Service Dog Retirement

You folks were wonderful. This senior collie gentleman will have the ideal retirement home. You called, you offered your homes, and his person is very relieved to know she has a choice of several excellent retirement opportunities for him. Thank you!

The AWCA Merlin Fund, established by – AWCA Library By Mail Librarian Sharon Baubles – is available for this dog’s pain management medical bills. Sharon established this fund in memory of her collie, Merlin, to be used to help pay medical bills for owned collies when bills are beyond the owner’s ability to pay.

Tim The Toolman

Wonderful people helped rescue the Montana collies. People prayed or held positive thoughts, hundreds volunteered their time, energy, or special skills, hundreds sent towels and blankets and other supplies, thousands sent money to pay their bills. Tim The Toolman created magic at Camp Collie – Shelby. A retired military man who works as a certified nursing assistant at the Shelby Hospital, Tim repaired, installed, or fabricated on the spot anything we requested for the Montana collies in the 4-H barn. Tim lent his motorhome to provide lodging for out of state volunteers, parking it outside the 4-H barn when the hotels were full. He picked up and delivered supplies, responding to my request one day at Camp Collie in early December for a “hunk with a truck.” I’d had a shopping fit and bought every tarp in Shelby to make privacy shields and draft dodgers for the dogs. (Those tarps were used all winter to help hold in the heat on below zero days. They were not, however, taken to Great Falls when the animals were moved; instead they were disposed of in an effort to prevent cross-contamination in the new building.)

The first time I saw Tim he was lying on his back in the mud of the wash tent inside the 4-H barn where your stainless steel food pans and pails were sanitized every day by hand. The wash crews needed a sink. You bought them plastic washtubs, but a sink was needed for rinsing. The fact that there was no running water in the 4-H barn didn’t deter Tim. He fabricated a sink on the spot and hooked it up to an outside hose. He lent his camp stove and propane tanks to heat the water. Four stainless steel water pails at a time would sit on Tim’s stove surrounded by fire extinguishers until the water was hot. The wash tent was the warmest place in the barn. Tim daily made the rounds of all propane heaters servicing them for safety.

Occasionally a dog would escape when the volunteers opened the pens to clean or walk the dogs. Capturing an escapee in the barn was doable, but I worried about the outside barn door through which there was a lot of people traffic. “We need a gate here immediately,” I said aloud on my way out, gesturing across the barn overhang. I had just grabbed another escaped collie in its attempt to run out the front door as I opened it.

“From where to where and how tall?” a voice behind me asked. It was Tim The Toolman. I showed him where I wanted it. “Give me a list of what you need and I’ll get it on this trip,” I said. He replied he had everything he needed at home, which was less than a mile away. I returned to Camp Collie within the hour, greeted by Tim who was just completing the finishing touch – a cute little support wheel on a wide gate made out of hog fencing, which stretched across the entire front entrance of Camp Collie.

“Perfect!” I said.

Time did so many generous things for the animals, usually using his own supplies. He would call me at home in Vermont to report a problem or concern at Camp Collie when I was between Montana trips, and effectively helped me with solutions over the phone. Once I asked him what I could do for him. He said, “Not a thing – I do it for the animals,” then he thought for a second and asked, “Do you know Ted Paul?” “Yes,” I replied. “I’d LOVE to have Ted Paul’s autograph on my Christmas Collie book,” he said. “Done,” I promised.

We now continue our series of articles by adopters of Montana collies.

Hope’s Story

Written by Hope’s surrogate mom, July 2003

Some won’t understand the need to write these stories, only those people that truly love dogs need continue.

This very dainty, fine-boned, sensitive female collie is just a walking miracle. This collie coped with the unspeakable horror of the 9-day truck trip as well as her prior life at Nikiski, Alaska, one among many unfortunates of the Valiant Kennel disaster.

We noticed her shortly after we began our volunteer efforts at Camp Collie, Shelby, Montana. A matted, fouled, bone-thin waif, she was resigned, reserved, withdrawn, caused by the inhumane treatment that had been dealt her and the other 175 plus collie dogs. Before long my friend and I found ourselves not only walking as many collies as we could but one in particular edged into our thoughts ever so frequently. She would be the first pen we would check out on our Thursday arrival and the last we bid our farewell to. What a thrill it was to see her occasionally respond, to look expectantly at us when she heard our voices. Some weeks when things perhaps didn’t go well or health problems and the noise level were too much, her despondency would surface and we would coax and cajole to try and re-spark her hope in mankind.

This filth-encrusted, wood-chip-coated, parasite-ridden dog was named. A name for us to cling to and give her a sense of individuality and dignity was the idea behind this name. A name she might live up to for her and for us. “HOPE!” Soon a derivative of that name, Hopey and Hoper were part of our vocabulary, along with other endearments and words to encourage her. Pure joy flooded our hearts the first time out in the field at Shelby when her tail lifted and wagged, a spirited strut surfaced ever so rarely but, nonetheless, surfaced. We knew in spite of the setbacks and regressions that Hope was prone to have, her spark was not going to be extinguished. How grateful we felt to see the intelligent glint in her eyes brighten her countenance as she overcame various obstacles. A troublesome, constant irritation was the Staby-houn that was her pen companion and a full time aggravation. Staby gnawed Hope’s ears, which kept them wet and formed miserable knots in her hair. We were glad when Staby was moved to another area.

The short winter days lengthened with knowledge that Camp Collie had to close and the goal to open Camp Collie II was in the works. A mistrial complicated this case and the dogs were Toole County evidence for the duration of yet more lengthy legal meanderings. The second trial in Anaconda in May of 2003, would decide the fate of the collies. Hope and Shyla (another psychologically damaged dog) motivated us to volunteer my vehicle to transport them in the convoy to Great Falls. This would reduce their stress and help to get the job done. We deemed them special-needs dogs to get this permission granted. Our famous Montana weather turned on its “notoriety” by displaying an ugly, gray, muddy, cold, icy, sleet and snowy transfer day. A 4:00 A.M. departure from Southwest of Cascade made for a timely 6:00 A.M. arrival at Shelby. The early morning trip had a few extra thrills thrown in. An icy slush caused a few impulsive waltzes on the highway. These unplanned slides took place independently from the driver and adrenaline surged. I believe I heard a weak, ”Oh my gosh,” from my passenger. No mishap occurred and we arrived safely and hunted for our place to line up.

Shelby, chaos, confusion, milling, shivering people and revisions of the original plan to load each animal with a well orchestrated checklist was put into effect. Weather-related problems caused a variety of delays. “Hurry up and wait,” added to frustrations. The many areas of loading so many animals were done under the critical surveillance of the self-righteous Harmans and their paralegals. They were armed with a camcorder camera, possibly hoping to record a disaster. They were disappointed. At 11:30 A.M. the convoy started to Great Falls and at about 1:45 P.M., arrived in Great Falls. Our destination reached, we saw that the big gray warehouse sported a nice new sign signifying that it had been christened, Camp Collie II. The huge steel building first appeared to be wrapped in gloom, then exploded with volunteers greeting each vehicle, pickup-drawn horse trailers, fifth wheels towed by trucks and SUVs loaded with crates, the Humane Society dog-boxed vehicles – in all, 35 vehicles carried the dogs to Great Falls. Quite a contrast to the 8-foot by 45-foot trailer they had been jammed into for the nightmare trip from Alaska through Canada to the lower 48. We were kept in line with legal escort and a Cessna circling overhead for the entire trip. My friend had talked and calmed Hope and Shyla during the 90-mile trip. Both dogs were taking it pretty well until their foreboding spiraled as strangers unloaded them, weighed them in and placed them in unfamiliar surroundings. The concrete floors, the newspapers in the pens further stirred up their apprehension. The absence of the familiar resulted in the collapse of their composure and we were not particularly successful in reassuring them. They began trembling with fear and agitation. We felt terribly helpless and couldn’t ease this transition for them.

Hope doesn’t make adjustments so easily and she, we think, tries to isolate herself from the turmoil around her by shutting down. She lies down and constricts herself into a very small bundle of fur. Just one more of her learned coping mechanisms. She and Shyla were not placed as roommates for several weeks. When we noticed Hope’s weight dropping rapidly, we suggested that Shyla and Hope be put in a pen together. Permission was granted and we believe that their mutual passivity prevented them from fretting needlessly. It seemed to work as they both began to eat better, especially Hope.

We wondered if the strong smell of Clorox would hurt their lungs. The floors mopped with Clorox-laced water didn’t seem to make their feet sore, much to our relief. My friend, I, and the dogs, truly missed the cedar chips that had been used in Shelby, but cost prohibited its use in Great Falls. Wood chips make parasite problems nearly impossible to eradicate, was the other explanation stated. Our questions weren’t well received and our suggestions even less so. We missed Shelby in many ways. Our Thursdays now became a blur of mucking pens, washing equipment and walking dogs when we weren’t filling water buckets, stopping dogfights sweeping up, or manning the desk. We tried to make Thursdays special for Hope and for as many dogs as we could take care of in a 6-hour period.

Adoption plans were developed as the 2^nd trial ended with conviction, but plea-bargaining was the next legal hassle addressed to head off a costly 3^rd trial. Our relief was tremendous when we knew Hope wasn’t reserved for a breeder as 20 dogs had that designation due to the plea bargains. Our earnest discussions were all about Hope’s future. We planned, we discarded plans, and we explored many options. Until much later I wasn’t in a position to adopt, due to a foolish promise that at a much later date was graciously canceled. The winds of fate swirling here and there were working outside of our personal desires, perhaps, making possible two adoptions instead of one? Decision Day! My friend made a huge commitment to this timid dog, so frightened of men, sharp noises and any new and uncontrollable situations outside of the tenuous safety of her pen. Adoptions are undertaken with hope and in this case were symbolized by the collie called HOPE!

A Wednesday afternoon, July 9th, 2003 Hope was placed in the beige Camry for a ride to her new home. She was settled in the sunroom in a lattice, fenced area and was worried by yet another new environment. No food was forthcoming as the next day her surgery to be spayed was scheduled. That went well and included scaling her teeth, ear checks and all that needed to be done, to insure a problem-free start in her new life.

Hope being Hope had maladjustments exhibited in a passive/aggressive ways. She developed a way of sitting herself firmly on her little rump to make a statement. She went through a short period of not making eye contact and didn’t have much enthusiasm as she probably wondered where all her dog companions were. The constant roar of 170 plus dogs had totally disappeared! Strange things and strange people all around, oh my goodness was this good, bad, or what? Her thin veneer of self-confidence was slipping. In other ways her lady-like behavior of no barking, no accidents, beautiful manners, no biting or growling were making positive points. My friend with understanding and patience was quietly letting Hope’s new environment seep into and replace her wariness.

Her name is HOPE, and as she finds the permanency of love, her place in the new setting, the trees, green sweet smelling grass, deer and squirrels, she is already relaxing. That jaunty occasional strut will come back as her beautiful black coat loses the kennel odor and trust matures. The marvelous gift from God of being man’s/lady’s best friend will be everlasting evidence that “Hope” will have been restored.

Calmly,

Jean Levitt, President AWCA

and the Officers and Members of AWCA