The Dog I Didn’t Want Became My Best Friend
A story of love and an unexpected friendship
No one wanted her, even me.
Tossed out on the streets like trash, the only human interaction she had consisted of the tenants from the low-income apartment complex nearby throwing shoes at her.
After hours of unsuccessfully chasing her, an animal control officer snared her around the neck. She was detained, taken to the Garland Humane Society, and placed on doggy death row in 2011 for biting the officer.
She was deemed a dangerous, unadoptable dog for regular people, so only a rescue organization could adopt her. If no organization would take her, she was scheduled to be euthanized. A 5-pound, severely malnourished rat terrier puppy was a dangerous dog.
Oh, the humanity! Send in the swat team!
Less than an hour away from lethal injection for her “vicious” bite, I received a call from my then-girlfriend (who later became my wife).
“Maria from RatBones Rescue just called me and said a rat terrier puppy at the Garland Humane Society will get euthanized at 1:00 PM if no one rescues her. They need to find a foster home before they can get her out. Can we foster her until they can find her a home?” She asked.
Who murders scared, abused animals and dares to call themselves a Humane Society?
“I don’t know, Bran. We already have Biscuit and Baci. Three may be too many for our small apartment,” I said.
Before I picked up the phone, she knew the puppy was coming home to us. Even though I thought it wasn’t the best idea, considering we already had two dogs at home that didn’t get along, I consented. I wanted Brandi to be happy; we were only supposed to be temporary fosters.
It made me nervous bringing a third dog, let alone an abused puppy, into an already contentious situation between Biscuit and Baci, but I couldn’t let the puppy die. We had to save her life and hope we could find her a home promptly.
When Brandi met my rat terrier, Biscuit, a few years earlier, she became passionate about the breed and befriended several rat terrier rescue groups on Facebook. She helped them with transport, supplies, cash donations, and whatever else it took to save as many rat terriers as possible. I admired Brandi even more for her love of ratties, which also increased my desire to help them.
Well, of course, it happened — failed foster alert!
We’ve had this pup for just shy of 13 years, and I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
We named her Squeaks.
Squeaks quickly bonded with Brandi and, to put it nicely, hated everyone else, including me. Anytime I would go near Brandi, she’d lash out and try to bite me. This has occurred daily for years.
Every day, I would wake up, and as soon as my feet hit the floor, I was greeted by this 13-pound ferocious beast ready to rip me limb from limb. It wasn’t easy, and I always didn’t keep my cool.
I felt like she was putting a wedge between my wife and me, and it also bothered me that she was still so scared, even in the safety of our home. I had to tell myself that it wasn’t about me. She was still dealing with the trauma, and that fear was buried deep in her.
Right before the pandemic hit in late 2019, I started working a fully remote job while my wife went into the office daily. Over time, Squeaks started trusting me more since I was the only one at home.
I’m not saying the daily dose of Pupperoni treats won her over, but hey, I wasn’t against bribing her for love. Eventually, she wanted to spend more time with me on my chair even when Brandi was home, much to Brandi’s chagrin. I didn’t feel bad; Brandi stole Biscuit’s love from me, so I saw this as the universe evening things out.
Squeaks’ transition from a scared, abused puppy to this little love machine has been extraordinary. Part of me believes that Biscuit told Squeaks to take extra care of me before she passed last year.
Job well done by both of you.
Squeaks is now 13 years old and dealing with the inevitable failing health of aging that we all face. She has an inoperable tumor on her heart that continues to grow and an unknown neurological condition that causes her to knuckle when she walks. Most of her legs’ strength is gone, making her unable to jump on my recliner or onto the bed, some of her favorite places to be.
Every day, I have to lift her onto my chair ten or more times because she’s too fancy to lie on the floor. I’m glad she’s too bougie to sleep on the floor.
After what she went through, she deserves to sleep with as many posh blankets and pillows as she wants and stretch out in all directions on our king-sized Serta mattress. It’s been a blessing to provide her with the safety of knowing she’ll never have to worry about having another shoe thrown at her again. Not on my watch.
She lets me know when she’s ready for a boost to get on my chair by putting her front paws on the staircase and then staring a hole through me. She learned from her mom how to use her sad eyes on me to get her way. Just like this:
I often lift her off the floor when her legs slide out in all directions. Her belly flops down, and she needs help when her legs don’t have the strength to stand back up. To help with these issues, she takes a daily dose of Vetmedin for her heart and a Galliprant pill for her legs to ensure the highest quality of life possible.
She deserves that from me. She deserves to be protected and loved.
Although it is heartbreaking to watch her health decline, I’m grateful she’s been with us for so long and was saved from being unjustly euthanized that February afternoon in 2011.
It has been an honor to provide her with the best possible life and care as we help usher her into the next dimension when that time comes with love, kindness, and ease.
As I walked out of the Robinson Animal Hospital the other day to pick up another month’s worth of her pills, I sat in my car and felt overwhelming gratitude for all the joy Squeaks has added to our lives.
Although she learned to trust and love me, she never grew out of being an ornery, bitchy little dog to others, but even that part of her makes me smile. This behavior earned her the nickname “Terrible Animal.” My wife also kindly refers to me as a terrible animal, so Squeaks and I have that in common.
How should I expect her to act when her first experiences of this world included having shoes rifled at her and living outside on the street without food?
I’d be bitchy and reluctant to trust others too.
Anytime I see a little dog act like a tough guy or girl, it always makes me laugh, and I think of Squeaks. I just shake my head and think “Terrible animal.”
She is our neighborhood’s volunteer sheriff, barking orders to the rest of the people and dogs on our street straight from the living room window, although she does more sleeping now than watchful surveillance.
Caring for an elderly pet is tough, but it’s been a responsibility I have cherished. I watch her stumble, fall, and struggle to stand back up, and she looks at me, confused as to why her body is failing. She can’t tell me if her legs hurt or if she has a headache like humans can. I don’t want her to feel pain; dogs are ingrained to hide pain, so it sometimes becomes challenging to notice.
She has taught me patience and grace, which are not my strong suit.
Transitions are a part of life for dogs and humans.
Our pets are not much different from us. They have to overcome trauma and abuse. They seek love, safety, and acceptance. Their bodies grow old and start to deteriorate. They are here for such a short time and then pass on just like us.
We are probably on borrowed time with Squeaks, and I’m thankful for each day we have left.
It makes me sad when I hear stories where elderly pets get dropped off at shelters because their owners don’t want to deal with medical expenses or their imminent death. I always thought I could tell everything about someone based on how they treat animals.
No one may have wanted Squeaks to start her life, even me, but rest assured, it has been an honor and privilege to be there for my new little best friend until the end.
