From the Chicken Coop to the Academy: 
a GRROWLS Rescue Story

My memory is a little hazy for the part of my life that preceded the winter of 1993-1994. Maybe that's because dogs have really short memories (the opinion of some humans) or because events during and since that time period have had a much greater impact on me than anything that happened before. I do know that I lived in New York City with someone for a few years before I ended up in the country, but it is with the chicken coop that I must begin.   

Brandy (she is my daughter, whatever that means) and I were dropped off during the summer of 1993 with a family that lived in the middle of nowhere. There was an old house and a barn. The family already had a dog of their own and they were only keeping us until our owner could return for us.

Our (Brandy's and my) temporary accommodations were pretty sparse. We lived in a room off the back of the tractor-storage shed behind the barn. I overheard a human say it probably housed chickens before us, but I never saw any former residents returning to visit the olde homestead. We were pretty isolated there, but it wasn't too bad because there were plenty of holes in the slats that let in fresh air and light. Once a day we got some food and water. At first, we were free to move around this little shed, but I guess I made some trouble trying to dig out. Or maybe it was because I invented that dumb game of trying to get out the door before the human could get it closed. I just needed to go outside to relieve myself (human talk for "take a whiz") most of the time. Anyway, I ended up chained to a wall. Brandy was not so badly behaved and was allowed to remain free inside the coop.

I guess I didn't make an overall good impression on this family. When they let us out every couple of days, I just couldn't control the urge to run in ever-widening circles. Must be poor breeding! Anyway, I know they didn't like me very well. Brandy was much more likely to run to them to cuddle and they seemed to like that. I would have done that too, if I could have stopped running in circles.

Well, to make a long story short, winter came and it was very cold in the chicken coop. Our water dish froze. Snow blew in through all those cracks. We didn't get to go outside as often and I think the family wasn't able to feed us anymore. It became obvious that no one was going to return for us. One day I heard talk about not keeping us. Clearly, we had no home. Someone had been called who was supposed to know how to dispose of a couple of cold, hungry, stir-crazy Goldens. And so we waited.

Then, early on a cold, dark morning late in this miserable winter, a human arrived that I had never seen before. She came into the coop with the man and seemed to be really concerned about our lack of shelter and water. There was something different
about this human. I jumped up to say hello and she actually hugged me and petted my head. She whispered "Oh beautiful boy, I can't believe you are still alive". She made me feel an unexpected sense of importance. And then I felt something change in her.  She was afraid and suddenly anxious. It was as if she thought we were all in danger. She told the man she needed to get going--it was a Sunday (looked pretty dreary to me, actually). It was very early in the morning and she had a long drive ahead. I was desperate to go with her. She felt safe. So I barked and wagged and did every good-dog thing I had ever seen Brandy
do. It must have worked, because she put a leash on both of us and we all left the coop. The ground was frozen and slippery. I was in a hurry. She did a great job of staying on her feet as we proceeded to the front of the house. She had a blue van. The back door opened and we saw a metal crate inside. I knew I didn't want to get into something smaller than the coop, but, more than that, I knew this was one human with whom I shouldn't argue.

As we drove away from that miserable farm, Brandy and I in the crate and our rescuer a few feet away, I suddenly felt safe again. I also had to take a dump--big time. I thought Brandy was going to kill me. Worse yet, the van stopped moving almost immediately. How did she know, I wondered? I was sure she was going to be so angry that she would return us to the coop.  But she called us "poor, sweet dogs" and apologized for not having let us go out before getting in the van. She took us both out of the crate and held us while she pulled the rug out of the crate and dumped the dump. In the dark. In a parking lot. Thank God for her.

Well, the rest of the story goes like this: Both Brandy and I went to foster families who helped us get cleaned up and used to a new way of living. Brandy adopted a family near Albany that has a little girl. She and the little girl belong to each other. I stayed with my foster Mom so long, we decided to become a permanent mother-son pair. I live INSIDE a big house on a lake. I have a big sister (definition: sisters steal all your toys and boss you around a lot). I have two cats. I get to run, swim, eat, drink water, go for walks, play, and get hugs on a regular basis. Ah, the comforts of home. At the Golden Retriever Rescue picnic this summer (to which all the rescued Goldens get invited) I was the host! I got to greet each group as they arrived. All those beautiful, happy, well-loved Goldens and their humans. Although I often go to work at the university with my mom to help her
with her students and classes, I will soon have my own job as well. I have offered to write a column for this web page. You see, my Mom is a psychologist and she will help me answer all those questions that dogs have about their humans. You know, questions like "If my name is NoNoBad Dog, why am I supposed to come when they call Rover?" Anyway, if you need any of those kinds of "I don't know how to train my human" questions answered, just write to Dear AbbeyJack, c/o this website and watch for your answer in my column! Talk to you soon.

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