The Astounding Metamorphosis of Dr. Pittie McJekyll

I've wanted to be a dog foster mom since I knew that there was such a thing. I know that I have what it takes to offer a dog patience and stability until the right family comes along. I just didn't know that I'd have to exert so much patience waiting for my opportunity to foster.

You see, sometimes THE PLAN that you have in your mind is not the plan that shakes out. And this is especially so when the dog you adopt turns out to be the dog WITH ALL THE ISSUES.

Now, let me tell you this: The McGee put on a good show for all of her caretakers and the animal shelter and for me as well. She was surrendered with another dog who was her buddy, she was social with her soon-to-be-cousin dog who came for a "let's make sure we get along" visit before we took her home, she was easy going to the point that we nicknamed her Carpet Dog and the shelter staff boasted that she might have a future career as a doorstop.

Oh you tricksy, tricksy McGee. Once she settled into her knew digs and realized that she would be staying for keepers, she morphed from sweet little doorstop into The Real McGee. The Real McGee is like a dog version of Jekyll and Hyde. Or maybe like that man eating plant from Little Shop of Horrors. (She doesn't really eat men at all, don't worry.)

What I'm actually referring to is the worst case of leash reactivity I have ever seen. I'm no animal professional, but I've done a great deal of dog walking at animal shelters and handled all of my family's pups over the years and I've never experienced anything like The McGee.

Imagine this scenario: it's a beautiful sunny fall day and I'm walking with my sweet little Dr. Pittie McJekyll through the neighborhood. She's wearing her snazzy Freedom Harness and her Gentle Leader. Her leash is loose and she glances at me lovingly from time to time to check in and receive a bite of yumminess from my treat pouch. Suddenly, from around a bend in the road there appears that sweet lady from down the road with her big black lab. I glance back over my shoulder to determine my best escape route, only to realize that three houses back the residents have just let their three medium sized barky dogs out into the front yard. Panic sets in as I resist the urge to strip off my sweatshirt and wrap it around my dog's face in a last ditch effort to hold off the impending transformation. Click, treat, squeaky happy voice, click, treat, praise, treat, look, treat, oh no, stare, click, click, treat, smash treats in face, walk faster, staring growing worse, cannot break staring crazy gaze no matter how much beef I offer as a bribe.........nooooooooooooo!!!!!!! And then the screaming. The shrill, Jekyll has left the building and Hyde is in the house sound that melts my eardrums and breaks my heart at the same time. Why can't she understand that this is not the way to gain friends, dog or human? What is wrong with me that I can't communicate stability and make her feel safe at my side? Will this ever get better?

To be fair, we have made some serious progress over the last year. Canine Good Citizen class was a breeze for The McGee. She passed with flying colors. That is, she passed 9 of 10 tests with flying colors. Test 8: Reaction to Another Dog proved too difficult for her to bear, much less pass. And if a dog fails one section, they fail the whole thing. But her threshold is growing. She can walk past many of the neighborhood dogs in their yards without staging a meltdown. She plays happily with her cousin Big T and she is slowly learning that she can earn treats by looking at us when she sees/hears another dog. She used to have the same reaction to cars and that problem has dissolved almost completely.

What is the point of this story? Well, the point is that when we adopted our McGee, I thought we'd give her a good six months to settle in and then we'd be able to foster other dogs. I mistook her initially mellow behavior to mean that she would be an ideal "big sis" when we were ready to open our home to other animals in need. I didn't know that what she was really telling us was, "I'm frightened and my self esteem is low. I'm not ready to show you who I really am, so for now I'll just remain guarded and quiet."

I haven't given up all hope. I still think that, with patience and time, our family will be able to foster. Even if it means that The McGee has to spend all this extra time training us to walk better on a leash.