’t have been more different on the outside – he was a 100 pound black bear dog and she a pale 40 pound – they had a lot in common. Like Elizabeth, Riley was considered a misfit because he couldn’t do much. He didn’t know how to fetch, play with a toy, or chew on rawhide, but he did know how to jump on the couch and keep Elizabeth warm without stepping on her, and she knew how to make him feel appreciated – she never turned upset when He breathed his hot doggy breath right into her face.
Elizabeth finally had a friend who understood her even though she couldn’t speak. And Jackie finally had a dog to pet and go on hiking trips. It became a pleasure to walk around like a carpet addict, even in the pouring rain!
Final note: I later heard from Donald that Gabby was adopted a week after we dropped her off at the shelter and her new family broke her pinching habit after taking the advice of an animal behavior specialist. According to Donald, Gabby was making her home as happy as Riley was making ours.
