People often ask me how I got involved in dog rescue.  The story will probably surprise you.  It was not something well planned, not something that I grew up wanting to do.  It was something that I fell into because I was a lonely living in DC.  I wanted a friend — even if that friend had four legs instead if two. 

I found Sparky after a lot of random googling.  His photo showed him trotting along with a pink ball in his mouth.  His bio said he loved playing fetch and soccer with his family.  It was love at first sight (at least for me).    

Sparky with one of his many balls.

Sparky was in Richmond, but it didn’t occur to me that there were rescues in my own backyard.  This was it — my dog.  After coordinating with the rescue to get Sparky, I began having second thoughts. Was I really up for caring for a living being?  I couldn’t even keep a plant alive.

I’d love to say that everything was better once I met Sparky, but life is rarely that simple.  Sparky was clearly overwhelmed when I picked him up — he had his tail tucked and was shaking with nerves.  If I had known then what I know now, I might not have moved forward.  This nervous dog deserved better than a first-time dog owner — he needed other dogs to give him confidence.  He needed someone who knew what they were doing.  But, he got me. 

I loaded up Sparky, his pink ball, his dog food, and his crate in my car, and drove back to DC.   Now, I was getting excited.  We were going to have a great time together.  We’d go on hikes and walks.  We’d play fetch.  It would be perfect.

Nothing is ever perfect.

For the first 24 hours, we went on many long walks.  Not once did he pee.  I called the Rescue frantically, asking if something was wrong.  They told me to just wait.  He would pee when he was ready.  Well, he did.  On my carpet.  Standing next to me.

Then I decided to take him to the dog park.  I thought, we will play fetch.  We will bond.  And we did, until a car backfired and he ran all the way home.  Across two streets.  With me crying the whole way behind him. 

By Tuesday, I was ready to give up.  This was not going the way I planned.  I was sneezing in my house.  I had to get up earlier and stay up later.  I was running home at lunch and running back to the office. Everything was different. 

And different was scaring me. 

On Wednesday, I sat on the floor and called my mom.  Trying desperately to hold it together, I told her I had failed.  I was not able to care for this dog.  I just couldn’t do it.   My mom listened to my litany of troubles, all my reasons why it would not work.  Then she asked, “Where is Sparky?”

I told her, “He is lying down across from me.  He is staring at me.  I think he knows I failed.”

“No,” she said, “he is telling you he needs you.”

When I looked back at Sparky, I would love to say I saw what my mom was talking about.  That I saw his unconditional love — the love I now know he feels. But, really, what I saw was another animal, one who needed me as much as I needed him.  Who, like me, was afraid of “different,” but who, with me, could learn to love it.

And that started my journey into rescue. 

 

Mirah is the Executive Director of Lucky Dog Animal Rescue. She now has three rescue dogs at home (Hobo, Pepper and Sparky). Sparky was her first dog and first rescue, and served as a big inspiration for Lucky Dog.