The first time I saw her was on a rainy Saturday during an adoption event at PetSmart. I was interviewing a potential adopter when she came in the door, dripping wet, attached to a rope resembling a shoestring. The person on the other end of the string was an older man with a shock of white hair. He was talking loudly, causing a scene, and I excused myself to walk towards him.
“Free dog! Free to the first person who will take her!” he said, over and over again.
I looked at the dog. She was a fawn and white pit bull with a black mask and natural ears. She was scared and shaking and when she turned towards the man, trying to lick his hand, I saw the word “SWANK” shaved into her fur all the way across her left side.
Once I reached them, I ignored the man and sank to my knees. She scuttled into my lap, tail down but still wagging, and desperately licked my face. I took her face in my hands and held her away from me, her tongue still flicking in and out a mile a minute, and tried to help her calm down. She curled herself into me and I stroked her head and talked to her in a soothing tone.
“Hello, pretty girl, what’s your name?” I asked.
“Her name’s Jezebel,” the man said.
“Free dog! Free to the first person who will take her!” he said, over and over again.
I looked at the dog. She was a fawn and white pit bull with a black mask and natural ears. She was scared and shaking and when she turned towards the man, trying to lick his hand, I saw the word “SWANK” shaved into her fur all the way across her left side.
Once I reached them, I ignored the man and sank to my knees. She scuttled into my lap, tail down but still wagging, and desperately licked my face. I took her face in my hands and held her away from me, her tongue still flicking in and out a mile a minute, and tried to help her calm down. She curled herself into me and I stroked her head and talked to her in a soothing tone.
“Hello, pretty girl, what’s your name?” I asked.
“Her name’s Jezebel,” the man said.
I looked up at him and asked, “What’s the reason she needs a new home?”
“My girlfriend’s son bought her and two litter mates. She won’t fight so he doesn’t want her any more. He was going to use her to teach the other two how to fight but my girlfriend gave her to me to get rid of,” he said.
I felt like I had just been sucker punched in the gut. I looked into her soft brown eyes and immediately felt a connection to her.
“How old is she,” I asked.
“About six months. She has papers …” he said, waving an envelope at me.
By this time, the vice president of the rescue shelter had made his way to where we were standing. He looked at me questioningly and I said, “This is Jezebel and she needs a new home. Can we take her?”
“Our intake person isn’t here and I can’t make that call,” he said. He addressed the man and said, “Can you bring her back tomorrow?”
“I want this dog, we can’t send her back home, it’s dangerous for her,” I said.
“Call the intake person tonight and tell her this dog will be back tomorrow.” He said.
I was at my wit’s end. Every nerve in my body was screaming at me not to let her go. I told the man to wait while I spoke with someone. I hunted down my boyfriend and hurriedly explained the situation. He followed me to the man and the dog, took one look at her, and said, “We’ll take her.”
“No, we have a procedure we have to follow; this dog is coming back tomorrow.” The VP said.
I looked at my boyfriend and then I looked at the man. “We are taking this dog, whether the rescue takes her in or I take her home—she’s coming with me.”
My boyfriend wavered. He didn’t want to make waves, so he gently said, “She’ll be back tomorrow. We’ll take her then. We have to do this by the book; her owner isn’t here to sign her over to us. If we take her and he changes his mind, we could get in trouble.”
They were right, of course, but I still didn’t like that answer.
“I kneeled back down in front of Jezebel, looked in her eyes and said “You have to go now but you’ll be back tomorrow and then I’ll take you home with me.”
She licked my face, her eyes anxious and my heart shattered into a million pieces. Tears stung my eyes as I watched them walk towards the front of the store. Before they exited Jezebel paused, turned, looked at me, and our eyes locked. The man tugged on her rope and she followed him out the door.
I was useless for the rest of the afternoon at the adoption event and I was restless and sick with worry that evening. I couldn’t sleep; I tossed and turned and saw Jezebel’s face every time I closed my eyes. I don’t know what it was about this particular dog; I’ve worked with hundreds, and though I’ve gotten attached to several of them, I’ve never had a reaction this strong.
The next day at the adoption event, I was on pins and needles. I stared at the entrance to the store, willing Jezebel and the man to walk through it. The intake person was there, ready to meet with them and do what needed to be done to take her in. Three hours passed and she still hadn’t come. The sinking feeling that had begun in my stomach got stronger and stronger with each passing hour. There were only twenty minutes left of the adoption event; if she didn’t come by then, I would have to leave and would probably never see her again.
Then, as if orchestrated by fate, there she was. She was attached to a leash this time and was accompanied by a woman.
I cannot put into words the overwhelming sense of joy and relief I experienced in that moment. The intake person saw my face and said, “Is that her?”
“Yes!” I exclaimed and ran down the center aisle to meet them.
Jezebel was wagging her entire body. She was still timid, but it was as if she remembered me and the promise I made to her the day before. I dropped to the ground and wrapped my arms around her. She was wildly licking my face and I laughed.
The woman smiled when she saw our greeting. She said, “You have no idea how glad I am to see this reaction to her. I was afraid I’d have a hard time finding a good place to leave a Pit Bull.”
“You have no idea how relieved I am that you’re here; I was scared to death you weren’t coming,” I said.
The woman and the intake person walked away to complete the transfer of ownership and my boyfriend and I took Jezebel outside to spend a few quiet minutes with her.
Once the transfer of ownership was completed, the VP said “Take her home. We’ll call you tomorrow about arranging her vet appointment and spay.”
I gladly obliged and took her home to meet our dogs.
Over the next week, Jezebel came out of her shell. She started out nervous and hid from us a lot. Our dogs tried to make her feel better and they were very patient with her. They were used to strange dogs coming and going. They had both been homeless at one point themselves.
Gradually, Jezebel spent less time hiding and more time seeking us out for attention. Every now and then, if someone spooked her, she would dive for the furniture and hide her head under it. The rest of her body was clearly visible but I guess her thought was, “If I can’t see you, you can’t see me!” We got a chuckle out of it but we let her take her time overcoming her fear.
About ten days after she came to stay with us, she was scheduled to be spayed. This vet kept the dogs overnight, in case there were any complications, and it was killing me to know I had to leave her. She was a true Velcro dog; she went everywhere with me. She learned to love the car, she escorted me to the bathroom, and she slept on the floor by my side of the bed each night. Luckily, my boyfriend owned a business and I worked for him. Our two dogs came to work with us every day and allowing one more dog to tag along was natural for us. She mostly lay behind my chair but every few minutes she would get up, walk around the chair, and stick her head in my lap. I would rub her ears and talk to her and then she would lie down again.
On the day of her spay, I drove her to the clinic and she sat in her customary seat next to me, riding shotgun. She had her own seat belt and loved to look out the window and let the wind blow her ears. When we arrived, she trustingly hopped out of the car and followed me inside.
I went up to the front desk to sign her in. The receptionist looked at Jezzy and said, “She’s gorgeous, does she have a potential home yet?”
I said “Not officially but I don’t know that I’ll be able to let her go when the time comes. I’m still wrestling with that.”
The receptionist gave me a knowing look and said, “I’ll call in a couple of weeks to see if she’s available; if you don’t keep her, I may be interested.”
After I signed the paperwork, I kneeled down to her level and said, “You have to stay here today. The doctors and nurses are very nice and will take good care of you. I promise to call and check on you later today and I will be back for you tomorrow morning as soon as they say you can go.”
Jezzy automatically looked panic-stricken when the receptionist took her leash. She resisted going down the hallway and yelped and cried the whole way there. I could hear her back there even after they shut the door.
When the receptionist came back, she took one look at me and said “She’ll be OK, Mom.” I sniffled, wiped the tears from my cheeks, and said, “Yeah, I know she will.” Then I turned and went back to work.
Her spay went flawlessly and she slept for a long time. When she woke up, she was very subdued. The vet called me and said, “She’s a little more despondent than dogs normally are, but I understand she’s very bonded to you. We’re keeping an eye on her and making her as comfortable as we can.”
“May I come see her for a while?” I asked.
“That’s not really a good idea. If you leave her a second time, it’ll cause her more stress,” he said.
That made sense, but it didn’t make me feel any better. My heart was aching for her and even my dogs were looking around for her. She was already one of us, though I was still trying to convince myself otherwise.
Getting through the night was even harder for me than the night before she was surrendered to us. There was much hand wringing and brow furrowing on my part. I tossed and turned and generally made a pest of myself to my poor boyfriend but he was very understanding.
When it was finally time to pick her up from the vet, I virtually skipped with glee through the parking lot. I was there to collect my girl and I couldn’t have been happier.
I walked up to reception and the girl behind the counter was the same one I’d seen the day before.
“Everyone here is in love with Jezebel,” she said. ”She missed you though.”
“Well, let me sign whatever I have to sign, so I can take her back home then!” I said.
I signed the paperwork to bill the rescue shelter and then the receptionist disappeared down the hall. Today, the door to the hallway was closed, but I could see through a little window between the front and the back. What I saw broke my heart. The receptionist was walking Jezzy towards the waiting room, talking to her in happy tones—but Jezzy was looking at the floor, slinking along the wall with her tail tucked in.
I have never seen a more miserable animal. I couldn’t stand to see her that way, so I opened the door and said “Hello there, pretty girl,” and her reaction was amazing! She stood straight up, her ears perked, her eyes were bright, and she literally dragged the receptionist down the hall and started jumping on me, barking happily. I knelt down to pet her and to get her to stop jumping so she wouldn’t tear her incision. I Kissed her on the head and graciously received my doggy kisses.
“Wow, I’ll bet you wind up keeping her; she’s really bonded to you,” said the vet, who I didn’t even see approaching. She gave me the post-op instructions, then she kissed Jezzy’s head, and said “You are an amazing girl. Your new family will be lucky to have you.”Weeks passed and Jezebel settled in nicely. She played with the other dogs, she had her own bed behind my desk next to me, and I bought her a new collar, one that wouldn’t stain the white fur of her neck brown. There was very little interest in her at the adoption events but truthfully, we only took her to the minimum number required. I found something wrong with every person who paid her the least bit of attention.
She had no idea what the adoption events were. She just tagged along and stayed by my side. As far as she was concerned, she was just hanging out with Mom. She was fine with that. She had no idea that we intended to turn her over to some other family.
One gorgeous Saturday, I took her to an adoption event and we sat outside on the sidewalk. All of the dog handlers were out there and most of the dogs were lying comfortably in the sun. It wasn’t too hot and there was a light breeze. I was sitting a couple of feet in front of the building and Jezzy was curled up behind me. She still got nervous when there were too many other dogs around.
One dog was not as relaxed as the others. It was a Jack Russell/Beagle mix. It was not a cute dog and her disposition left a lot to be desired. She barked and snapped and growled at every dog and even most people who crossed her path. She and her handler were walking down the sidewalk, heading towards the entrance of the store, and they paused a few feet in front of me. She barked her fool head off and I said, “Oh knock that off, no one’s doing anything to you.”
And that’s when it happened. Jezebel peeked around my shoulder and whined.
“It’s okay,” I whispered to her.
She did not agree. Some dog was barking at her mom and she wasn’t having it. She slowly walked out from behind me, her tail low, her head bowed down, her eyes unsure, and stood between me and the barking dog. She was shaking but she stood firm. She was not going to allow any dog to get to her Mom. She faced the barking dog until the handler led her away, then she turned to face me, wagged her tail, and visibly relaxed. I drew her to me, kissed her on the head, grabbed my purse, and headed to the adoption table. I wrote out the check for her adoption fee, signed all the papers, and made her mine.
I told the people at the adoption table what happened; after seeing how brave she was on my behalf, I couldn’t let her down by handing her off to someone else. She had not been able to trust many people in her short life and I was not going to shatter her heart by letting sending her away.
“It’s about time,” the VP said. “Everyone knew you weren’t going to let anyone else have her.”
I looked at Jezbel and smiled. I swear she smiled back and I sat down in a chair and said, “You are mine now. No one will ever be able to take you away.” She happily spun around in a circle and I laughed. She hung out with me for the rest of the afternoon, helping other dogs find their forever homes. Strangely enough, after I made her mine, people inquired about her, asking if she was still available. I smiled at them and said that no, she had found her family.
I’ve never regretted taking her in. Even with the obstacles that come with her breed, the problems with renting and buying homeowner’s insurance, she has been worth every ounce of effort I’ve made to keep her. She is my soul dog and I will never allow anything to get between us.
