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mararupners

Ogle is a rescue. Sometimes when we tell people that, we get telling looks, knowledgeable nods. AH, well then, that explains it all! A rough start in life, unknown background, and so on. BUT. We did adopt her from a rescue organization, but, technically, her mom was the rescue, not Ogle. Mom was a pregnant stray who was picked up somewhere down South (North Carolina? South Carolina?). Mom gave birth in safe and secure circumstances, being cared for by a loving foster family and a good vet. All the things. So Ogle started life off with her mom and her siblings, in a foster home with kids, dogs, and people coming and going. An ideal start. Socialization PLUS.

Our previous dog, Hanna, who left us back in 2019, was a stray who we adopted at about 12 weeks old from a shelter, who started her life on the street, in cages, who even knows. And she was a generally sweet and easygoing dog. So logic would dictate that this puppy, with the ideal start to life, would be even mellower. Ha.

We took Ogle home in August 2020. She was seven weeks young. We were a bit late getting to the foster home, her other siblings had already left with their families. (That MUST be it. She was too young, we were late, she felt abandoned and confused, we screwed it up from minute one.)

During one of her first few days with us, we didn’t want to leave her alone when we went to visit our best friends for dinner. Early socialization is good, right? She sat in my lap and met a bunch of new people and two dogs who we told her were going to be her two best friends. (THIS is what did it. Too much too soon.)

As soon as she had all her shots, we invited just about every dog on the block into the backyard to play. Meet the neighbors! Make new friends! (OK, no, this must be it. Because maybe all along she was not happy with all these random guests but totally freaked out, not knowing if she needed to protect her home from these intruders or what?)

Or we messed her up because she was scared to leave the backyard to go for walks but we tried to coax her anyway. Or because when she barked at people who came into the house we giggled and thought it was adorable. Or because it was still just post-covid there were not enough people coming into the house. Or maybe because we let her growly mouthy puppy play go on too long. Or, or, or, or. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Is it any of these things? Or all of them? Or none of them? Is there any way to know? And, ultimately, does it really matter? Because here is where we are.

Our Story

Some days are just ordinary days, and some days are the kinds of days on which, without warning, everything tilts.

Friday, January 6, 2023 was one of those kinds of days.

I was working from home. My husband Aini took our two-year old dog Ogle to the dog park. It’s their thing. She gets a bunch of exercise and he gets to chit chat with his dog peeps.

They were gone for a long time. And when he got home, he came into my office. Pale. Shaky. He sat down. And proceeded to tell me that Ogle had chased down and brutally attacked another dog. There were multiple deep bites; the other dog was taken to the emergency vet. Ogle didn’t have a scratch.

The next few days were a blur of tears and severe anxiety and text message exchanges with the other owner. The other dog recovered. We drained our savings and borrowed money to pay the vet bills.

We looked at our dog with new eyes. We looked at ourselves with new eyes. What the hell had just happened? And what the hell do we do now?

True confession. After much soul-searching and research, we did try to rehome her. We had visions of her living with more competent owners, on a couple of acres of land, with fewer stressors. A place where she could be who she is. But…an adult dog with a bite history. Who would want to take her? Turns out, nobody.

So here she still is. And here we still are. And this blog is a reflection on our continued journey with this intense, wonderful, complicated, smart, anxious, beautiful and incredibly challenging dog.