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The Rust Has Left the Building

9/4/2016

16 Comments

 
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​Sometimes, doing the right thing also means doing the hardest thing.
 
It has been about three weeks since The Hubster and I surrendered Rusty—aka The Rust, Rustinator and Rust Person—the beautiful but damaged Aussie shepherd we took into our hearts a couple of years ago.
 
Despite being a gorgeous pure-bred, with a magnificent red and white coat, as well as one blue eye and one brown eye, he had been dealt a bad deck of cards from the start.
 
First, Rusty was born in a puppy mill.  Second, the owners of the mill took him from his mother and litter mates a full four weeks early because a family had seen his beautiful colors online—and was willing to pay nearly $1,000 to have him “delivered” earlier.  It saddens me to say that these folks are related to us, and that they also convinced Rusty’s breeders to bring him to them.  So, he was separated, probably terrified and so not ready to be wrenched from his mother, who was now several hundred miles away, on Thanksgiving Day of 2013.
 
It was an awful match from the get-go.
 
Bred to herd, Aussies need a lot of space to exercise, and because they are also super-smart, should have a job to do.  But the family lived in a small townhouse with no yard; on top of that, they were gone most of the day.  And because they didn’t want a puppy tearing apart said residence, Rusty was crated nearly all of the time. 
 
Nine months later, the family decided they couldn’t be bothered with him.
 
So, when I saw that one member was advertising Rusty on social media, we decided to step up to the plate.  We didn’t know how long we would keep him, but we knew we had to try to give him the love and security he had never had. 
 
Meeting at a park halfway between our towns, The Hubster still remembers how it went down.
 
“I’d only met Rusty once,” he says.  “But as soon as I opened the van, he immediately jumped in.  The look on his face was, ‘Let’s get out of here.  Now.’”
 
We can’t prove it because we weren’t there, but his behaviors upon bringing him home indicated that he had also been starved as punishment, and frequently smacked across his hindquarters as well.  (Our groomer and vet thought so, too.  Another vet familiar with Rusty told us, “It’s pretty hard to screw up an Aussie.  But they did.”) 
 
But ultimately, while our household was absolutely a few steps up—a big back yard; our two other dogs, Hank and Sadie, to hang with, and a whole lot of snuggling from us—the right fit wasn’t here either.
 
For starters, we knew Rusty was an anxious guy.  What we didn’t realize is that it was much more serious—in fact, he suffered from acute post-traumatic stress disorder.  And even if we showered him with a zillion kisses every single day, that condition wasn’t going to go away.  And who could blame him?  Being snatched from his mom and brothers and sisters way too early, then boxed up, hit and denied food, he was, quite simply, a hot mess. 
 
Thus, we noticed odd behaviors, such as snatching any food he could reach; barking incessantly at our feet during dinner, and not allowing us to brush his back legs.  He also took to growling and barking right in Sadie’s face.  Thankfully, she ignored him.
 
Maybe this conduct would have lessened had The Teenage Daughter kept her promise.
 
Before we got Rusty, she had solemnly vowed that he would be “my dog,” and to that end, she would be responsible for everything that entailed.  But she neither walked nor brushed him (tasks left to me); refused to let him share her bed (“He sheds!”), and wouldn’t even feed him.  So the poor guy would settle next to her closed door every night, while Sadie and Hank slept with us.  And because Rusty was a super smart dog, he had to have felt, once again, like the odd man out.     
Still, we probably would have dribbled along except for one very big thing.
 
Late last year, Sadie and Rusty got into an epic dog fight. 
 
Sadie had been patient for such a long time, and that day, Rusty got in her face one too many times.  Blood was drawn on both sides, not to mention floors and walls.  The Hubster and I literally had to tear the two dogs apart; we were sure that one would have been killed if we hadn’t been home.
 
Still, we assumed the fight was an anomaly.
 
But then the brawls increased, first every few months, then every month, and finally, every few weeks.  They always began when Rusty sauntered over to Sadie, then snapped at her, inches from her muzzle.  We learned to pull the dogs away by their hind legs, which resulted in Rusty biting me hard on the hand once, and The Hubster receiving more than his share of injuries as well.  
 
The last fight, which nearly cost Sadie an eye, was the determining factor. 
 
After consulting with our vet, who agreed that surrender was the best option, I took Rusty to our local humane society.  A terrific non-profit with a re-homing rate of 97 percent, Rusty still had to go in for a doggie interview to make sure the place could likely find him a home. 
 
Upon seeing him, they praised his gorgeous colors and said that with his pure-bed status, Rusty was a “hot commodity” and would probably be adopted within the week. He would also be checked out by a vet (as it turned out, he had several deep bites from Sadie, and had to be sedated and sutured), as well as walked five times a day, with a trainer also spending bunches of daily time with him. I also made sure to let these folks know that Rusty needed to be the only dog in his new family.  I added that if at all possible, he should live on a ranch, where he could work and run and be loved, loved, loved from sunrise to sunset.
 
As two employees, one on each side, walked him away, Rusty turned and gave me a quizzical look.  He seemed to be saying, “What are you doing?”
 
I made myself wait a week before calling the society, which is when I heard about Rusty’s wounds.  A day later, a worker contacted us to ask if we could bring in any dog food, as he was refusing to eat their kibble.  Staffers had been feeding Rusty baby food to get him to eat.  
 
The Hubster and I delivered a large bag of Rusty’s familiar grub within 30 minutes of that call.  We didn’t ask to see him and they didn’t offer.  I think we both knew that a visit would confuse Rusty and undoubtedly cause more heartache—on both sides. 
 
But once there, we were also told that it looked like Rusty was likely going to be adopted the very next day! The potential forever family didn’t have any other dogs!  And they lived on a ranch!     
 
I checked the society’s web site a little while ago, and Rusty is no longer on the adopt-a-pet link.
 
I should feel good about all of this, and I guess I do.  But I’m also sad because I really miss Rusty.  Of course, I also love him, and I always will. 
 
Most of all, I hope that Rusty now has the life he has always deserved. 
 
Have you ever rescued and/or surrendered a pet?  I look forward to your comments and stories. 

16 Comments
Larry Grant
9/4/2016 02:59:22 pm

Tears... 😢 I know it was the right decision but I miss my "little shadow".

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Hilary
9/4/2016 03:02:25 pm

I know, I know... xo

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george link
9/4/2016 03:11:51 pm

Good story Hilary.

I was picking apples on a ranch near Yakima Washington one season. It was beautiful there with large old trees and long flowing grass throughout the orchard. One day a beautiful black dog, very fit and trim, showed up out of nowhere and was at the foot of the ladder where I was picking. I greeted him and he adopted me on the spot. It was as simple as that. All I had to do was feed him. He was a happy good natured dog and very athletic. A fast runner who would take great bounding leaps out of the grass and sail through the air. He went to work with me every day. I stayed on for a couple of months after the picking season and early winter was coming on. I was nineteen years old and alone there and grew very lonely. I decided to return to Long Beach. Buck (what I had named him) was a country dog all the way. The city was no place for him. There were some folks there who were traveling to Canada to homestead and live in the wild. They offered to take Buck with them and I agreed. I thought it would be the best for him to be in the wild. A city would never do.
I still think of him. The best dog I have ever known.

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Hilary
9/4/2016 04:04:04 pm

What a great story! Good for you for having the wisdom--at 19 years old!--to know that Buck needed to be working, playing and **living** in the countryside. I hope he went on to have a long and happy life. :)

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Jamie
9/4/2016 05:18:32 pm

My heart breaks for you and Rusty, but you did the right thing. You saved his life . Twice. Bless you for giving him love for all those years and for loving him enough to let him go.

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Hilary
9/4/2016 06:17:49 pm

Thank you for this comment. Larry believes that Rusty would not have passed his interview at Woods if he had gone straight from his original family to Woods. He needed that two year transition of love with US. And yes, Sadie probably would have done him in. She is close to 100 pounds!

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Cynthia link
9/4/2016 08:24:10 pm

Surrending a dog is one of the hardest things I have ever done. Our dog was brought to us as an 8 week old puppy by our son without asking permission. My husband was working abroad at the time and me, being the dog lover softy, couldn't say no. My son was having some serious troubles at the time, and I naively and hopefully thought that the puppy might be just what he needed to bring him to responsibility and love and his center. Needless to say, I ended up being a big part of the puppy's upbringing and sense of stability but between the two of us we raised a really sweet male pit bull who quite frankly, I adored. He got walks daily and initially was great with our dogs and people. Where he was tricky was with strange dogs and as he grew, he became unpredictable with strangers, and even guests in our home. He would unexpectedly lunge at guests with a roar into their faces. Very frightening from a 50+ pound dog. Thankfully, he was not a biter, but you know how scary pit pulls are, and this "puppy" was now getting big. One day I found a big gash on my 14 pound chihuahua dachshund. The vet assured us it was not a dog delivered wound. Then the fights started, usually by the little dog who was full of alpha, and culminated in a $600 wound to my precious little one's ear. And, to top it all off, my sons problems were becoming more complex and life threatening and we had to send him to treatment in the Bay Area. Long story short, with permission finally from my son and soul searching by us, we put an ad on Craigs list to find a home for our big friend, who I deeply adored and who adored me. Oh, ..and this was after bringing in a special trainer who convinced me that I had no business raising a male pit bull because I do not possess enough alpha, consistency, or time to train the dog so that he could live with us safely. The good news is Craigs list helped us to be found by a man who suffered from PTSD and needed a dog to help him feel safe in his own home. Raja, my big baby, my savasana partner, my walking buddy, is now deeply adored and has a reason for being who he is meant to be. I still grieved him for months after we let him go and felt the loss more deeply than almost any animal I had ever known, even with knowing he was in a good home. But as soon as he got his own Facebook page and I could peek at him from afar, I began to realize my own healing as I saw how completely happy he seemed! And my son, who realized he did not have the means to raise a dog, began to find his center and four years later, is healthy and happy, and just last week adopted an 8 week old poodle/chihuahua and is in dog heaven! Ah...dog love is so sweet, they get into our hearts in such a big way! I am grateful for you sharing your story! Thank you for letting me share mine!

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Hilary
9/4/2016 09:04:25 pm

I remember Raja as a puppy! I am also glad that, just like we did, you gave him a loving life and center before he went on to find his forever home and forever person. Both of our dogs, especially Sadie, have calmed down so much since I did the surrender. I also don't have to worry anymore about ingredients for dinner being snatched away if I turn my back for even a second (Rusty was adept at eating off of counters, tables, you name it), and it's a lot quieter around here. For those of us who take dogs in as our family, re-homing is such a tough, tough decision, even if it's the right one. My daughter can be such a compassionate person... but Rusty didn't come to her at the right time, and was probably not the right dog. I hope, like your son, she one day finds the best dog for her. And, **thank you** so much for sharing! :)

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Susan Jordan
9/4/2016 08:43:21 pm

I wish Rusty's new humans could give you updates.

Yes - I rescued Penny in June 2013. It's a long story, but it's hard for me to talk about. She literally walked into the ice cream parlor I was in with a friend right after I was laid off from my job of 14.5 years. She rescued me as much as I rescued her. I just couldn't keep her because she made my cat Simone so nervous that she started to get elevated blood pressure, and wouldn't ever come down from the top of the mantel while Penny was in the house (a tiny, cramped a apartment, to be exact). So one of my best friends in the world, an animal trainer and communicator with about five acres of small ranch land in the South, came and got Penny. It was the best thing for her, but my heart was broken. Penny lived and ran free with horses, cats, other dogs, and assorted exotic animals on her ranchers for two more years, and was deeply loved by my good f ined. She then contracted a very aggressive form of fast-moving cancer, and had to be put to sleep two years and three days after I had said goodbye to her. She was only four years old. She was in my life a short time, but she is, was, and always will be indelible in my heart. I love you, Penny.

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Hilary
9/4/2016 09:11:20 pm

What a lovely story. I completely understand the idea of a dog rescuing a person, as.this has happened to me, too, with more than a few of the critters who have come my way. And yes, I like the idea of getting updates about Rusty; I've already told the humane society that the new owners can call me. But as far as regular updates... not yet. Too soon, too raw. :)

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Jackie
9/5/2016 06:23:48 am

I had rescued a mangy orange tabby kitten when I worked as a motel maid during college. She was riddled with fleas, and all I had on hand at the time was Clairol's Herbal Essence shampoo to bathe and brush her. In time, Chula (which means 'beautiful' in Spanish grew into a cat worthy of her name. She must have been a Persian tabby mix, because she was quite fluffy, unfortunately, we had another cat, an alpha male, who would pull surprise attacks on Chula without warning. Once, I saw my father kick Chula to outside. The only other person who loved Chula was my mom. After she died, my father said he would give Chula away if I didn't take her. I was just married and living in an apartment in Queens. There, Chula had to become an indoor cat. I would often put her in my car to drive home on the weekends, and she would curl up next to me and sleep the entire ride. In time, my (ex) husband suffered from cat hair allergies. We had to give Chula to his aunt, who had a psychi dog in the household. Two weeks after handing her over, I found out that Chula had died "of natural causes." To this day, I believe she died from a broken heart. A P.S. to this story...My mother-in-law and I were driving together with me at the wheel. I brought up my love of Chula, and she jumped in right away, defending her son's allergic reactions to cat hair. She then went onto say, "I always told the kids that they were allergic to cats, only because I didn't like cat." She was the one who convinced me to hand Chula off to her new "home." After hearing that, I wanted to drive into a telephone pole. To this day, I still cry when I think about my beautiful, but tortured little cat. I am always on the lookout for a cat who resembles her, but no luck. I can't have pets because once I start work, I am away from home for many hours, which would not be fair to the animal. When I retire, I'll probably become the Cat Lady of Pittsburgh! Thank you for letting me voice this story about my beloved Chula. 😿

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Hilary
9/5/2016 12:36:07 pm

Ha! I remember Clairol's Herbal Essence. It was THE shampoo to use when it came out, and it sure did smell good--which tells me that Chula not only cleaned up well, she had a wonderful scent. She sounds like a gorgeous cat; tabbies are also considered some of the smartest cats. And really, given your circumstances, you did the best you could do... you gave her some loving years that she probably would not have had otherwise. :)

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leslie spoon
9/5/2016 09:11:47 am

Hilary I am so sorry for what Rusty and you went through. Taking him to the Humane Society was the best thing that you could do. I hope that he is happy in his new home. He deserves a good life.

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Hilary
9/5/2016 12:37:23 pm

We gave Rusty the bridge he needed so he be adopted by the right family. I don't feel guilty about giving him up, but I'm sad. It will be a while before that lifts.

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Debbie
9/16/2016 08:09:43 am

Love what you did to transition that beautiful dog.. I'm sure you miss him, but it must feel great to know that he's having a good life.
My special needs dog is Snickers.. an 8 pound morkie .. Maltese Yorkie type mix whom I rescued from Carson Shelter 10 years ago. He was little and my daughter little and for years everything was okay.. Although we we asked to keep him out of the dog park because he tried to terrorize every other dog. I then, rescued a cat for him to have a playmate his own size and he and Skittles played together. As my daughter grew she begged for a lab puppy like the one she had as as a baby ( Cody had a full life but she lost her big dog when she was six) So we brought home a tiny chocolate lab .. At 8 weeks Mocha and was the same size as Snickers and I thought it would all work out .. Not my best decision! Mocha grew! And is not willing to play laying down to a little guy that barks at him! Snickers also decided it's ok to mark his territory in the house .. My daughter, now 18, is basically mad at him for his behavior and sides with her lab! Luckily we have a yard and when they're outside they ignore each other .. And when they're inside I, being the mom, constantly work on keeping the peace. It's a bad match and that isn't going to change ... Love them all including my special needs little monster!

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Hilary
9/18/2016 03:25:42 pm

Kudos to you for sticking with it! I admire your fortitude! I just found out yesterday that Rusty has been returned to the humane society where I took him. He's in the behavioral unit working a lot with a trainer who I was told "absolutely loves him." The society matched him too quickly... giving him to a woman in her 70s, who, while very familiar with the breed, was NOT familiar with a dog with PTSD. She had a lot of land, but no real work to do. Really, he needs a life with a crusty old rancher, chasing cattle and riding the range. Hope that happens soon!

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    Hilary Roberts Grant

    Journalist, editor, filmmaker, foodie--and a clown! 
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