DogTown (32 page)

H
e was a skinny, scary, rattleboned stray who’d been picked up on the streets of Puerto Rico in 1995. When he arrived at Dogtown, he quickly developed a reputation for attacking other dogs. He was placed in a separate run and was given a red collar to signify that only trained staff could work with him. Bones had no history of attacking people, but because of his issues with other dogs, it was best that only those who were very familiar with him be allowed to work with him.

To some, he was a dangerous nuisance, an unwanted outsider, a problem. Had he wound up in an ordinary animal shelter, he was the sort of dog who would have been given the euthanasia needle in a matter of days or even hours. But he was not at just any animal shelter: This was Dogtown, where every creature gets a second chance.

One of the first things he got when he arrived at the sanctuary was a name: Mister Bones, because he was nothing more than skin and bones. (A female stray who’d been seen sharing her food with him on the street, and who was also rescued, was named Negrita.) He also got his own bed, regular meals, a medical checkup, and the loving attentions of caregivers, perhaps for the first time in his life. It wasn’t as if he had done anything to earn these luxuries. He was given them simply because he was a living creature, and at Dogtown all living creatures have as much right to be treated well as a flower has a right to the rain.

Like almost all the other dogs who come to Dogtown, Mister Bones was a genetic hodgepodge. His short red-gold coat, long legs, and lean frame made it look like he had some vizsla (sometimes called a Hungarian pointer) in him. He had a tendency to sit up very erect, with intent, serious eyes accentuated by dark markings that looked like small, vertical eyebrows. The “eyebrows” added to the intensity of his gaze, as if everything in the world, including humans, were small game. He had a long, narrow muzzle a bit like a greyhound’s, and he held his head proudly and erect. And he had a little mole, like a small bug or beauty mark, off-center on his forehead. But the most endearing thing about his face was the fact that he always seemed to look as if he were smiling—a kind of cryptic smile, Mona Lisa–like, both comical and wise.

When Mister Bones first came to Dogtown in 1995, his red coat and black muzzle showed no traces of gray.

It was that enigmatic smile, perhaps, that led so many people at Dogtown to begin falling for Mister Bones. It was the smile that suggested there was something else beneath his dangerous, street-savvy, raggedy-man exterior—something whimsical and canny. One of the people who took a particular liking to Mister Bones was one of the caregivers, Thomas Foyles, who tended to favor the rougher, more aggressive dogs at Dogtown.

“Mister Bones is misunderstood, like myself,” Thomas said, with a slow smile that suggested this statement might conceal a world of hurt. Thomas had a low, gravelly voice, a shaved head, an earring, and a grizzly goatee, which lent him a vaguely menacing air.

“I’ve always had a bond with aggressive dogs—I’ve always been drawn to them,” he said. “I respect them, and I love them unconditionally. Something I’d like to have with people one day, I have with these guys.” He flashed another slow smile, pregnant with unspoken sorrows. “It takes a bit of skill to win these guys over—I don’t want to say I’m macho, but you just can’t fear them. Understand them, respect them, but don’t fear them.”

Mister Bones was not a dog who had ever been aggressive toward people. But his aggression toward other dogs was one of the key things that kept him from being adopted, and something that the caregivers at Dogtown hoped to help him overcome. At one point, Mister Bones even acted aggressively toward his old streetmate, Negrita, the one who had shared her food with him when both of them were starving. Fortunately or unfortunately, Bones’ dog aggression meant that he was kept in a private run, close to but separated from other dogs.

Thomas was one of the caregivers responsible for feeding, watering, and walking Dogtown’s roughest customers. Each day he carefully div-vied up all the specialized diets for the various dogs, loaded the food dishes into the back of a golf cart, and with his personal dog, Monty, running alongside, went out to distribute the grub, like a meals-on-wheels deliveryman. But while running his rounds of Dogtown, he never failed to deliver something else these strays and outsiders needed just as much: love, affection, and a scratch behind the ears.

THE MISTER BONES FAN CLUB

Even though Bones was having trouble finding a home, he did not lack love. Caregivers, like Thomas, are able to give attention to the dogs, but Best Friends also relies on the work of volunteers to supplement the staff. Every year, thousands of volunteers come to Dogtown to help take care of the animals (7,000 were expected in 2009). Some are so dedicated that they make return trips, year after year. After the Dogtown team determined that Bones could be safely handled by volunteers, the dog began to win a special place in the hearts of many, but none were as dedicated as four women who came to be known as the Jersey Girls. These women first met while working with a breed rescue organization to save greyhounds in New Jersey, and every year they planned and saved for their summer trip to Best Friends sanctuary in Utah, where they volunteered for a week. The staff came to recognize the Jersey Girls when they drove up in their Mustang convertible, wearing scrubs and ready to work.

The moment they met Mister Bones, “we instantly fell in love with him,” Joyce, an emergency room nurse, wrote later. Joyce and the others continued to go out to Best Friends every year for the next nine years to see Mister Bones, their favorite dog. The Jersey Girls started showing up every year with some article of clothing with his name on it—one year it was Mister Bones T-shirts; another year they had custom-made jackets that said “Mister Bones Fan Club.”

The Jersey Girls would all have loved to take Bonesy home with them, but they were each involved in dog and cat rescues with several fosters at home. It just would not have worked, given Bones’ history of aggression with other dogs. They would have to make due with their yearly visits.

Every year, Mister Bones greeted them with that sweet, cryptic smile, massive tail wags, and a big, wet tongue. And every year, he was a little bit older, a little grayer, a little slower. One of his favorite things was to cavort in water, especially on hot summer days. The Jersey Girls would fill his plastic kiddie pool and spray him with a hose, and he would get so excited it was almost like he was a puppy again. He would prance around delightedly in what they called his water dance. Mister Bones’ steps got slower and more plodding as the years went by, but his delight never seemed to wane.

After a few years of being visited, Bones was allowed to go on sleepovers in the cottages at Best Friends. He would spend the entire week with the Jersey Girls, who took turns sleeping in the living room to watch him through the night. (He snored like a freight train, it turned out.) Bones didn’t require anyone to watch him at night; the Jersey Girls just loved spending time with him so much that they wanted to sleep near him too. As he got older, they had to lift him into the car and up the steps. At the end of every visit, they would say goodbye to Bones and he to them. As much as they enjoyed seeing Bones every year, the Jersey Girls hoped that by the next summer, Bones would be gone, happily living at his new forever home. But for nine summers, Mister Bones was always there, wagging his tail to happily greet his fan club each year.

“HE DESERVES THE BEST”

Despite Mister Bones’ sweet, enigmatic smile, the years came and went but nobody adopted him. Whole generations of younger, prettier, less problematic dogs who had been brought to Dogtown found new homes. SUVs with out-of-state plates, filled with lively families, pulled up to the main entrance of Dogtown and left a few hours later with one additional passenger. But Mister Bones was left in his run, peering out at the departing cars, year in and year out.

Bones did not look forlorn about this state of affairs. In fact, he seemed rather good-natured about it. Compared with his life as a stray, things were pretty good: He had a dog run to himself, plenty to eat and drink, lots of exercise, and a legion of Dogtown staff to play with him. Mister Bones wanted a home, but until the right match came along, he knew he had a warm bed and a safe place at Dogtown.

As the years rolled by, the caregivers of Dogtown never gave up on Mister Bones and the possibility that he could find a home. Dog-aggressive dogs do face an uphill struggle in their search for a home; often they need to be the only dog in the home, and many potential adopters have other pets. Mister Bones settled into a comfortable middle age. His red muzzle slowly went gray, and the silver fur extended down his neck and up around his eyes. The gray softened the ferocity in his eyes; they were no longer as hooded and threatening as they had been when he was younger. The little sharp vertical “eyebrows” faded away.

And, with time, Mister Bones’ wise, wizened smile grew ever more pronounced, as if despite a lifetime of bad luck and hard knocks, he was still cosmically amused.

But still he stayed at Dogtown.

Gradually, Mister Bones’ temperament began to mellow. He grew easier to control, even when he showed aggression toward other dogs. In his youth, it had been difficult to restrain Bones when he got riled up, but as he aged, he didn’t fight quite as hard. But still, no forever home materialized for the old guy. If he spent the rest of his days at Dogtown, it would not be the worst fate in the world. It had happened to many other animals who came to Best Friends—dogs, cats, birds, horses, rabbits, even potbellied pigs—and had never been picked out of the lineup, living out their last days at Best Friends, never having found a home to call their own.

At more than 13 years old—roughly 90 in human years—Bonesy lived a life that was dramatically cushier than his former life on the hardscrabble streets of Puerto Rico. He had clean, comfortable accommodations, good food, a place to run, loving caregivers, and even medical care and hydrotherapy for his arthritis. Even so, Thomas said, “I’d like to see him complete his story. It’s time for him to go home. I’d like to see him have his own couch, and his own people. He’s getting older. He deserves the best.”

THE FINAL EXAM

Bones had come such a long way—from a red collar to a green one—in his time at Dogtown that the staff decided to conduct a new behavioral assessment to measure how far he’d come. If he showed strong results, it would strengthen his chances for adoption. These tests would be a way for the aging former stray to prove that his aggressive tendencies, especially toward other dogs, could be managed. It would also be a way for him to demonstrate that he was fully rehabilitated and ready to live in a home.

Because he showed aggression toward other dogs, Mister Bones occupied a solitary run at Dogtown, an amenity he enjoyed.

Trainers John Garcia and Pat Whitacre conducted the test in the kitchen of Dogtown. Pat sat at a table, with a pen and assessment forms, as John brought old Bonesy into the room on a leash. The elderly dog was wearing a green bandana around his neck, all gussied up for his special day.

“Are you ready, Pat?” John asked.

“Sure,” Pat said. The trainers’ basic strategy was to place Mister Bones in a series of real-world situations that could unnerve him. Then they would see his reactions to assess if they were dangerous or aggressive. If the results were good, then Bones’ chances of a new home might well increase.

First, John tied Bones’ leash to the refrigerator handle and then left the room. Moments later there was a loud knock at the door. Mister Bones perked up, curious. Then John came lurching through the door wearing a blue rain slicker, with the hood pulled over his head and his face down, so he was unrecognizable. He walked into the room with a strange, stiff, Frankenstein-like walk. Mister Bones seemed nervous but curious. He wagged his tail at this strange blue plastic monster (although tail wagging can sometimes be a sign of anxiety rather than pleasure). He did not display fear or aggression in the slightest.