Watson & Me

Watson and my story all began with a dog I called Bean (which stood for black ears and nose). Bean was thin and with no collar she was clearly a stray. Animal control was called and they took her to the shelter. That day I went down to the shelter and spent some time with her. It appeared she did well with other dogs and it became my intention to adopt her. Shelter policy was that the owner had one week to claim a pet before any animal became eligible for adoption. Each day during that first week I went to see Bean but on the day before the week was up I found out that someone had taken Bean. I was concerned that she had gone back to the owner who had lost her in the first place, but the shelter worker confided in me that she didn’t think the people who picked up Bean had been the dog’s original owners. Bean had been picked up by a little boy and his mother. The boy was very taken with Bean and the mother wanted to insure her son got “his” dog. She confided that the dog would be well cared for and loved. It was an outcome I could live with. Bean had a good home and I thought that was the end of it.

It was during this period that I happened to attend church when the priest gave a homily asking what we did for God? The priest pointed out that we went to work to provide for our families needs and we spent time doing things we enjoyed, but what did we do specifically for God? The answer I had to admit was not much but I had no idea what I could or should do. I prayed that God would show me what it was he wanted me to do. The idea came to me a few days later. It was as if a voice in my head told me that I was to go to the animal shelter. I was to provide what comfort I could to the animals at the shelter. Maybe this was not God or an answer to my prayer, but all I can say is left to my own devices I would never have opted to go to the animal shelter. Anyone who thinks this is a good uplifting idea has never been to an animal shelter which is filled with unwanted, lost and left over animals. My gut reaction to this idea was “you have got to be kidding me,” as I remembered visiting with Bean in a large room where on a table at the other side of the room was the body of a euthanized dog waiting to be picked up. Go to the shelter? Really? But go I did. Each week armed with a bag full of dog treats I would spend about an hour petting the dogs and cats. I don’t know if I did any good and I think the workers (mostly high school aged boys) thought I was a bit of a crazy lady, but I went. It was after several months on one of my visits that I met Watson.

Watson was a full bred American Eskimo dog which is a white, midsized Nordic looking breed. My dog, Shep was an “Eskie” and I was partial to the breed, but Watson was skinny and his hair was falling out in clumps. He made a rather pitiful picture that was completed when he would stand on his back legs and hop up and down.

The shelter had a policy of only holding dogs for three weeks, one for the owner to claim them and then two for adoption. Week one passed, then two, and then three and no one adopted Watson and he tugged at my heart. On his last day at the shelter I adopted him and after a visit to the vet brought Watson home. Armed with medication to take care of his worms and some strong flee shampoo I set to introducing Watson to his new home. His past life had left their mark. He was skittish. If anyone approached him too quickly or if a male even looked in his direction he would cower, roll over and submissively pee himself. He was terrified of being left outside and he refused to go outside. He would go only if someone went with him and even then he darted inside the first chance he got.

About a week after I brought Watson home I received a package. When I opened the door to get it he darted outside and began running in what I could only call a blind panic. Grabbing my keys I went on a thirty-some minute run through the neighborhood as I chased him. He ran as though his life depended on it and I was so fearful he would be hit by a car as he ran seemingly oblivious to anything around him. He finally stopped in a grassy field. His eyes looked panicked as he looked around. His breath came in gasps. I approached him with my hand outstretched. Talking softly to him, I was fearful that he would start running again. When I was a few inches away he stopped and looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. I scooped him up and carried him back to the house. This time I think he understood that it was home. He never ran away again and he became my shadow. If I was home Watson was in the room, if a door separated us he would wait for me until the door opened. He wanted nothing more than to be with me. Over time his other behaviors improved as well. His coat grew healthy and full and he learned to go outside on his own (though he never liked to stay out for long). He learned not to fear and when approached instead of cringing his tail would wag in greeting. Watson taught me more than anything else in my life about the healing power of love. It was nothing more than love that took a fearful, skinny dog and turned it into a full, healthy, happy little dog. This has been a lesson that I have been able to apply to many situations. Love and attention when they are real can have miraculous results both on people and animals.

Watson was diagnosed with lymphoma this summer. Initially he did not respond well to treatment. The side of his neck and face swelled and then a large abscess opened on his neck and began draining. Watson was taken in to the vet and several hours later the vet called, they had been monitoring Watson’s vitals and they did not think he was going to make it. The family raced to the clinic. Watson was in bad shape. The Vet gave him 50/50 odds of making through the night at the clinic. Given his history, I could not leave him to die in a cage with out his family so we took him home despite the Vet’s opinion that his chances would be diminished if I did so. I took Watson home and sat with him and said my tearful goodbyes to my sweet little dog. The next morning I fully expected to find he had passed away but Watson lifted up his head in greeting, and the morning after that he wagged his tail, and a week after that he was begging for food, and a week after that he was running in the yard.

We would have another close call a few months later. Watson fell coming up the stairs, staggered and then seemed unable to get up. He stopped eating and it seemed like we had only days or hours left. Again, I said my goodbyes, but again Watson rallied. First taking broth from a syringe, then drinking the broth himself, then eating hotdogs, then his dog food, and finally begging at the table snatching scraps from my accommodating toddler. I know that time is not on our side and that too soon I will have to say my final goodbyes to my sweet little friend but for now Watson is here at home, at my side, and he is loved.