Watch the Moment Shut Down Black Shepherd Goes on her First Walk
As I walked into the shelter, the noise was almost overwhelming. There were barks, whines, and an occasional, heart-wrenching silence. Each kennel held a different story, mostly of abandonment or neglect. Today, I was on a mission to connect deeply with one dog that had slipped through the cracks.
“Hey, there,” I said, greeting a bunch of eager faces, all vying for attention. “Look at these little puppies. So cute,” I said, bending down to stroke their heads. But then I noticed a dark shadow in a corner. There, almost invisible against the shadows, was a black shepherd, nearly blending into the background.
A Black Shepherd in the Corner
“Check out this black shepherd,” I said, feeling a pang of sadness for the still figure. She didn’t have the bright eyes or wagging tail that drew people to other dogs. “Most people gravitate towards the dogs that are up at the front, eager to say hello. But this one… she’s frozen in fear.”
I entered the kennel slowly, trying not to startle her. “Hi there,” I whispered, lowering myself to her level. “I know you probably feel really forgotten back here, but I’m here to change that.”
She didn’t flinch, didn’t move, just stared, her eyes a mix of fear and resignation. I offered her a treat, hoping to see some interest. Nothing. Her anxiety was palpable, her breathing shallow and rapid. “She’s as black as midnight, so beautiful,” I thought, but knew she was less likely to be adopted because of her color and demeanor.
When working with Mary, I tried to get her interested in a treat. “Let’s see if you might be interested in a treat,” I said, offering it gently. Unfortunately, she was too shut down to respond. I used my phone as a rearview mirror to avoid direct eye contact, which can be intimidating for a scared dog. “Sometimes, if I can get her nose working, that would go a long way,” I thought. I also attempted to create movement by putting a slight tension on a lead to invite her to walk. This method is subtle but can help encourage a dog to move without adding stress.
Mary’s Backstory
Mary hadn’t just arrived at the shelter; she had been there a while, overlooked and forgotten. “I’m getting the sense that she didn’t just come in today,” I said. She had been picked up by a Good Samaritan near a wedding venue, without a collar or microchip. The shelter had no information about her previous life. She was about five years old, middle-aged for a dog, and still intact, which means she hadn’t been spayed. This added to the mystery of her past, but also highlighted her need for a fresh start and a loving home.
Breaking the Ice
Sitting down slowly, I tried to make myself as non-threatening as possible. “I just know she’ll get passed by because of her color and temperament. She fades into that corner, disappearing into the shadows.” I tossed a bigger treat than usual, trying to give her some space. Her anxiety spiked. I watched her rib cage move with quick, shallow breaths.
When working with Mary, I tried to get her interested in a treat. “Let’s see if you might be interested in a treat,” I said, offering it gently. Unfortunately, she was too shut down to respond. I used my phone as a rearview mirror to avoid direct eye contact, which can be intimidating for a scared dog. “Sometimes, if I can get her nose working, that would go a long way,” I thought. I also attempted to create movement by putting a slight tension on a lead to invite her to walk. This method is subtle but can help encourage a dog to move without adding stress.
Despite her fear, there was a tiny flicker of curiosity in her eyes. “If I could just get her nose working, that would go a long way,” I thought. It’s the little victories that count in moments like these.
The Hard Part
Sometimes, even I feel overwhelmed and discouraged. I’m known for helping dogs, but with Mary, I felt like I was failing her. “Someone’s already failed her,” I sighed. “But we’re going to try to find something to show her that humans are good.”
As I sat there, I realized she hadn’t just come in today. She had been here a while, forgotten. “This is bad. We’ve got to figure out how to help her.” Her ears perked up slightly at the sound of my voice, a small sign of hope. “She’s curious. That’s something,” I thought.
Let’s Name Her Mary
As I spent time with her, I realized she needed a name, something to give her identity and a sense of belonging. While talking with Alexis we decided on the name “Mary.” It came about quite spontaneously. We were discussing the nearby wedding venue where she was found, and “Mary” just seemed to fit (like Marry to ‘get married’). It was simple, sweet, and had a comforting sound to it. Naming her Mary was a small step towards making her feel valued and seen, a first step towards a brighter future.
“Even if it’s just a nickname, it’s better than nothing.” Dogs need names. It gives them an identity, a sense of belonging. “You’re a good girl, Mary,” I repeated, hoping the words would mean something to her.
I tried to make her feel comfortable, rubbing her gently. “You’re a good girl. Do you like the name Mary?” I saw a slight change in her posture, a tiny bit of relaxation. “You are a good girl, Mary. You’re a good girl.”
The Bigger Picture
This week, I’m attempting something huge: to empty the shelter. Every dog, every cat, adopted. It’s a monumental task, but with the community’s help, I believe it’s possible. “I want you to come down and meet me if you can,” I urged. “Saturday, July 20th, and Sunday, July 21st. Let’s make it happen.”
Small Steps, Big Dreams
Returning to Mary, I decided to try something different. “Let’s create some movement,” I thought. I moved back to her level, trying to make her the leader. “Come on, Mary. Let’s go for a walk.” She moved, ever so slightly, a small but significant step.
The Power of Community
While I worked with Mary, packages of donated goods and love letters from our amazing supporters arrived. “You guys are unbelievable,” I said, overwhelmed with gratitude. Each package, each letter, showed how much people cared.
One letter, in particular, stood out. A ten-year-old named Kaitlyn had drawn a picture of me and my dog Flip. “Kaitlyn, you have some real talent,” I said, touched by her gesture. “Mary, this right here is my dog Flip, who helped me help dogs just like you.”
Building Trust
As the session went on, Mary began to show small signs of trust. “You’re going to be okay, Mary,” I whispered. “There’s a family out there just for you. A soft couch, fluffy bed, and all the love you can handle.”
It’s these moments that make all the hard work worthwhile. “We’re going to get you a bath, Mary,” I promised. “You’ll feel so much better.” With each passing minute, I felt more connected to her. She deserved a chance, just like any other dog.
If you’re reading this, you can help too. Share Mary’s story, donate if you can, and if you’re nearby, come visit. Together, we can give Mary, and so many others like her, the happy ending they deserve. Thank you for being part of this journey. Let’s make it a memorable one.
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