Several days ago, I received a message that said, "Just making sure you got a little package from me? Should have been yesterday or today?" I replied, "Not yet, our mail runs slow, I will let you know."
It's not uncommon for us to receive packages, but I never expected this one to bring me to tears and flood my thoughts with both painful and happy memories of one of my puppies...
In November of 2009, Shucks Border Collies had a litter of puppies for sale from Clancy and Molly. Back in November of that year, I got a call from someone when I had placed an ad in the newspaper for puppies. At that time, the internet wasn't as popular, and we only depended on the newspaper and our landline phone. A great guy, or so it seemed, called and wanted a new pup as a gift for his step-children. He made a deposit on a male pup, sent me a check, and told me he would pick up the pup around Christmas. This is when the hair on the back of my neck stood up. The phone call ended, and as the time approached, my mind started to change. This is not a good idea.
The day before Christmas, I called him to say I wasn't going to do it and that I was sorry. He immediately started begging me, saying I would ruin their Christmas because the boys were expecting their gifts. He promised he would do anything—training, exercising the dog, teaching, playing, and everything else for the dog's happiness. He said he would keep me updated on the activities and fun they were having. Begrudgingly, I said OK, as long as you keep your part of the bargain." When the family arrived to pick up "Bodhi," they didn't exactly look like the perfect family. Sadly, Bodhi went home with them, and although I wished for the best, I knew differently...
Days passed, then weeks and months, until nearly a year later, I got the call. "I am bringing that dog back; he's good for nothing." A few hours later, he pulled into the driveway, opened the door, and let Bodhi out after taking him off a lead where his head was tied and pinned against the door because he chased the windshield wipers when they were on. "Don't touch his neck; he will bite you," he said. This was something I soon found out.
Off to the kennel we went after a very brief visit. As I sat on the floor next to Bodhi, observing his moods and demeanor, I was certain Bodhi was damaged. When I saw he had two collars on, I knew he only needed one and went to remove one. "He will bite you," went through my mind, and he did. Yes, I should have listened, but I didn't step back. We had a come-to-Jesus talk, and Bodhi knew he wasn't in charge. I took the collar off not because it was hurting him, but to show him that things would be different and that he was loved—and they were. For five days, I left him alone; he would come in the house but stay his distance. One morning, I sat in the middle of the floor, looking forward, not turning my head toward him. He wanted attention and was curious. At one point, I could see him out of the side of my eye, and he got close and backed away, testing the waters. A few minutes later, he approached my side again and licked my ear. He trusted me enough that he wouldn't get hit, and our relationship changed forever.
When we raised Border Collies, we were very careful about where they went, but 25 years ago, you didn't have the internet for research like you do now. Bodhi slipped through the cracks, and we were now on a mission to find the right home for him. We spread the word in our dog community that he was available and soon found a home. I met his new owner, and they bonded immediately. It was a single lady who wanted a good dog to keep her company. A few weeks later, he came back, and we started over. One day, I got a call from a woman with a horse farm who needed a Border Collie. A few days later, I met her, and Bodhi went to their horse farm. It seemed like a perfect fit; they have land, animals, and space to run — what a win-win. Despite the setbacks, I was determined to find Bodhi a loving and suitable home.
Months later, I got a call from the lady at the horse farm where Bodhi was. They regretfully told me that he wasn't adapting well. His intense focus on the horses was causing issues, and they were having a hard time managing his behavior. Their options were limited: either they would put him down that day, or I could come and pick him up, but it had to be the next day.
I left the house at 5:00 am the next morning, heading to a small town in eastern Ohio. It was raining, and the wind was blowing so hard that it was difficult to keep the car centered in the lane. After five hours, I arrived at the farm. They wouldn't be home, and they told me he would be in a kennel near the front gate. I couldn't miss him, they said. Bodhi was curled up in a small doghouse with a torn, ragged piece of carpet sticking out the front, and only half of his body fit inside. He was soaking wet. I was so happy to see him that I almost broke down. I'm just glad no one was there to see me act like a fool. He jumped up and wrapped his paws around my neck, and I cried like a child in the pouring rain. "Let's go home." Back in the car, the mud and water didn't matter; we were heading home again, chasing the windshield wipers all along the way. It was a moment of pure, unfiltered love, a testament to the bond we shared. I cried, and he licked my tears.
Just the next day, I received two calls from people interested in adopting an older dog. After the interview, the first caller was 83 years old, and I thought they might be too old for a young border collie. While it might work now, God forbid that the man gets sick or passes away before Bodhi, what would happen to him, and I didn't want to take that chance. Then I spoke to the second caller; they had lost their Border Collie and didn’t want to go through the puppy stage, which I understand. They were a wonderful couple who immediately connected with him, and he with them. So it was decided—Bodhi was going to a new home. Sunday, the day of his transfer, felt very bittersweet. I was uneasy because I kept thinking, “This just needs to stop." Bodhi needs a forever home where he can feel safe and be himself. He had been sleeping inside with us, which helped us re-establish our bond. As the time got closer, I felt more anxious and emotional, even playing the piano, which I do when stressed. The books on the piano were sentimental favorites, and everything around me seemed to bring me to tears, so I stopped playing. We were ready for him to leave. Rawhide, check… favorite ball, check… shot records, check… my heart, check… again. I couldn't take it. It was like giving my heart away over and over again. How many times will I have to go through this? It's like pulling off a scab and feeling the pain all over again. It was a beautiful day—sun shining, warm, birds singing—and everything in the world seemed perfect, or so I thought…
Outside, as we played with his favorite ball, I was attentive to every sound from the road, knowing a car could pull up at any moment and take him away again. They called when they got off the interstate, so I knew it was 15 minutes or less. Sometimes, it was just too much, and my heart broke all over again. Still, I wanted what was best for Bodhi—a home where he was the center of attention. The people were wonderful and eager to share their lives with a good dog, but it was not meant to be. You see, Bodhi came back to us the next day.
At this point, my options were limited because I didn't know what to do. Something somewhere has happened to Bodhi in his young life, and deep down, I knew it. He is a good dog, but he’s afraid someone might hurt him again, so he tries to protect himself. My dogs lick and kiss me whenever I let them, sometimes too much, but Bodhi will shy away if you try to hold or hug him. It's like your old Aunt Nellie trying to give you a kiss on the lips. Bodhi wants to love you, but he’s afraid someone will snatch the rug from under his feet, so he’s always on guard. He will only give part of his heart. He loves to be inside, playing and sitting in our lap while you rub him, but always on his terms. Bodhi has been to more cities than most people I know. Since January of that year, I’ve traveled over 1000 miles to take him to and pick him up at various homes, trying to find the right place. I guess I'm a dog fanatic, and I want to do the right thing for him, and honestly, it's my job. When we raised puppies, I always said, "Remember, it might be your dog, but it will always be my puppy" if it was born at the farm.
The confusing part is that Bodhi is a great dog, but he has a tough shell around his heart. He loves me and will follow me anywhere I go. I know he needs and wants to feel loved. Bodhi, you've lived a lifetime in just a year. I only hope and pray, and yes, I have prayed for my dogs, that things will work out. I don't know what went wrong, if anything, but we're all pulling for you in ways you'll never know. Now, you are our dog and will stay at the farm and never get hurt again!
After a few months, he settled into our farm routine and became part of the pack. Clancy would teach him, and Bodhi respected him, listened to him, and watched him, learning how to be a dog. One day, we had guests who were the owners of one of our older pups. "What are you going to do with Bodhi?" Keep him, I said. "You know, he just needs a job, does he need a home? We can work with him, can we try?" they asked.
Later that day, Bodhi went home with them, but they wanted to start fresh, and Bodhi got a new name; it was now "Tucker." Over the years, I kept up with Tucker, and when they went on vacation, Tucker and their other dog would return to the farm. Life was good, and Tucker had a great life. He competed in agility; he wasn't as good as some, but he had fun, which is the only thing that matters, and he had a job!
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Some months ago, Tucker and one of his owners visited us just to say hi and catch up. It was nice to see him and watch him roam around on some of the grounds where he once lived. Clancy was gone, but Tucker came back to visit us, just like old times. He was much older and wiser, and one of the best dogs in the world. I got to see him one last time; he remembered me, and it felt just like old times.
In his new job, he received and qualified for;
Novice Rally Title
Novice Jumper
Two CPE Agility titles
AKC Novice Rally Title
Qualifier Novice Agility/Fast
All of this for a dog deemed worthless, and nearly everyone gave up on him except a few people.
On my wall is a shadow box of his "first" AKC ribbon, along with a picture of him, given to me by his owners — something I will always cherish. Today, I have another shadow box that completes his story.
Last week, after I opened the package, I choked up again. Everything from the past flooded my mind, bringing back so many memories. It took the right people to do what was needed to help Tucker develop into a great dog with a great life. Rest well, my boy. I know you're with Clancy and will be waiting for me when that time comes, and we will all walk and play again. Dad
It's all about the dogs, and in one day, everything changed. Thank you, Hilary and Suzanne.
