Service Dog People

Some of you know Brockle.

He's the amazing dog who came into my life at a time I needed him most.

He's also an absolute shit, but I digress.

I'll give a quick background for those who don't know him, a little bit of where we're at now and then get on with my point.

I found Brockle at our local Humane Society. We visited, we clicked, and I said I wanted him. Before I could adopt, there needed to be a meeting with the animal placement counselor. I was surprised, our animal shelter is pretty matter of fact. If you like the dog, you meet the dog, if you like each other, paperwork is filled out, money paid and off you go.

It turned out my future dog was a three time loser. He had come into the pound as a three-month-old stray. He was adopted out to a young couple who moved to California. They split up and she returned with nine-month-old Brockle. She needed two jobs to afford her crappy apartment with a 10'x12' community "dog park." Within a month Brockle snapped, blew up his kennel, CHEWED THROUGH THE APARTMENT WALL AND INTO THE COMPLEX HALL. This was after he ate her couch.

He ended up back where he started, at the Humane Society.

At ten months a family adopted him. They had a yard, rough and tumble kids and everybody just loved him.His paperwork was done at closing and they all skipped off into the sunset. The father of the happy family was waiting at the Humane Society door, first thing in the next morning, dog in hand.

"We don't have a lot on what exactly happened," the animal placement counselor said. She riffled through her notes.

"Hmmm...'he's a horrible dog, why didn't anybody warn us....this dog should be destroyed...he's lucky I didn't shoot him myself'...he didn't give any specifics."

The counselor had more to share. The large, bony, hairy dog was well-liked by the staff, and it was decided he could do a stint at Camp Woof-Woof. The camp was a business who donated training for pound dogs. They got socialization, basic obedience, manners and specific problems like leash aggression, guarding behavior etc. addressed. Dogs that should be great, but are just missing the mark, are sent for a little re-hab. He failed the program at Camp Woof-woof.

"What part?" I asked.

"All of it. Everything. He wreaked so much havoc they sent him back."

I sat back and studied the counselor. I was sick, swollen, old, and one-armed. Clearly, she was studying me too. I thought about the dog. When he was first brought to our meet n' greet, he paced, to the window, to my daughter, to the bubbly volunteer and back to the window again. He would brush against my knees as he passed. I waited. He paced. When he finally settled, he laid across my feet with a sigh and his back pressed against my shins. We spent a quiet five minutes and I knew we'd work out.

"I think we'll be fine," I said. I'm an avid walker. I'm not inexperienced with dogs and although I'm not a dog trainer, I am a retired horse trainer."

"Do you think your training background will be enough?"

"I'm not trying to come off as a know-it-all," I replied. "Being a horse trainer just means I'm smart enough to get professional help if we need it. I've never given up on a dog before and I won't start now."

We filled out paperwork, I wrote a check and took my new dog home.

Well, soo-prize soo-prize, look at that. I got all long winded and will have to come back to my original point next time.

Later gators.