My Journey with Gatsby, my Delightful and Mischievous Rescue Dog

This story begins 30 years ago, me at four years old begging my parents for a dog. We were a cat family and I loved our cats but I wanted to add a dog to our household of 6 humans and two cats. I would consistently ask my parents about getting a dog and the answers were the usual; “Do you know how much work it takes to raise a dog, in the rain and in the snow…”, “I PROMISE I’ll take care of it by myself, I will walk in it any weather!”

A couple of years later for Christmas I got a book from my parents I Want a Dog, a bright hardcover children’s book. I picked up the book, its dust jacket still neatly enclosing the book, I was sure this was a sign my parents were finally going to get the family a dog. I immediately asked my Mom to read with it me. As we flipped through the colourful pages the story emerged of a young girl who desperately wanted a dog and the lengths she goes to show her parents how she can take care of a dog.

I thought this book was a sign, I said to my Mom as we read it, I am ready, just like her. I came to realize I wasn’t getting a dog and the book was just a book. In hindsight, I see why my parents didn’t get a dog, they both worked full time with 4 kids who were each involved in sports. I still like to tease my parents about the book and the torture it brought me.

Fast forward 21 years later, I was a twenty something freshly out of University – where I had a beautiful orange cat- living in a basement apartment with my sister, the height of our twenties, staying up too late, spending too much money on booze and a new outfit every weekend, drinking on weekdays with no fear of feeling dead on our feet at work the following day.

I was finally living in an environment where I could make my own decision about getting a dog. Even still, I could not make the decision whether it was the right time. One day at work I received an email from a coworker that both my sister and I worked with, same company different location. This woman was very involved in our City’s dog community and sent an email to all employees urging for volunteers to help foster a large group of dogs rescued from a puppy mill. I read the email with excitement but I was nervous – were my parent’s right all those years ago, was I ready for the responsibility of being a pet owner?

I had grown up with cats; I still had a cat, would I know how to have a dog? If I was meant to be fostering, would I get too attached and then find out I had to give the dog back? Was my apartment too small, would I be gone too long during the day? All of these thoughts clouded my head. I ignored the email. It was my sister who actually committed me to fostering; she argued fostering was a great way to figure out if I really could be a dog person too. The process was simple, a few quick questions, our coworker had told the rescue about my sister and I, and I was approved.

The approval email came asking me what kind of dog I wanted. There were Great Danes, Terriers, Bulldogs and Dachshunds and more. I did a quick Google search, some type Terrier is fine. I really had no idea, and wasn’t very picky. My sister and I drove to the woman’s house who housed all the rescues while they were awaiting their foster families. We arrived and there were dogs everywhere, running in the backyard, running through the house, some in crates. We were greeted warmly and told, they didn’t have any more Terriers so I would be getting a Miniature Dachshund. Ok, I thought, that works it will be small and ready for apartment life.

We were guided through the house to an upstairs bedroom, with about 6 crates, ‘This is Brad.’ She pulled out the skinniest, mangy looking mini wiener dog I had ever seen, he was black and tan dapple and his eyes were true puppy dog eyes, I knew I loved him already. ‘His name is Brad because he came with his sisters, Thelma and Louise, so this is Brad Pitt.’ She carried Brad downstairs and placed him on the grass to let him run around the backyard with Thelma and Louise.

She took us aside and told me he’d need to eat Tripe for several weeks to get his body fat to a healthy level, this would help with weight gain and improve his skin and coat. She didn’t know his age, all the dogs who had been rescued has such poor oral health the Veterinarian couldn’t pinpoint their exact ages, she thought he might be 3 or 4. She let me know Brad’s teeth were in bad shape and he would need to visit the Vet again soon for more dental work. She told me he was not house trained and before coming to the rescue he had never walked on grass or on stairs, he was in a cage at all times except for when he was used as a stud – to mate with the females to produce pure bred puppies - I was feeling overwhelmed and excited all at the same time.

She picked Brad up from the pack of dogs and handed him to me thanking me for fostering and she would be in touch. We got back to the car, I didn’t know where to put Brad, I opened the back door to put him the back seat, and when I put him down he whimpered quietly and looked at me with those dark puppy dog eyes. I couldn’t leave him there. I picked him up and brought him to front with me, he was shaking, I was just as nervous as him; he snuggled under my arm and stuck his head in my armpit with a deep sigh. I knew this was the beginning of trust and I was still nervous and excited for whatever lay ahead.

To be continued…