Last month, the Sula Foundation evaluated a group of over 20 pit bulls that were confiscated from a vacant property in Biloxi, Mississippi. There they lived, anchored to the ground with chains, with just enough slack to come within inches of each other’s faces. They were starved and covered in open fighting wounds and scars. By the time we arrived, they had been transported to the County Farm, where they sat for weeks in their dilapidated crates within the dark stalls.
Some of the dogs we met will be euthanized today, including a boy named Bear who already haunts my soul. While we were doing our assessments, he stood on his hind legs and gently pressed his body against mine. I held him in my arms for what seemed like 5 minutes; I didn’t want to let go. I wondered how he could hold his head so high after the trauma he’d endured. I wondered if this beautiful, stoic creature had ever experienced human affection. I wondered how he could feel so safe in my arms. I wanted to tell him that his suffering had ended; that we were there to give him the life that he deserved.
But I couldn’t save Bear. He was not at all tolerant of other dogs - barking, lunging and snapping at the ones we tested him with. I told myself that his behaviors were modifiable. That he could be rehabilitated. That he could go to an only-dog household. That with proper management and consistency, he could be a wonderful dog for someone. I tend to think that way, given that my own Kiana (who came to me from a hoarding case in Ohio) would never have passed any assessment test. In fact, her reaction to dogs was much like Bear’s when I first adopted her. And she is my everything. So I know that Bear could be someone’s everything.
The sad reality (that not enough folks in rescue are willing to acknowledge) is that advocating for dogs like Bear isn’t fair to the millions of dog-social dogs that are euthanized each year. They sit in holding areas in shelters across the country, waiting in line for a spot on the adoption floor; most never make it. No-Kill shelters don’t fill the gap, because they’re habitually full with less-adoptable dogs. Rescues also run full, often with dogs on a waiting list for intake. Unfortunately, there are far more unwanted dogs than there are homes for them. So if dogs are going to die, it makes sense to save the ones that are most likely to find permanent homes.
And permanent homes are relatively few and far between. It’s disturbing how unwilling many dog owners are to work with their dogs. Something goes wrong, and that’s it. They’re done. They try to dump their once-beloved dog on us. And they do so with such entitlement, as if they deserve a medal for not simply discarding their dog at the local shelter. That would be easier, after all, right?
So given all that, would it be fair for me to advocate for a dog like Bear, who could only be adopted by a dog-less, experienced handler who’s willing to put in the significant work he needs? Would it be fair when millions of perfectly social dogs are surrendered and euthanized every day? What chance would Bear have? I wish I could have given him that chance. I wish that I could have made up for his suffering. I wish that I could have hugged him one more time. Rest in peace, sweet boy. I’m sorry for what we humans have done to you.
