Hi, Pet Buddies! This week I met a different sort of rescue pup. For her first 6 or 7 years, Sheba Doud worked in a puppy mill. She lived in a cage and her job was to have lots of puppies, so the humans could sell them and make money. They’d take her babies away as fast as they could, so she couldn’t even watch them grow or nuzzle them or anything. It was one of the saddest stories I ever heard.
I rang the bell, and Sheba’s human mom, Jean, greeted me, with Sheba in her arms. Sheba didn’t say anything, but I saw her peeping at me, shy but curious.
She sat on the couch with her Mom and her Dad, Wally, settled into his chair. “This is the sweetest little dog in Florida,” he said. “She’s changed our lives,” Sheba’s Mom added.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” I said in a friendly manner.
Sheba’s pretty small, poodle-y, with lots of Yorkie around the face. She’s got a silvery coat, short and curly, a little black nose and big, expressive black eyes.
“Good morning, Mr. Bonzo,” she said softly. “Mom and Dad said I can tell you about myself. A lot of my former life is pretty hazy. I honestly try not to think about it too much, but I’ll do my best.”
“You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to,” I said sincerely.
“Thank you. I’m just not good at Small Yap. I was never with other dogs socially, just for business,” she paused and blinked, “even my puppies.”
Then she shook her head and sat up straight. “But now I’m the luckiest dog ever. So here’s my story. My first memories are being in a cage. There were lots of other dogs but we didn’t hang out together. As soon as I was old enough, I had puppies, as many as possible. I loved taking care of them and keeping them safe and warm. But the humans would always take them away as soon as they could, and I never saw them again. I just try not to think about it.”
Me and my assistant were both wiping our eyes. I didn’t know what to say.
Sheba licked my assistant’s hand. “Don’t feel sad. There’s a happy ending. The dog police rescued us and brought us to the Humane Society. After they checked us out and we went through the No-More-Puppies Program, they brought us out to meet the humans. I was scared and shy, and I didn’t want anything to do with anybody, humans or dogs. But when my Mom saw me, she knew we were meant for each other.
“She put me on layaway until I was ready for my new home. Mom and Dad thought it’d be months before I came out of my shell, but, driving home on Mom’s lap, a wonderful, warm feeling came over me, like the way I had felt with my puppies. It was love. And I knew I was going to be OK.”
I was so caught up in Sheba’s story I forgot to take notes, so I started writing like crazy to catch up.
“We’ve been together for two years. Dad named me Sheba when he saw me snoozing on a pillow, ‘like the Queen of Sheba.’ I don’t know who that is but I’m sure she gets treated really nice. I get yummy food and Mom says I gobble it like it’s my last meal. I always dance on my hind legs when she’s fixing it, and I yap when I have to go out to potty. I come back in right away because I don’t like Outside. Dad takes me for walks and I love being with him, but I DO NOT LIKE WALKS AT ALL. I’m not interested in other dogs either – no offense.”
“None taken,” I said quickly.
“When Mom and Dad first got me, I didn’t have hair on my legs or tummy and what I did have was a total mess. Mom almost didn‘t recognize me the first time I got groomed.”
Sticking out on each side of Sheba’s little face were very fluffy ears. To keep them from flopping into her food, her Mom trims the fluff, so they look like big wedge-shaped “earmuffs” – very avant-garde, like movie stars’ dogs. (OK, sometimes I read People magazine.)
“What about tricks? Special toys?” I asked.
“Nope, no tricks. I have loads of toys but I mostly ignore ‘em. One time, my human sister was visiting with her dog. He had a cage with his favorite chewtoy inside. I snuck in, just to investigate, and I sort of accidently chewed that chewtoy totally up. It was delicious!”
“What do you do when you’re home alone?” I inquired.
“They say ‘Beddie-Bye,’ and I jump onto their bed, and mostly stay there till they get back.”
“Mostly?”
“I want to be sure they remember that I don ‘t like it one bit when they’re gone, so I carefully pull pieces of paper out of the wastebasket, chew them into little bits and leave them around the room. If the wastebasket’s empty, I use tissues from the Kleenex box.”
“Clever,” I said.
“I don’t do it to be rude. I just love being with them more than anything. When Dad had a big operation, Mom and I visited. Mom was gonna tell the hospital people I was a Service Dog but she didn’t have to. They knew I was good for him. I was so excited I jumped right up on his bed. We were SO happy to see each other.”
Sheba’s story reminded me of how lucky I am. A sign at their front door says, “This House is Operated Solely for the Comfort and Convenience of the Dog.”
Just as it should be, I thought.
