UPDATE 10/6/03
Statement by AWCA President Jean Levitt
*Permission to crosspost*
Folks, we are happy to report one of the most severely emotionally damaged Montana collies has made a breakthrough in trusting people. It has taken 11 months. This dog has been living in a carefully selected foster home for the past 2 months. His foster person reported that for the first time, he took a cookie from her hand recently. Not only that, on the same day, when he saw one of his caregivers give cookies to two other collies, he hurried over, squeezed his way between the two collies, and took another cookie from the hand of the caregiver!
My dream for this boy was that he be adopted by one of the country’s foremost rescue collie trainers/rehabilitators. This dream has come true. His foster person and his adoptive person carefully completed his transfer to his forever home this past weekend. AWCA is so happy for him. We warmly thank all of the volunteers who touched his life these past 11 months and helped him take that cookie.
We now present an article by one of the volunteers who gave so much of themselves to the animals.
By Two Volunteers from Great Falls
It began with such a simple question, almost in passing, “I wonder if we should drive up and see if they need any help?”
We’d read about it in the Great Falls Tribune the morning after it happened. The truck stopped at the Port of Sweetgrass, the horrific conditions, the 170+ dogs and cats, the dehydration, the emaciation, the urine, feces, matted coats. How could we not be moved? How could we sit basking in the love and devotion of our rescued Golden Retriever, Toby, and the equally Golden Sophie (loved and nurtured since birth), and not want to help? How could we not want love and care for these helpless animals, be they cats, collies, stabyhounds or whatever. These thoughts, and that passing question, were the beginning of our Camp Collie saga.
We made the two-hour trip the next day, after dropping our dogs off at F& L Pet Resort (their home away from home) for daycare. We arrived at the fairgrounds early, found the entrance after several false starts and went through what would become the familiar check-in process. One other person was there (thank heavens). She gave us a quick lesson in “mucking out” the stalls, feeding and watering. Donning rubber gloves, we also washed bowls, outdoors, on a picnic bench in cold water, in the cold, 34 degree weather. As more people arrived, we finished those chores and began walking dogs, utilizing clothespins to mark stalls where dogs had been walked. That day and the rest of the “horse stall” days were a blur of impressions—the ubiquitous rubber gloves, hay, pitchforks, shovels, rakes, sore backs and feet, wind, cold hands, people, but mostly the dogs. There were the shelties, too frightened to leave the cage in their stall; the dogs so matted they could hardly walk; the ones who cowered in the back of the stall when you opened the door; the ones who stuck their muzzles through cracks in the doors, barking and begging for attention; those with mouths and teeth too sore to eat, and those who learned when a walk was ending and sat down, not wanting to return to the dark, closed stall. That was probably the worst part of the horse stalls, leaving them there and closing the doors, knowing that they were in a better place than where they’d been—they were clean and dry, with food and water—but also knowing that they would spend much of the day, and the night, in the dark.
What a relief this was after the stalls. The dogs could see each other and we could see them. It was light and big. There were runs where dog groups could play or bask in the sun. We could interact with the dogs as we cleaned and fed them. We started to get to know them and they began to learn the routine—when it was time to eat, what the leashes meant (“take me, take me next” was clearly what they were saying). The work remained hard. It was warmer inside, but the 4 ft. tall cages were backbreaking to clean, a process that involved bending over to rake out soiled wood chips and replacing them with fresh ones. Some days there were lots of volunteers and everyone got walked at least once; other days there were few and we struggled to provide the basics of cleaning, food and water. B. and M. from Shelby became the mainstays, always there, knowing the dogs, and able to tell us what needed to be done.
Gradually the dogs improved. The veterinarians were able to make more headway with their various ailments. Collie groomers from around the country came, and that made such a difference to the dogs. We felt good because we knew the dogs were feeling better. Grooming seemed to give them new life. They were becoming playful and feisty on their walks. Some were playing with toys and others were showing that they wanted to be touched and petted.
Through all of this, we looked forward to the trial so that the dogs could move to the next stage, and we were all getting tired. Little did we know that the work was really just beginning. The mistrial was devastating! Dragging back to Shelby after the “no verdict” was one of the most difficult hurdles. It was so tempting to throw in the towel. If the process was that stupid, the heck with it! BUT, there were the dogs. The dogs needed us; we’re doing it for the dogs, and back we went.
Camp Collie, Great Falls, another change, another blur of impressions. The first impression was of bigness—a huge building and beautiful big kennels that you could stand in. The transfer took an entire day with dozens of volunteers in Shelby working to load and transport while others in Great Falls prepared the new kennels and accepted the dogs with open arms. With all of the dogs in one room, the numbers and noise were overwhelming. We realized for the first time just how huge a number 170-some dogs and 16 cats were. The second impression was of the new routine—newspapers instead of wood chips. This almost caused a volunteer rebellion. Keeping the kennels clean seemed endless. We despaired of the dogs ever learning to use the newspapers and not their bedding for their “business.” If only they wouldn’t run through it! Only when we learned that the papers and mopping, while a lot of work, were healthier than the wood chips were we reconciled. As always, it was “whatever is good for the collies” and, most did learn how to use the newspapers, a skill which would be invaluable to them in their future new lives.
The days settled into a routine—change and wash water buckets. Feed, wash bowls, pick up newspapers, mop and disinfect kennels, replace papers and bedding. Feed and play with cats, ferry dogs into runs and walk, walk, walk dogs. Feed again, wash bowls again, ferry to runs and walk dogs some more, prepare next day’s food, spot-clean kennels, top off water buckets, spot-clean again, check on cats. Finally, watch tired dogs settle down to nap, watch some dogs roll over on their backs in a secure sleep, enjoy the quiet until someone barked again, close doors and go home, strip out of clothes in garage, disinfect shoes, collapse in front of TV and get ready to do it again, joyfully.
The guilty verdict in the second trial and the agreement not to appeal were a great relief. Tears of joy were shed, but also tears of sadness as some dogs left for breeders or with their former owners. We continue to pray that someone is watching out for these.
At last the process moved into the adoption stage. We’d sometimes wondered if that stage would ever be reached. When it was, it seemed that the adoptions would take forever. Working through the logistics of spaying and neutering and the adoption approval process was complicated and difficult, but, finally, it was all done. The dogs were spayed and neutered and nursed through the first few nights by watchful volunteers, adopters were approved, and gradually dogs were chosen by their families and started to leave. Our emotions were a roller coaster as we helped adopters choose the right dog and then hugged our friends good-bye as they left for their new lives as loved and wanted companions.
And then, it was over. The last cat and the last dog were gone. What had started as an off-hand question 9 months ago was finished, but we will never forget it. We will remember, of course, the animals—their amazing strength, their will to live, their adaptability and their capacity to want and to give love in spite of everything. And, we will remember the people. They came from all walks of life—truck drivers, students, teachers, nurses, housewives, attorneys, military personnel, doctors, and on and on. Some were collie owners, some also AWCA members; some were owners of other dogs; some had cats, and some had no pets. Sometimes they had nothing in common but their love of animals and their desire to make a horrible wrong, right. They worked tirelessly, doing things they’d never imagined doing. Many, from all over the country donated supplies and money; some sent blankets and toys, often with pictures of their collies enclosed; some traveled to Camp Collie and spent their vacations helping.
Now, we avidly read the AWCA web page or talk with other volunteers, anxious for news of the collies as they settle into their new homes. Every story tugs at our hearts. We cheer the successes—he’s starting to play or she took a treat from my hand, and ache for the continued evidence of hurt—he still doesn’t want to get in the car, she’s still afraid of men. But we know that everyone is making progress, and we’re thankful for that.
We attend a get-together of Shelby workers. It is a real treat, especially seeing the dogs from the area and hearing about many others. Their progress is amazing: Possum, dog of the host family, belies his name; he greets everyone, two and four-legged alike with tail-wagging and kisses, dragging toys around for all to play with; Sadie, an older dog, romps like a puppy and seeks hugs from everyone; the impossibly shy shelties accept petting and challenge the “giant” collies to games of chase; Mr. Nibbles unabashedly joins in the fun; Sophie, Dandy and Houdini arrive, sniff everyone, and regally accept the exclamations about how beautiful and handsome they are.
We sit in the yard throughout the beautiful evening gratefully watching these beautiful animals enjoy life while listening to the stories of others not present: B.C. and Sammy, those impossibly shy males, are gradually learning to trust; Lucy is now secure enough to play with the two dogs in her new home; Liberty, who had a stroke, is gaining strength and walking well; Buddy, a.k.a. Mr. Sad, is gaining weight and confidence after having 6 rotten teeth pulled, and Scruffy and his family mutually adore each other.
Camp Collie has been a successful effort, worth every ache, pain and emotional trauma. Because of our fellow volunteers, the AWCA, the Toole County deputies who supervised the adoption process, HSUS, the veterinarians, the Air Force Red Horse Squadron, the wonderful adopters and all the others who supported this effort, we will remember this experience as an example of the best of human nature struggling to remedy a situation caused by mankind at its worst. We will always cherish the friendships we made at Camp Collie, but will continue to hope that it is an experience that will never be repeated.
Thank you, folks!
Calmly,
Jean Levitt, President AWCA
and the Officers and Members of AWCA