Second Chances: Inspiring Stories of Dog Adoption

Introduction

A second chance for every homeless pet is just what my husband, Jared, and I had in mind when we created Petfinder.com in 1996. It seemed clear that if we could harness the infant technology of the Internet, we could bring critical attention to millions of pets that were dying simply because they had nowhere to call home.

It worked. Today, there are hundreds of thousands of pets posted on the Web site. Potential adopters, from their own homes, enter information into their computers about what type of pets they are looking for. They are rewarded with a list of potential new best friends from shelters and adoption groups all across the country and beyond. For the pets, this second chance is all they need. Each year, more than a million pets find their forever homes by being listed on Petfinder.com.

Over the years, thousands of adopters have sent us their stories. More often than not, people describe how they saw a particular pet online and, it was love at first sight. They might have browsed through dozens of photos. Other times, it was the first to pop up on their monitor after they entered their search criteria, but when they saw it, stars sparkled and fairy dust fell. That special pet was not always at the local shelter. Sometimes, he or she was halfway across the country. But when people felt the magic, they didn't let distance stand in the way.

I hope you enjoy the stories of these special pets. We created Petfinder.com to save homeless pets, but what we learned is that often the pets we love save us.

— BETSY SAUL, COFOUNDER AND PRESIDENT OF PETFINDER.COM

The Puppy Mill Dog

Two women approached the brick ranch-style house along a tree-lined drive in rural Missouri. Nothing about the tidy acreage hinted that it was a puppy mill and that in the barn behind the house dogs were being kept under deplorable conditions.

The owners showed the women into their comfortable family room, which served as the selling area. Photos of dogs lined the walls. Most folks who wanted to buy a puppy stopped here; they never went out back. If they had, they might have changed their minds about purchasing a $700 pooch from these people.

But the two visitors today weren't there to buy puppies. They were there to rescue four mature females destined to be shot because they were of no more value to the owners.

The only thing I can give these people credit for is that at least they give us a chance to rescue animals that are no longer breedable, says Debi Baker, founder of Recycled Rovers of Morse Mill, Missouri, who was there that day.

The owners escorted the two women to the barn that housed four hundred dogs, each of whom produced about two litters a year. The dogs lived in two-by-two-foot wire cages, stacked and suspended above a concrete slab.

A four-year-old black-and-white Shih Tzu shrank down on the wire floor as the four stopped in front of her cage and opened the door. Usually humans approached to take her out for breeding or to rip her puppies from her. This time, gentle hands reached in. A human stroked her and spoke softly. This was something new.

But new things scared her. Like her mother before her, she had little experience outside of a cage. The Shih Tzu's coat had none of the silky beauty typical of her breed. Dermatitis had caused much of her hair to fall out. What was left clumped in mats. Infections covered her skin and her eyes were milky. Overgrown toenails curled back into the pads of her paws.

She was one of four dogs that the women rescued that day.

Back at her place, Debi Baker named the little dog Betty and began to clean her up. She shaved away the mats of hair and bathed her. Betty took the grooming quietly and calmly, though it was a brand new experience.

I've never seen a dog from a mill that was aggressive, Debi says. Physically bad, yes; battered and scarred, yes; but mean? Never.

A veterinarian put the pooch on a regimen of antibiotics to try to save her eyes and her abscessed teeth and to cure her infections.

Meanwhile a question loomed: Now that she had been saved from certain death, who would want to adopt such a pitiful dog?

Debi had faith. She posted Betty's photo and description on Petfinder.com. When I looked into Betty's eyes, there was something there that touched me, Debi says. I knew someone else would see it too.

That someone else turned out to be Maggie Winegarden of Iowa City, Iowa. The Winegardens, David and Maggie and the two of their five sons who were still at home, had a mature springer spaniel, but they knew Bo, at twelve years old, wouldn't be with them many more years. They wanted to introduce a new dog into their home before they suffered the loss of Bo.

Maggie wanted a small dog that her youngest son, Nate, could manage, and who would sit in his lap. When she learned about Shih Tzus from a friend who had one, she decided the breed would be a good choice. She had begun searching regularly on Petfinder.com, and when Debi posted Betty, she popped up on Maggie's next search.

My heart went out to her, Maggie says. She told her husband about the dog, and the two of them drove to Missouri to meet her. Though Debi had tried to prepare them, they were still shocked when they saw Betty.

Oh, no, Maggie thought to herself. A wasted trip.

Nevertheless, they spent some time with Betty, and Maggie held the pooch in her lap and petted and talked to her.

Finally, Maggie stood up and told Debi, My husband and I need to go somewhere and talk about this.

Debi understood. Taking on a dog like Betty was a serious commitment, and she didn't want an adoption failure.

David and I found a coffee shop, Maggie says, and sat down and just looked at each other. ‘Do you think we can handle this?’ I asked him.

David was skeptical.

Maggie was thinking aloud as she talked. You know, this isn't for us; this is for her. When I sat there, holding her in my lap, she looked at me with those hazy eyes and seemed to say, ‘I know you're going to help me.’ I think we owe it to her. Look at what people have done to her.

David said he would support Maggie no matter what. He admitted that if he were there alone, he probably wouldn't adopt Betty, but if Maggie wanted the dog, that was okay with him.

Maggie's decision was to adopt. I think Debi was surprised when we came back, Maggie says. She probably thought she'd never see us again.

Back in Iowa City, Betty's treatment and rehabilitation continued. The antibiotics did their job. Her eyes, though damaged from being untreated for so long, cleared up. Maggie worked on her grooming. I would brush her with a soft baby brush and get these mounds of white flaky dandruff flying off her skin.

Betty had missed most of a puppy's early learning experiences and exercise while she was caged. She now had to make up for lost time. Climbing the stairs in the Winegardens' home was a big hurdle. Maggie helped by moving one of Betty's paws to the next tread, and then Betty would simply wait, lacking the self-confidence to make a move. One paw at a time proved to be their motto for the next few weeks.

Something as simple as going on a walk was a new experience, so at first Maggie would carry her around the yard. I had to get her used to being outside.

Her socialization was also stunted. Though Betty bonded to Maggie like glue, when others approached her, she shied away. With time, tender loving care, and judiciously administered treats, Betty became more trusting and would sometimes let people come up to her without backing away.

She was so incredibly docile and relaxed when placed in someone's lap that several people told Maggie she would make a good therapy dog. Maggie signed her up for the certification test, and she passed on the first try. The little dog who had spent her first four years with no loving attention was now fussed over and petted as she brought comfort to people in hospitals.

Puppy millers robbed Betty of a puppy's joy and exuberance; they stole her health. Those things could never be returned. But thanks to several remarkable people and a connection made by Petfinder.com, Betty would live out the rest of her days in a loving home.

A Dill-y of a Dog

Lisa Dill's year started badly when her father passed away after a short illness. Several months later, Lisa herself had to have surgery. What she thought would be an overnight stay turned into four days. Next, she arrived home to find Toby, the family's Border collie, acting strange.

At first I just thought he had been missing me, she says. But then he didn't get better. One evening I took him out, and he could hardly walk. I could hear his bones crunching with each step.

The next morning she took him to the veterinarian, who diagnosed Toby with a bone disease.

The vet told me that my dog was not going to get any better, Lisa recalls, and the best thing I could do for him was put him down. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My friend of fifteen years needed me to make the decision to let him go on to a better place, free of pain and sickness. I didn't want to see him suffer anymore, so I watched as my little dog slipped away from me forever.

Lisa fretted about breaking the news to her family. They all thought Toby was coming home with me and would get better. They had just lost their grandpa, who had lived nearby, and now this.

Lisa realized there was one way she could protect herself from further heartbreak.

I'll never get another dog, she thought. That was October.

The following February, Lisa's cousin, Kelli Berezin from Austin, dropped in to visit unexpectedly. After the initial hellos, she booted up her laptop computer to show the Dills photos of her five dogs.

While Lisa was looking at the pictures, I could sense that she really missed having a dog, Kelli says.

She was absolutely right. Not only was Lisa charmed by the dogs' photos, but the looks on the faces of her husband and boys made her realize she couldn't deprive her family of a canine companion.

That night, she logged onto Petfinder.com and began to search for a pet to adopt. She entered her search criteria, pressed Enter, and scanned the first nineteen pets that the site listed. She felt nothing.

Then Lisa looked at number twenty. His name was Merlin, and he was at Evansville Animal Care and Control in Evansville, Indiana.

She called her three boys to come and take a look at the tan and black fuzzy pup with the floppy ears and merled back. The back part was obviously Australian shepherd, but the front part was anyone's guess. The kids were just as excited as their mom, and they went so far as to give him a new name that they thought better suited him: Ozzy. As they read about him, however, their excitement turned to worry.

It said that this little guy was scheduled to be put down on Monday morning, Lisa recalls. This was on Sunday night.

The next morning, Lisa started calling the shelter at 5:00 A.M. because she didn't know when it opened and at what time they euthanized. After two and a half nerve wracking hours, someone answered, and Lisa asked about Merlin.

I'm sorry, the voice over the phone said. We don't have him anymore.

Lisa immediately thought the worst, but then the staffer continued. Merlin has gone to a foster home.

In fact, Jamie Weber, a volunteer at Evansville Animal Care and Control, had pulled Merlin from the shelter a week earlier, but the staff had not noted the transfer on his Petfinder.com listing. Jamie had not gone to the shelter to find a pup to foster. In fact, No more dogs was her mantra because she had trouble giving them up once she got them home. She had pooches at home to prove it, and her husband had drawn the line at four. She was there that day for a cat, a ferret, or a rabbit.

On that particular afternoon, she had walked by Merlin's cage, and the star on his information card jumped out at her. It meant he was scheduled for euthanasia on the following Monday morning.

Jamie did some quick calculations. Animal Care and Control had found Merlin wandering the streets. No owners had come looking for him, and now it was Saturday afternoon — the end of his seventh day. Tomorrow Merlin would be available for adoption.

The timing shattered Jamie. The shelter was closed on Sunday, Merlin's adoption day, and he would be euthanized on Monday morning before the shelter opened.

In essence, Jamie says, he was getting zero adoption time.

It was unacceptable to her. Jamie took Merlin's card to the office and arranged to take him home with her, mantra or not.

Lisa Dill got Jamie's number from the shelter and called to ask about Merlin. Lisa's heart almost stopped again when Jamie acted puzzled. Seconds ticked by before Jamie recalled that she had changed the dog's name.

We renamed him Ozzy, Jamie said.

Goose bumps jumped out on Lisa's arms. Jamie had chosen the name the Dills had picked out for him.

Jamie told her that Ozzy had kennel cough, but that didn't stop Lisa from going to meet him. What she found at that meeting was a sick little guy who wasn't acting much like a puppy.

He was weak and sluggish, she says, but I knew in my heart he was the dog for us. I asked her if I could bring my kids back after school to meet him.

Later that day, she returned with the children. It only took them a few minutes, and they knew, too. Ozzy was adopted that night — Valentine's Day.

Jamie wanted to keep Ozzy awhile longer to continue his treatments for kennel cough, and the Dills agreed. Greg Dill, who was seventeen at the time, called several times a day to check on the pup.

I think Jamie finally got tired of all the calls, Lisa says with a laugh, so she said we could come and get him.

Ozzy came to his new home, and for the first time in many months, the Dills' house was full of joy. Ozzy loved playing in the big backyard, and walks were special treats.

When the Dills took Ozzy for a checkup, they asked the vet to estimate how old he was so they could pick a day to celebrate his birthday. The vet said he was probably born in the middle of October.

How about October fifteenth? Greg asked.

A chill ran up Lisa's spine. What they didn't realize was that October fifteenth was my dad's birthday. If he had met Ozzy he would have fallen deeply in love with him, just the same as we have.

Ozzy's adoption broke a streak of bad luck for the Dills, and for Ozzy it meant a life brimming with love.

Gone to the Dogs

Before Ken Foster met Duque, he scoffed at the whole dog thing, as he called it. A writer, he was at an artists' colony in Costa Rica when the small tan mutt started following him back to his apartment each day after lunch. He would take a nap for about an hour, then leave. Next Duque started showing up at dinner time, then in the morning.

Ken took this attachment very personally and quickly became quite fond of the little guy. When his stay at the colony ended, Ken wanted to bring Duque back to the States with him. As it turned out, airline restrictions wouldn't allow it. Meanwhile, he found out he wasn't the only one who felt singled out by what appeared to be Duque's allegiance.

I thought it was all about me, Ken recalls, but I discovered Duque had a schedule. He spent the morning with the gardener and someone else in the afternoon. Everyone sort of thought Duque was theirs. Had Ken