How Howie Became Mine
By Sarah Domingos
Fall 2012
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A couple of years ago my companion was an elderly sweetheart named Bashful, but still I longed for a wiggly puppy. I looked online at Petfinder and found an adorable looking Saint Bernard and Australian Shepherd mix puppy (let’s call him “Rover”). Next I proceeded through all of the formalities associated with adopting a dog from a reputable rescue organization. A few days later, with a fast beating heart, I ventured into the room where a big adoption event was being held.
I hopefully approached the playpen holding a litter of puppies, peering at each little face to find the one I had come to meet. Rover was as adorable as I had hoped – wiggles and all. It was a 2 day adoption event, and I returned the next day to visit once again with my prospective new baby. At home later with Bashful, I thought long and hard about adopting Rover. Bashful was at an age when she was very needy and time consuming, qualities she would share with her new puppy companion. Most of all, I didn’t want her to feel pushed aside in favor of someone younger, perhaps cuter, and certainly more playful. I adopted Bashful herself when she was already 16. I committed myself to caring for her and providing for her physical and emotional needs to the best of my ability for the remainder of her life. I was afraid she would wither up and die if she felt neglected due to the demands of caring for a new puppy. So I called up the rescue organization, and I told them why I couldn’t adopt Rover. As the months passed I kept checking in with the rescue’s website, keeping tabs on “my” baby. I couldn’t understand why no one adopted Rover. His picture kept looking back at me from my computer screen – “unadopted.” One day in tiny print under Rover’s name I saw the addition of the word “deaf”. It might as well have said “unadoptable.” No one wanted Rover - the dog I felt I had rejected - because he was deaf. A year later Bashful’s twilight years wound down, and at the venerable age of 18 she crossed the rainbow bridge to join our dogs who had gone ahead of her. Two months later I once again contacted the rescue organization about Rover. My sister and I drove to a Cary subdivision to visit Rover. I fondly imagined he would remember me and the cuddles we had shared over a year earlier, even though I knew it wasn't realistic. Rover’s foster mother had said on the phone that he was nervous around strangers, and that they thought it was because of his deafness, so I didn’t know quite what to expect. A handsome black and white mix erupted from the front door, growling and snarling and barking. He lunged and tried to bite me. I felt the saliva on my lips as he just missed me. It was a shock to the system. Not only had Rover forgotten me – he hated me! |
Still his foster parents and Buff and I sat on the grass for at least an hour, trying to coax Rover into letting me even touch him, with no hint of success. Finally they asked if we would like to come inside and try with Rover off leash. We all trooped inside for a depressing repeat performance. Rover wouldn’t even stay in the same room as my sister and me. We would approach him, and he would snarl and flee to the next room. This happened over and over.
All the while we were inside we had a rapt audience. Two cats adorned the countertop, and a horde of other foster dogs were in constant attendance at the windows and the door onto a porch. One little face in particular caught my attention as it remained glued to the window, its eyes fixed on me. Finally and glumly we humans all decided the meeting with Rover had been an unmitigated failure, and we would call it quits. None of us wanted to come to that conclusion, since I was perhaps Rover’s last chance of getting adopted due to his deafness and aggression, but nothing we had tried worked. I suggested his foster parents let in the exiles so we could have a visit and a cuddle with them to cheer us up before leaving. The porch door opened to a surge of canine bodies, leaping and pouncing and running. One dashed in an unwavering line through the roomful of other dogs and launched into my lap. I looked into Howie’s eyes as he kissed me, and I felt tears come to my own eyes. My destined baby had found me. 
Howie at rest
Howie is named after me, as my middle name is Howard, my grandmother’s maiden name. He is a part of me and a part of my family. And in an odd twist of fate, Howie too is deaf. However, unlike Rover, it doesn’t slow him down a bit.
Howie is sweet, smart, playful and good hearted. He was 2 when I met and adopted him. No one had given him a chance, because he was correctly listed as deaf from birth. Not a single person had called about him; no one had even wanted to meet him. No one had discovered that Howie is sweet and strong and brave and loving. So he waited for me to discover him, and I lucked out, because he was there when I needed him to be. Howie may not be quite a puppy anymore, but he is certainly a wiggly, wonderful armful – and he is mine. |
Take a look at Dog Tails for more stories about our beloved dogs! To see how Sarah and Buff first became involved in dog rescue read "Commitment to Dog Rescue" under "About Us". You may also want to check out dog rescue resources on our links page.