I have recently had two conversations that led me to realize how proud I am of my dogs. I own three of them and they are all rescues. Two of them are pit bull mixes; oneof them has a sad but cool story. Every morning when I run, I encounter at least one loose dog. It always makes me think about how much I wish I could save them all, but I can't. When I come home, and I get to see my sweet girl, I realize that saving her will have to suffice. Her name is Kizzy and I want to share her story.
My male dog is named Lenny and we have had him for about seven years. We realized early on that he would do wonderfully with a companion, but we didn't want to rush into anything. I am very picky. I insist upon adopting as opposed to buying, I prefer to adopt dogs who might not otherwise get adopted, and I wanted a female but I didn't want a dog who was older than two. I watched rescue sites and shelters for two years and never felt that thing. I never found the right dog.
In August of 2012, my family moved back to our hometown and I had basically given up on the idea of finding another pet. One day, almost exactly four years ago, a friend of mine shared a post on Facebook about a dog who needed a home. She had been found in a parking lot. She was malnourished and had given birth to a litter recently. The woman from the rescue who had her said that she couldn't keep another dog, she shouldn't have even gone and gotten her but she couldn't say no. She needed a home for this girl and she needed it immediately. My friend was semi-local, so I assumed the original poster was and I sent her a message. It turned out that this woman was not local. She lived in another state, nearly a full day's drive away. I was crushed.
However, after a little bit of back and forth, she said that she had a good feeling about me and she was willing to drive to me to bring the dog to me. She also said that she didn't want me to reimburse her for gas and she didn't want an adoption fee. She simply wanted this sweet girl to go to a good home. She threw one more thing in; she had already had her spayed and she did not want me to reimburse her for that either. We just had to wait a day and she would be one of us. My husband was shocked, I think that he had started to think we would never find another dog. My kids were excited, they loved Lenny so much that they really thought another dog would be a good idea.
The day came and she arrived. It was fate. It was kismet. Her name was Kizzy. Her light brown eyes and her chubby belly melted my heart. She had these skinny legs, like a potato on toothpicks. She was the exact same color and brindle pattern that Lenny was. They looked like a matching pair. Her rescuer said that meeting us did nothing but reinforce her excitement for us and her feeling that this was a match made in heaven. We agreed. Kizzy came home. Kismet, Kizzy, the little girl who was meant to be mine. And then we tried to feed our dogs dinner.
It was a nightmare. Her fangs came out. She went straight for Lenny's throat. He has a solid forty pounds on her, but he was raised in a life of loving, luxury. He didn't know what to do. We didn't know what to do. My husband did the only thing he could think of on the fly. He body slammed her. I will never forget the sight of her tiny little legs sticking out from under his giant, six-foot-one-inch self. I will never forget the look of terror on his face and the panicked yelps coming from my other dog. My kids started crying. All we could do was wonder how something that had seemed so perfect had gone so horribly wrong.
It took nearly a year of feeding the dogs separately. We would crate one and then feed one and then switch. We realized shortly that she was highly food aggressive and sporadically dog aggressive. Kizzy will never enjoy the freedom of running off leash in a dog park, We still can't give them fancy treats and bones in the same room. We can, after a lot of patience, feed them at the same time. Occasional fights break out in our home if the kids drop food on the floor. Sometimes, we encounter another dog and nothing happens. Sometimes, Kizzy sees a dog she has already met and she snaps. We have to exercise caution and control when we walk her.
If anyone, especially men, walk toward her too quickly she rolls onto her back. Kizzy prefers women to men. She loves children, and actually people in general, but she doesn't like to be cornered or tugged on too much. Kizzy wants all of the love. She is the best snuggler I have ever met. She doesn't bark often, not even when she is agitated. She is still afraid to jump onto my bed, though she has no qualms about getting right into my face on the couch. She looks even more like a potato than she did before. Kizzy is simulataneously the sweetest dog I have ever met and the most unstable. I love her unconditionally, but I always have a watchful eye on her because I never know how she is going to react. She is my protector. She loves my sons and she loves my husband. I could stare at her forever and get lost in her eyes.
Rescuing Kizzy is one of the best things that has ever happened to me. She has taught me patience, she has taught me caution, she has taught me what it feels like to have someone love you without any reason, just because you love them back. She expects nothing. She doesn't like to come up the stairs if the screen door is already open. If I am standing in the doorway, she spins in circles until I move. I have never seen eyes the color of hers on a dog. I don't understand why, but the white tips of her paws are never dirty. The greatest gifts in my life all have heartbeats.
