Acacia Abandoned

Gotta love a guy who says, "Want to pull into the dump to see if we can find Momma Dog?" 

So, we pull in and there were people, mostly women, scavenging for usable things. As I left our car and walked towards the bush, there was a rustling in the bushes. The women started shouting. "Watch out! Watch out! She's going to bite you!" They screamed and scattered. 

I have a slow reaction time. It will bite me in the ass one day, but not today. 

Acacia came at me.

A dog came rushing at me. I was holding a tray of freshly cooked bacon, after all. That was the plan, to attract the momma dog we met several weeks before. We were able to capture two of her puppies and I worried about her and the rest of the litter. The ideal situation would be to catch momma, get her fixed, taken care of and adopted so she didn't have to live wild. We thought, she's friendly, even eating out of my hand, she'll just come with us, but she didn't trust us. She wasn't ready. 

As I stood on the edge of the bush, a dog came at me. Maybe she wanted to startle me into dropping the bacon. Or maybe she was so hungry she wanted to beat the other stray dogs to the food. Or, she was excited that someone was there who could save her. I wonder how she could have assessed me so quickly. 'She's a chicken and will drop the food if I scare her, ' this dog said to herself. Or, 'Food! I want food. I know that smell, Bacon!' From her vigorously wagging tail, 'Hi, hi, hi! I'm here! I'm ready for you to take me home! I don't want to be here a minute longer!' Or most likely, 'Please help me! I've got puppies and I'm really hungry!'

Collected 5 puppies from under
an Acacia tree

Whatever her reasons, I gave her the bacon and that was that. Unlike the other momma dog who freaked out and bolted as soon as Peter put the leash around her neck, this mommy she sat down right in front of us. Peter took a collar, clipped it on her neck, then fastened a leash. He led her...no, truly...she led him to the open crate where she climbed in and sat down ready to go. 

She watched as we took her five puppies from under the thorny Acacia tree she made into a den, thus her name. 

This is January 26th. January 14th is when we got Quin and Panda, the puppies of the momma dog who got away. And on January 24, we trapped an abandoned female dog who showed up near our home. We only had her overnight and brought her to the shelter. Now, here we are with a momma and her five week-old babies. 

Peter said, "You know, we can't introduce her to Dorothy." I said 

"I know." But in the back of my mind, I knew they'd get along.

When we got to our house, Peter's fears were confirmed. As we walked Momma downstairs, as we passed the glass front door where Dorothy stood guard, she was true-to-form. She threw her 60 lb body onto the door, snarled viciously, bared her teeth, managing to frighten momma dog as we walked by. Peter said, "It'll be tricky keeping them apart." I said I know. 

We settled everyone downstairs. I couldn't wait to give those flea infested, motor oil-stained puppies a bath.

We didn't even need momma's permission. She let us take each pup, one-by-one, and even stood still while we bathed her. What a dream she was as a guest in our home. She was even housebroken!
 

Just as she had done in the bush, she found a quiet protected corner of the bathroom, under the cabinet and propped herself there. Her puppies, eyes just opening, bumped and crawled their way to her, latching onto her nipples. She lay there patiently as they fed. 

We brought down food for her and a water dish. We refilled both three and four times per meal those first few days. We couldn't believe how much she needed to eat. But then again, she had five growing puppies to feed. 

To my surprise, because I'd never had a mommy dog with puppies before, I didn't know she ate their poop! I was squatting down to pick some up when she bowled me over to get to it! It was gross, don't get me wrong, but she was such a good mom, such a good momma dog! 

As the pups grew, we would take one at a time outside, upstairs, just play with them one at a time to get to know them and to have them get accustomed to people. Acacia didn't mind, but after we returned each one, she would lick them top to bottom, probably not liking our scent on her offspring. I remember that when I had kids. I asked their babysitters not to wear perfume because I didn't want to smell someone else on them. It must be primal. 

Much of the things I admired about Acacia was in relation to me as a mother. I know, I'm personifying her actions. But I think there's got to be something to it because it defined her as a dog, framed her as a companion. 

Acacia was smart. Hell, she knew to come with us when we first met her. Knew in her bones that she needed to cooperate in order to save their lives. Instinct, sure, she's got plenty of that, but smart is knowing which person to go to and not be trapped by someone who could exploit her and her young. Smart is knowing she needed to watch us for cues, and react to our actions so as not to be kicked out again. Because she was most definitely someone's pet, by the way she makes eye-contact; her ease in being on a leash, stepping over it when she became entangled; knowing to sit so we could clip it on. 

I'd say two weeks after being in the apartment, I couldn't find her under the bathroom cabinet, splayed out in the cool tiled shower, or under the bed. She needed breaks from the demanding puppies, so she often sat on the couch to get away. I hadn't thought to look there, but like a queen, she sat on that throne surrounded by every last chew toy I gave to her and her puppies. She had them all and chewed on them to her hearts content. She was domesticated once...she never wanted to be dumped outdoors again. So, she did as we wanted, and showed us her gratitude. 

Even as hungry as she seemed to be, sometimes, she would realized I was there and you could see the recognition in her eyes. She'd hop from the dish and with her tail wagging a mile a minute, make her way toward me just to lick my hand, bow her head to be petted, or look me in the eyes. I'd never seen gratitude in a dog, but here it was, in all it's splendor. 

She knew how to be a good mom, confident in her actions when it came to the puppies, but awkward in many ways that had to do with people. 

She loved being petted but didn't know how to lean into my hand, or sit next to me without moving, or lick me without slobbering. She was always so excitable, jumping up on me, constantly moving, panting, wiggling her tail. She stepped on my feet, scratched my legs up, once ripped my dress when she wanted to play. It was hard to feed all of the puppies and her as time went by because the puppies, all five of them, would do as she did. Jump up, scratch, bite and paw at me as I tried to balance six bowls of food down the stairs and place them without spilling them in front of the half dozen excitable dogs. Often the puppies weren't able to contain themselves and would jump on the rim of the bowls upending their full dish of food. While momma was domestic once, she had been in the wild so long, she was just a semblance of someone's pet right now. But how do we calm her down enough to be a pet once again? 

And this idea of being an acceptable pet, it irks me. But that's what's required to be adoptable, right? It's hard enough to find a home for rescued dogs, the competition is steep. Somehow it's as much her looks, her perceived abilities, personality, the characteristics of her "breed", her height, her shedding capacity, her activity level, her bark frequency, energy-level, and not just her restlessness but also her body at rest. If you can get her "right" qualities in front of that "ready" human who at that moment might want to share their life with someone with these specific qualities, well then, you've hit pay-dirt, struck gold, found that forever home. It's the stars aligning basically. Much like finding the right spouse.

As the puppies all found their forever homes, one-by-one they left, until it was only momma downstairs. So, one day, against the advice of my husband, I introduced Acacia to our 8-month-old rescue, Pearl. She was actually the reason I sort of wished for Acacia and her pups. It was because of Tamarind, Pearl's mom, whom I had fed before she gave birth to Pearl's litter, that I felt I needed redemption. I needed to be able to care for puppies AND their mother and see them safely to their forever homes. Sweet, shy Pearl, I knew would pose no threat to Acacia. 

Dorothy and Acacia looking out
the front door together

At first, their hackles went up, they sniffed each other, and played near each other. Good. They were good.  

After several playdates, they were OK with each other, not great friends, but they didn't hate each other either. So, being brave and feeling good about my decision, because I really really didn't want momma downstairs by herself, I took momma and Pearl outside. A few minutes later, I took Dorothy out on a leash. Pearl came running to say hello and momma did too. 

Dorothy started to growl. I held on to her tightly, prepared to hold her back, but momma lowered her eyes, lowered her head, and while she stood her ground, she also placated Dorothy. Dorothy liked that. They were fine. 

Oh sure, Dorothy would from time to time snarl and Momma would say, 'We're cool. I'll back off. No need to get mad.' and we'd all be fine once again. 

One day, we noticed these wings!

I was actively trying to find Acacia an adopter, a foster, a rescue...heartworm positive made it tricky. Her being over 20 lbs made her transport to the mainland impossible. I tried to have her adopted on St. Croix, I thought that was our only option. And then suddenly, there was an air transport. Hmm...and then there was a donation from one of her puppies' adopters. 'Hope this gives momma a chance at a good life.' Miraculously, her transport fees were covered. But where was she going and to whom? 

Peter, giving her
sage advice.

We still don't know where she'll end up. She got on a private flight for rescue dogs, landed in Puerto Rico, then Miami, then boarded a van to travel by land to New York. She gets car sick. So I worry. She hasn't eaten all day, so I worry. She is going to a rescue, not her forever home, so I worry...but mostly, I worry that the trust she placed in me was broken. Did she think she'd stay with us forever? 'Look kind lady with the bacon, I made nice with your vicious, short-legged, queen dog. Why don't I get to stay?' 

She looked at me from behind the crate's grated door and my heart melted. Earlier that day, she already knew there was something up. 'First that car-ride to the Shelter where I nearly threw up like a bazillion times,' she said. 'You held the leash so tight. You didn't let me run away.' as she backed away from the front door. 'And while the lady was good at petting me, she did stab me with a stick.' she thought of the Vet who gave her a rabies vaccination. 'I never want to get in a car again. And now, I'm stuck in this grey box and you're too far for me to reach even with my paw.' 'Wait, where are you going? Don't leave me here. I won't go on a walkabout. I won't try to kill the iguanas. I won't bark at strangers. I will do whatever you want me to, just take me home. I want to go home with you. I love you.' 

As a child of abandonment, having lived my life afraid the people I love would leave, I put myself in a vulnerable position with each dog we foster, each pet we rescue. As an abandoned adult, I took my role as a parent seriously, making sure my children never felt unwanted, unloved, unloved-able. I saw that when Acacia came to me at the dump. 'Please take us and give us shelter, food, and the security we need to survive, to thrive.' she said to me. With time, I could see, her dedication to her puppies equaled that of mine for my children. 

I wish I could keep every dog that needs a home. But I can't. I hope that I impart in those I release into the world a healthy, happy, "whole" dog with the capacity to love. I pour my heart into each one, and I lose a part of me with each good-bye. The stories of comfort, caring and compassion adopters share with me makes the tears I shed, the heartbreak I feel, and the worry that consumes me, disappear. 

Go well, sweet momma. You did such a good job caring for your puppies, now it's your turn to be cared for the way you deserve. May your forever humans find you swiftly and your second chance for a good life begin soon. 

She so much wants to find a home.