Deb's story began in early March when Toronto Animal Services (TAS) was called to pick up a stray confined dog. The woman who requested the pick up was waiting anxiously in her backyard when the animal control officers arrived. In the corner of her yard, pressed against the fence, was the dog in question. The woman alluded that the dog belonged to a neighbour who had kept it in the garage since it was a puppy, but said little more. The dog was visibly emaciated and clearly petrified.
Why anyone would get a dog and leave it in a garage its whole life escapes me Deb, a TAS clerk, said as she recounted the background of the adult black and tan hound mix who had come into the shelter about 2 weeks prior. You can't even make eye contact with him because if you do, he will flail around and urinate all over. It's so sad! she said. I heard both annoyance and empathy in her voice through the phone line
When the frightened hound arrived at the shelter he immediately became catatonic. Staff could not seem to make a connection with him or help him overcome his fears despite their best efforts at befriending him. They knew his lack of early socialization and total isolation had left him psychologically damaged. They decided to move him out of the main kennels and into a secluded room where it was quiet in hopes of relieving some of his stress. To no one's surprise, there were no calls or inquiries about the lost hound. A week later, one of the girls who worked at the shelter saw a glimmer of recognition in the hound's eyes one morning and vowed to help him trust humans again. She began buying him hamburgers at lunch at her own expense. While he would not take it from her hand or even eat in front of her, she knew he was feverishly gobbling it down as soon as she out of sight.
It could take months of rehabilitation, and even then he will never be the dog he could have been Deb concluded. I had listened carefully and knew in my heart I could not say no to the dog.
We made arrangements to pick him up in two days. I wanted to choose a name so that I could start calling him by it immediately. The night before I was due to pick him up, my husband, Ian, and I sat watching an A & E special on the Bee Gees. Since the majority of the show featured Barry, the oldest of the brothers, I guess I had Barry on the brain when I arrived at the shelter. When Deb greeted me and asked what I was going to call the dog. I blurted out Barry. She smiled and ushered me to the back room to meet Barry.
Another staff member joined us within minutes and I soon learned she was the girl who had been buying Barry hamburgers. She introduced herself as Jennifer and told me that something special about the dog had touched her deeply. As I looked into the cage, the dog flinched and pressed his body flat against the back wall. Jennifer opened the cage and tried to coax him out but he was far too frightened to move. His body stiffened and his eyes widened in terror.
Dear God above, I thought to myself, this poor dog! Jennifer and I looked at each other and then back at the dog sitting statue-like in the cage. I have been carrying him around because he is too frightened to walk Jennifer said, and offered to carry him out to my car. As she picked him up the cage door cracked against the bars making a loud sharp Bang! He scrambled to get back to the safety of his cage, but missed and landed in a heap at my feet. I reached down and scooped him up. I felt the warm, wet liquid run down my leg and knew he had urinated in fear. I began walking to my car praying that there wouldn't be any loud noises to frighten him. I feared I wouldn't be able to hold him if he should make another frantic scramble. The saints must have been with us as we made it safely to my car. I placed him gently in the back seat, closed the door and breathed a sigh of relief. The traumatized hound tried desperately to hide under the seat but there was no where for him to go so he flattened himself on the floor.
On the ride home, I promised him scrumptious food, girlfriends who would be excited to meet and greet him and a soft couch with his name on it. When we arrived in my driveway, I climbed into the back seat, gently wrapped a thin leash around his neck and picked him up. I held on to the leash for dear life and walked slowly to the door.
Inside, I placed him carefully on the floor where he stood frozen. I picked him up again and brought him into the living room where I hoped he would be more comfortable. A spacious crate lined with a quilt waited there for him.
Dana, our 12 year old German shepherd mix was the first to greet him. To my surprise and delight he seemed to relax albeit slightly and even more promising was that fact that he didn't try to scramble away. Dana's interest in Barry quickly waned and she returned to her job as couch connoisseur. Our Pomeranian Dotty gave him the once over, and the meeting was over.
Last, but never least, came Nina the wonder dog. Nina, our border collie and rottweiler mix has an uncanny nurturing and intuitive way with many of the rescue dogs who have blessed our lives. She seems to be able to sense and surmise their uncertainties and needs almost instantly. I have looked to Nina more than once to help reach a troubled dog. She herself was seized from a crack cocaine house in New Jersey when the resident dealers were arrested and jailed. I'm certain she has seen and lived through more than anyone could imagine.
Nina greeted Barry with her usual welcoming way and again, as with Dana, Barry responded favourably yet ever so subtly with a trace softening of the eye, his tail untucked just a bit and his ears which had been plastered back, loosened and came forward slightly.
After our initial meetings I attached a leash to Barry's collar and carried him to the backyard. The leash was a typical 6 footer. Barry immediately tried to distance himself from me but couldn't and began to panic. It broke my heart to see him floundering and struggling to get away. I gently brought him closer; picked him up carried him back into the house where he ran into the open crate. Well, as sad as it was, at least I could report to the staff that I knew he could walk.
I dug out Dana's extend-a-lead for our next outing. I boiled some rice and added it to the meal I had prepared and placed it in the crate. I then left him in peace to eat and carried on with the day at hand. I had several phone calls to make and decided that I would make them from the living room so that he could become accustomed to my voice. When I went by his crate I noticed that he had licked the plate clean and was looking more relaxed, so I removed the plate, added a bowl of water and started to make my calls.
After a time, I attached the clip of the extend-a-lead to his collar for another outing attempt. It was a bit of a challenge getting him to come out of the crate, but once out, he followed along hesitantly. The extend a lead worked much better as it allowed Barry the extra needed space to find a spot to evacuate and it also provided him some distance from me. Just when I was starting to feel comfortable with extension lead, I felt it tighten and saw Barry wrapping himself around a tree. The closer I got to help him unravel, the more he struggled to get away. The more the leash pulled on his collar, the more he panicked. The whole incident was causing him undue stress and I didn't want him to associate the frightful experience with me, the person whom he was supposed to learn to trust.
Once I finally got him untangled and inside the house, he headed for the safety of his crate. I had some errands to run which included buying a harness for Barry for future use. Barry, I'm sure needed some quiet time anyway.
Upon returning I greeted the dogs, opened Barry's crate and went in the kitchen. I leaned over to look in the living room and saw Barry's head peeping out from the crate, but when he saw me spying, he disappeared back into his safe haven where he remained for the rest of the afternoon. I made a mental note to myself; when watching Barry, make every effort to remain unseen!
That evening when Ian came home from work, he brought his dinner into the living room and began watching the news as he ate. I observed Barry from across the room as he seemed to take in the newest action. I told Ian what I knew about Barry's past life and that he may be with us for a while. Ian looked over in the direction of the crate and Barry immediately looked away and tried to make himself as small as possible, preferably invisible. We were just going to have to take one day at a time.
That night I wanted to sleep on the couch in the living room to be near Barry. Nina, Dana and Dotty gathered in the room for the camp out. After another hardy meal and recent backyard outing, I figured Barry was not only ready for a good night's sleep; he must be exhausted from such a day. For what he had been through, he surely was a trooper. He had been lugged from here to there, put in a car and taken to who knows where, wrapped around a tree and introduced to a host of new creatures both human and canine. I'm sure he had seen and done more in that one day than he had the past several years! And through it all he had never once growled or snapped, lifted a lip or swung his head around. As I was getting ready for bed I took note of his thinness and long curling nails; he had been so neglected both emotionally and physically. Who could do this to a dog? Dear Barry lay sleeping in his crate with the door opened as I turned out the light.
Imagine my shock, disbelief and elation when I awoke the next morning to find him curled on the couch by my feet! My excitement was pretty much over before it began because as soon as he noticed I was awake and looking at him, he made a bee-line for his crate. Nevertheless, I was still ecstatic. I took him outside, where he stretched, had a round of good sniffs and took care of business. He appeared visibly less stressed. Once we were back inside the house, he went into his crate and I wished I could somehow warn him that he would soon have to endure a typical morning at the Houston household
First Ben, my older son, came in, flopped himself on the couch and turned on the Munster's. Barry took it all in with great interest. Stew, my younger boy, came in next carrying a bagel with cream cheese. He placed a piece of it in Barry's crate as he walked by. Barry gulped it down and looked on with further interest. Ben soon began running through the house frantically looking for his knapsack (we go through this each and every morning) and Stew was trying to find a pen so I could sign his day planner (we go through this quite frequently too!). While putting their socks on, they had a profound discussion and a great laugh about their favourite on-line game, Counter Strike, and before Barry could blink twice both boys had put their shoes on and were out the door.
Ah, peace at last. I sat on the couch and patted the end cushion where Barry had been sleeping to invite him over for a visit. Slowly his head appeared from the crate, it swung suspiciously from one side to another. Had they really gone, or would they appear from behind the door? Satisfied that there really was no one else in the house he slowly crept over and jumped on the couch. I was again elated.
I waited for some time before I gently reached toward his chest. He initially drew back but then came forward again. He sat unmoving as I stroked his narrow chest and then up and down his back in a massaging fashion. I felt the points of his backbone beneath his skin as my hand bumped over each column of his spine. I touched his head and soft velvet ears and sat for quite some time just gently stroking and whispering to him. What a magnificent dog he was. His reddish chestnut coloured head and body were broken only by the black saddle he sported along his back and sides.
I got up to prepare his breakfast and he lay down on the couch. It was nice to see him lying there and not heading for the crate.
When I walked back into the room with his breakfast, I almost didn't believe what I saw. The very tip of his tail flicked, it was undeniable and unmistakable and only flicked once, but it did flick! I suddenly felt that emotional rush that comes when a connection is being made with a dog, and a lump began to form in my throat.
I placed his breakfast down on the couch near where he lay. This time he did not wait for me to leave but gobbled down the food while I stood beside him.
Our friendship began that day and continued through the days and weeks that followed. The time we spent together was a learning experience for both of us. As our relationship deepened and grew, I began to understand Barry's inner workings and he mine. He was by far the more astute one, and I often wonder if dogs don't learn despite our teachings rather than because of them. We had days filled with challenges and achievements others with setbacks and relapses but with each passing day Barry faced his new life with more courage, enthusiasm and eagerness.
He learned how to play with other dogs and in particular with Nina who taught him games like catch me if you can, wrestle and box with me and roll and tumble in the grass; its fun for all.
He learned that his long, sturdy legs would carry him farther and faster than he had ever known possible
He learned to leave Dotty alone on any given day at any given time
He learned to play with a ball and that it's even more fun if someone plays ball with you
He learned how to bark again (I believe it had been so long since he had barked he actually startled himself when he did
He learned that when you act goofy, people act goofy too
He learned that people often act goofy even when dogs don't
He learned that car rides usually mean adventure, the great outdoors and sights and smells just waiting to be investigated
He learned that people might not be as scary after all and being around the ones you knew could even be comforting and reassuring
He learned to wait patiently while mom figured out the harness because it meant going for a walk with Nina
He learned that the people at the vet's office have soft gentle hands and voices (even if you sometimes leave without parts you had when you arrived)
He learned that men with big deep voices can also have big deep hearts
He learned that teenage boys eat ice cream and that they often share. In fact, he learned that teenage boys seem to eat all the time!
He learned that the word Barry meant love and all things good.
He learned that each new day included him.
He learned that being left alone in a garage is not the way life was meant to be lived
In early May 2003, a mass e-mail was sent to friends and associates in the dog rescue and training world about Barry’s plight to find an adoptive home. Thanks to Andrew Perkins who forwarded Barry’s picture and story to a co-worker, Barry is now sharing love and life with Diane Frysztacki and Mike Hicks in Pickering. Barry continues to flourish in mind, body and soul and has deeply bonded with Diane and Mike. Thanks to Toronto Animal Services Central District staff for seeing beyond the fear in a terrified stray dog and vowing to help him find his path
