A Tail Told by Lazerpoodle

Thought I'd recount the story of one mill dog. Here's where I came in:

Our neighbors believe I'm one of those "nutty dog people." This means they call me to shell out everything "doggone-it-all-ish" (real quotes follow) FROM: "Why is our Mugsy vomiting? Do you think it was the tomato and onion casserole and the pork chops he had for his dinner? We ate that same thing and we didn't get sick!" TO: "There's a stray dog in our yard. Will you come get it right now?"

The answers are "Yes" and "Yes." Doggone it all anyway.

A neighbor calls. "LP, there's a mean looking grey mutt in my yard and its just leaning against the side of our house. Its been there for several hours now out in the rain. The dog is shaking and it seems sick or something. Come get it, OK?"

Not really. Over I go with a leash, treats (and heavy gloves on, just in case). I see the wet utterly miserable and frightened dog. Why, it's a pathetic specimen of a West Highland "Grey" Terrier!

I call out "Here doggie" in a gentle voice to the Westie. Nothing. No bark. No sign of greeting. No reaction at all. I slowly approach the dog. Nothing. I allow the dog to smell my hand. Nothing. I offer the dog a treat. Nothing. I stroke the dog's head...

Ah, now we finally have something! We have fleas and plenty of them. Fleas and ticks. Fleas and ticks and mats. Fleas, ticks, mats, and mud. Fleas, ticks, mats, mud, and an ear infection. Fleas, ticks, mats, mud, an ear infection, and fecal matter. And oh look, why it's one infected paw pad from chewing it nearly down to the bone. I won't go on... You get the drift. Speaking of drift; wafting my way is bad breath, the sign of rotten teeth. Terrible smells end to end.

IMHO- The Westie has all the signs of very recently being mill dog, all right. No response to humans because she's had so little experience with them. She's leaning against the side of the neighbor's house and walking only on the concrete areas by the pool and driveway, etc. because: She does not know what grass is and she is so terribly afraid of everything. Probably, a narrow concrete run has her only experience in what I estimated to be her six or seven years on this earth. A Terrier who has never been on the earth. Going to ground, is nothing she knows about.

I pick her up. No reaction. I carry her home. I offer her a treat and a pat, while gently placing her in the tub. A poor zombie of a dog. No reaction at all. Neither whimper nor wag. Then fun of temporary canine stewardship begins. Nearly three hours later, a white terrier, only most meagerly merrier, emerges. Nothing to it. Phew. I feed her. I walk her. She relieves herself on the sidewalk only and she will not walk on the grass. I call the rescue orgs. (full up) I call the shelters. (no report) I call the radio stations. I call the newspapers and place info. I call and then I call some more. ( I also call the dog's mystery miller extremely bad names under my breath.) 

No tags. No id. Nothing. Several days go by. This zombie of a dog is attached to me 24/7 on a long leash. She is squatting without any warning. No sign at all- just squatting and peeing anywhere, which is frosting the trained poodle short stuff about the place, who never do do that. But we are doing all right. The once grey zombie has learned to eat a treat and to wag her tail at the age of seven years. Progress. Hark . The phone.

Why it's the Westie's "new owner." She saw the newspaper. She has the right data when I question her but(t) good. It IS her dog. She explains: "I just got that dog from a 'breeder' only a a little while ago before the dog took off. He's a really nice guy who raises all different kinds of dogs for pet stores. You know, he just let me have that dog for free, because she is too old now to have any more puppies! I put her in the kitchen. She stays there all the time because she pees everywhere and I don't have time to train her because I'm never home. I guess she got out somehow while I was away for a couple of days. " (phew. delightful.) Says I: "Your dog was severely infested with fleas and she should be checked by a vet for heartworms and she should be spayed. I've bathed and brushed her and made some slight progress with the instant peeing situation but this old girl really needs more attention and human interaction and a trip to the vets asap, if she is ever going to become a companion dog. She's really sweet, but she simply doesn't know anything about living with humans. " Says the woman: "I'll come get her. Do you have a leash I can borrow? Also, I'm out of dog food because when she left, I threw away the can I had in the fridge. " (oh delight.)

Twenty minutes pass. Here comes an extremely fancy car. Here comes a really well-dressed and a well inebriated woman; staggering up my sidewalk. Ah. Here comes the dog's new owner. Ding dong.

I greet her at the door with her Westie on a leash. "Hello. Here is your girl."

"Good heavens! Is that really my dog? (Dog has no reaction of a sign of recognition to this woman at all.) She's so clean now! I don't know how to thank you? She's so cute! Listen, let me at least give you a plant or something for all your trouble! Do you have an extra leash? Will you carry her to my car for me? Can I have some dog food you've been giving her and the brush you used? What about the shampoo? Did you use a special kind? Do you have any extra?"

Says me: "Yes, yes, yes." Thinks me: "Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Poor dog." Says me handing her a booklet, "Here's a lot of helpful information on how to care for a dog." "Oh, thanks!" says she, throwing it on the floor of her car.

Several days later, here comes the tipsy lady up our walk again. This time she is carrying a half dead rubber tree. Ah, my just reward.

Several weeks go by. The phone rings. "Hi! Can I bring my Pearl over for you to groom? You did such a nice job the last time. I'd be willing to buy the shampoo and of course."

Says I: "Are you the woman with the Westie? Here are the names of a good groomer and a wonderful vet. I've the names of dog trainers too, if you would like them."

Says she in wounded tones: "Oh! You mean YOU don't want to groom my dog any more for me? I thought you liked dogs? Don't you want to do this little favor for me? "

Says I "I'm sorry. Most of all, I'm sorry for your poor neglected old dog who is in great need of a vet's care , a trainer and a groomer. Have you taken her to a vet yet?" CLICK.

She continued calling me for several months afterward, insisting that I groom her dog. She said she'd bring the dog right over and I did not have to even come to her house! I'd ask her if she'd called the vet, etc. Did she wish me to help rehome her dog? She'd hang up.

About six months later, a mutual accquaintance (who knew nothing of my encounter with the grey terrier "retired mill brood bitch") but knew that I was a dog person - and therefore thought that I would be interested in any canine tale of tragedy, mentioned a woman she knew; who was simply heartbroken when her beloved West Highland White had suddenly died after less than a year. Its name was Pearl.

The Westie owner had told this mutual acquaintance that she'd taken such good care of this dog and she simply could not understand why it had died. After all, Pearl was not even sick when she left her in the kitchen with plenty of treats and papers down. She'd found her "beloved" Westie, Pearl dead in her kitchen one dark evening, when she'd returned from "a brief trip." She was going to get another dog soon. But of course, there could never be another dog like her little Grey Pearl. It was just so tragic!

Yes. Yes. It was. It also was The Miller's tale. It is told over and over again. No Puppy Mill dogs. No Pet Store Dogs. All Pet quality dogs sold or adopted with spay/neuter clause. Dogs sold only to pre screened buyers. But for Pearl and all the thousands of dogs exactly like her, this wisdom is too late. 

LP~

Copyright © 1999, 2001 by JD Kinman. Reprinted with permission of the author.