The Stray Bandit

“ I don’t know how you do it. How can you stand to work here every day and look at all the sad animals?”

I got this question a lot. Mostly, from people who thought that they cared about animals more than I did.

Working at an animal shelter was grueling work.

I thought it would help me learn more about animal care as I worked my way through veterinary technician school, but mostly it was just emotionally draining.

Some of my worst work memories and stories come from working at that animal shelter.

Like the time a lady abandoned her dog because he didn’t match the furniture anymore…

Or the time I had to care for a dog that had been shot in the head twice and somehow survived.

Sometimes I wish I could have avoided all of the trauma that came with the shelter, but as shocking as all of my experiences were, there is one story that has a happy ending.

It was just a regular Monday morning. I started walking through the kennel area to see how many dogs had come in over the weekend. There were a few new faces. I was almost to the end of the kennel line when I stopped.

There had been several times like this where I felt a connection to a dog and had thought to myself, “Maybe they’d be happy with me.” I would watch that dog carefully and give myself a timeline. “Ok, if they aren’t adopted by this date I’ll take them.”

The problem was that I lived in an apartment that did not allow pets of any kind, so taking an animal home was more than a little risky.

Whenever I set my eyes on a dog, they would get adopted within a couple of days. I never had to follow through with my imaginary timeline, thankfully.

This time was different though... I looked at this dog and he looked at me with an intensity that was surprising for a dog.

He had these glowing amber eyes and two very distinct brown eyebrows burrowed into his black coat. He had grey dappling on his chest and brown socks on his feet. His ears stuck straight up and he seemed on the alert.

I couldn’t tell what breed he was at the time. All I knew was that he was the most beautiful dog I had ever seen. I later decided (after extensive research) that he is an Australian Cattle Dog mixed with a Belgian Shepherd.

I watched him closely. He didn’t bark, just paced back and forth in his kennel. He’d glance at me but would never look directly at me. He seemed skittish. He had weird cuts on both his ears that looked like they were caused by barbed wire and he was covered in dust and grime.

Later that day I casually asked the girl at the front desk about him. “Oh you don’t want that one,” She said flatly. “He failed his temperament test.”

My heart sunk.

A temperament test is a very basic test performed at shelters to see if an animal is dangerous or not. If an animal is considered dangerous then it can not be adopted out.

I grabbed his file out of the binder and looked at it. Stray, not abandoned, no tags, no microchip.

I scanned down to the temperament test notes.

“Bares teeth when startled.”

“Sorry, what?” I asked, pointing to the note.

“Oh, I guess he growled and showed his teeth when Ben jumped at him.” The front desk girl explained.

“He jumped at him? Of course, it’s going to scare him!”

“I’m re-doing the test,” I said as I stomped off. I could feel the girl rolling her eyes behind me.

I grabbed a slip lead and approached the kennel. “Hey buddy,” I said in a calm but happy voice.

His little nub of a tail wagged.

I slipped the leash over his head and we were off to the testing room.

He didn’t pull, he just trotted along beside me.

Once in the room, I closed the door and let him sniff around. I bent over to pet him and he flinched hard and ducked out of the way.

“Rookie move,” I thought.

I sat down on the ground and avoided eye contact. I put out my hand. I waited. A second later I felt a warm muzzle. I looked up and he was resting his face in the palm of my hand.

A second later and he was in my lap, letting me pet him all over.

I cried.

I cried because I was tired of seeing traumatized animals all day and feeling helpless. I cried because I found a dog that had finally let me in. I cried because for once, my instincts were right. This was not an aggressive or unadoptable dog, this was my dog.

Bandit is his name. I sometimes wonder if I should have come up with something more clever but we had to put a name on the adoption papers and Bandit was the first that came to mind.

I hid him in our apartment for 3 months until our lease was up and then we moved.

Since Bandit’s adoption day back in 2014, he has been with me and my family through some difficult and extremely happy times.

He was there when I passed the VTNE and got my veterinary technician license. He was there when we moved across the country and purchased our first house. He was there when my daughter was born.

Bandit has been a great companion and friend to me. He has comforted me through the hard times and has celebrated with me over the good.

It is very true what they say when you adopt a dog. You aren’t saving a dog’s life, they are saving yours.

Thank you Bandit, for being a good boy always.