A Lolly to Love

”No, we’re not rescuing a third dog! Baxter hasn’t been gone very long and you don’t chip in with the boring parts,” I told my daughter. I was firm and meant what I had said. So how, I wondered, had we found ourselves at the Animal Shelter looking at longing faces yet again?

The atmosphere was lonely and the setting less than homely. There were three dogs, each in their own caged area and each as beautiful as the others. One, the Ranger explained, was a lost dog looking for its owner. Big, fluffy, and so friendly,.. begging to come out and be doted over. Then there was a gorgeous girl whom some would say looked scary and probably a viscious breed, which I think made her all the more appealing. The Ranger told my daughter and I that she was not ready to be homed yet as, although she was terribly affectionate and approachable, the moment she gets out of her cage she runs,.. trying her hardest to escape from all strangers. No doubt wanting to return to where she knew to be home. Oblivious to the cruelty that can be some humans. Wanting to run to a place only she thought of as her home. So we gave her some love before turning to the third dog. The only one that was available for adoption.

We laid eyes on the sweetest looking Greyhound and swooned. So lanky and awkward yet pretty, with the most loving eyes a dog could own. Her tail and body wagged in unison which made attempting to pet or talk to her an ugly dance. She was lapping up the attention as the Ranger explained she had just been surrendered. They told us she was 14 months old and had been noted to have a tendency for aggression towards female dogs. Seeing and getting to know her, even for just a moment, this was hard to believe. We were sold. The adult in me kicked in and I contemplated my two small breed dogs at home, female dogs at that. I thought of the size difference, the risk, the mess, the cost, the age. This was and is never meant to be a small or quick decision. There were technicalities to consider. Not to mention the fact we did not own our home so I would have to apply for yet another pet. We booked in to bring our dogs for a visit two days later.

I hurried home from work. I would say that it was due to having ten minutes to get to our appointment, but truth would betray me and tell you it was because I was excited. I missed her already.

We harnessed the girls and scrambled to the car. It is always a relief to know that, despite both of them having spent a long and lonely stint in the very same Shelter before becoming part of our pack, they showed no indication that they were afraid of this place or were even the slightest bit familiar with it. They were with their family on a typical outing after all.

The Ranger, expecting us, headed straight in to retrieve what was becoming a more and more probable pack addition for our family. Out she bound, excited and curious. Honey, our Australian Terrier, growled in an attempt to establish authority, despite this strange dog being a tsunami of fur above her. Monday, our Jack Russel Terrier, playfully hopped towards the potential playmate. Tail wagging but slightly restricted with awareness of her size difference. They began to play. Immediately the Greyhound’s prey drive became apparent as we threw the ball and, rather than chasing the ball, she leapt after the dogs with ears erect and tail stiff. She stood over them as they stopped and followed them intently back to us as we repeated the throwing process. I was nervous. I knew I couldn’t be home during the day and would never forgive myself if she hurt my pack. Unwanted images crossed my mind of bloody scenes and my helpless, tiny in comparison, family members being harmed with no help from who they know to be Mum,.. me. But something said she wasn’t the monster that paperwork had stated. That some love and attention was all she needed. The deal was as good as done. All that stood to determine her fate was my landlord. We would see.

I sent an email that same afternoon. We waited. One day became two days and my head became a roller coaster of what if it doesn’t work to what if it’s perfect,.. up and down so many dizzying times. I’d had enough. I called my real estate. “We’ll get a hold of the owners and get back to you!” I was frustrated as it was bound to mean more waiting. The next 24 hours was the slowest of hours and finally an email came through. On the condition that I never apply for another pet for the remainder of my tenancy at the property, we were approved! I was angry but elated. Yet another roller coaster. I had always been the perfect tenant and had been with that real estate for 15 years. My animals were always registered, loved, well behaved and (as requested) outside pets. But oh well, we had the go ahead. She was ours! I contacted the Shelter but, as the phone attempted to connect, I got a dreaded feeling,.. What if she’d been adopted!?

As we drove towards a town some forty minutes away to buy a beautiful wooden dog enclosure, which was advertised online by a man who’d recently lost his beloved dog, I was giddy like a child on the way to buy treats. It was happening.

The next afternoon we arrived to collect that pretty eyed goofball and were told she is not registered or microchipped so it will cost more than triple the usual fee as the Shelter will not release her without these things. I didn’t care, nothing could have dampened my excitement at that moment. I asked if she was spayed and vaccinated or wormed… No information available. I grew angry. How could her previous owners dare invite an uninspiring into their lives and treat her as such a meaningless member of the family. She was underweight and terrified of a leash (which would prove difficult when it was time to leave). “What is her name?” I realised they had never told us this detail. “Sasha”, the Ranger replied. I knew this would not do and I wanted to give this angel a new beginning, starting with her name. Looking at her I knew. Lolly! Her name would be Lolly.

The next few days involved a muzzle while her growling subsided, howls like I’ve never heard before, followed by heartbreaking dread that this may not work, lunges from a pathetically macho tiny Honey, and a happy but uneasy trio of furry girls. Things were touch and go but it took mere days for it to become clear we had found Lolly for a reason… She had found us for a reason. She was one of us.

Looking back, there were good days and scary days, juggling acts as we got to know her, teething issues where trust was concerned, territorial struggles as the established the hierarchy in the yard. Honey being boss of course, and Monday taking submissive last. Lolly fit perfectly in the middle, or on top of when it came to almost every activity. It’s still that way today.

It has been nine beautiful months and I can’t imagine life with our precious Lolly. There are days she gets too jumpy, or barks that one too many times, or eats her mountain of food and still tries to gobble Monday’s dinner, but even those days I’m grateful for.

Never have I been happier to look back and remember telling my child no and seeing her still get her way, even if I’d never tell her she was right.