Norman No More

I am heartbroken to report that Norman was put down this past weekend. The shelter training director sent out a 2-page letter to staff members and to me, explaining why she felt that Norman needed to be put down. Norman was unpredictable, had bitten three people at the shelter (staff and volunteers), and was not making consistent progress over the 3 months that he was there. She felt there were very few, if any, home situations that could handle Norman. He would always be a guarder, and he could resort to biting at any point in time.

I did not agree with everything in the letter, and I definitely did not want Norman to be put down. But with my own eyes, I had seen Norman try to bite a volunteer on the hand--it was the most random, weird reaction I'd ever seen in a dog. He was all sweet and fine, accepted a treat from the volunteer happily, then a few moments later, snapped at her hand with his teeth. He didn't break skin in this case or with the other bites, but they were all equally random and unpredictable.

The shelter training director saw and worked with Norman every day over the past three months, while I saw him for less than an hour, twice a week, if that. So even though I wanted to, I felt I couldn't argue with her assessment of him. She loved Norman and was very invested in him, and this decision had to be 10 times more difficult for her than it was for me. I know that I could have offered to foster Norman long-term or adopt him, and she would have allowed me to do that. Dogs behave so differently in a home than in a shelter environment. Those three bites might never have been repeated once he got settled. I felt he truly trusted me, and I completely trusted his behavior toward me personally.

But I couldn't have trusted his behavior toward other people. There are small children (who are both very scared of dogs) living on either side of my house, and if Norman had ever gotten loose and hurt one of them, I would not be able to forgive myself. If Cabana ever got loose, I know she'd never hurt anybody in a million years. But with Norman, I'd be worried until the day he died.

Which is how the training director must have felt, and which is why I supported her decision. It's hard, though, full of what if's and doubts. I got to see Norman as they were about to put him down, and he was sooo sweet. All wags and cuddles and full-out joy, to have all his favorite people around him at the same time, while we humans were all bawling our eyes out.

I know there's a lesson in here for me. I'm not quite sure what it is yet, other than that life isn't fair. I don't know what Norman's life was like before he came to the shelter, but I'm quite certain it wasn't good. He seemed starved for companionship, both human and canine, but at the same time, was clueless about how to interact with either. He was fearful and distrustful, but maybe any dog would have been, given the same circumstances. Norman's name used to be Lucky, but shortly after arriving at the shelter, the training director changed it to Norman, jokingly saying that he was anything but lucky. Little did any of us know how true that would be.

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The New Norman

When I first met Norman, a chow-golden retriever mix, at the shelter, he gave me the meanest death stare ever, like he would chew my head off if the fence wasn't between us. I took an instant dislike to him. Call me Mrs. Compassionate.

But the next time I saw him, I fed him a few morsels through the fence, and we came to an understanding. He understood I wasn't going to hurt him, and I understood he had been through a lot, which I could tell by the way he'd flinch every time I put my hand out to pet him. Being head shy, some of the shelter workers wouldn't even remove his lead when they transferred him from the night kennels to the training center yard. He'd been known to nip at them when they reached for his neck area.

In the little training center yard, Norman was away from the noise of the kennels and could see people come and go. There was lots of practice opportunity for him to get used to people and dogs coming up to the fence without him going ballistic. Slowly, thanks to the diligence of the shelter's training director, Norman started coming around.

After two months of building trust and working on obedience, we felt Norman was ready for dog interaction. I brought Cabana to the shelter last week, and with Norman in a muzzle, we introduced the dogs. Cabana was a bit weirded out be the muzzle, I think, but she play bowed and tried to interact with him. We kept the session short and ended on a very successful and promising note. Two days later, I brought Cabana back to the shelter. Norman knew her now, and because he was so happy and relaxed, I felt like I could handle both dogs on a walk.

It was all going very smoothly, until we passed a building that was undergoing construction. There was the whirring of electric saws, roofers were hammering, and Norman was beside himself with fear. I had to use all my might to pull him back from running into the street as he tried to get as far away from the distressing sounds as possible. I gathered the dogs, and we sat for a while on the bench in front of the building. I wanted Norman to see that the sounds weren't anything to be afraid of. After just a few minutes, perhaps due to Cabana's example, Norman calmed down. The reward of seeing this kind of progress is addictive.

Yesterday, I invited Norm over to our house for a few hours, so I could see how he did in a home environment. He was surprisingly fantastic! He didn't bark, didn't jump on furniture, was fastidious in his potty skills, and he adored Cabana. They would have played non-stop if I had let them. Cabana barked at him a lot, which I felt was her way of correcting him--he probably NEEDED a lot of correction. But I had him on leash, and she could have gotten away from him at any moment but chose not to.

Norman came into the shelter undersocialized, untrained, and pretty much unadoptable. After a few months at the shelter, through the dedication of staff and volunteers, he's ready for a home. It's a rehabilitation success story that happens one dog at a time, and it's why I've become a shelter dog addict.

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