Saying Goodbye to Annie by Angela Rieck

This week my dog, Annie, an (almost) 19-year-old cockapoo passed away. My grief is immeasurable. 

At the end she had dementia, cataracts, and was deaf; but she loved to be by my side or watch Annie TV (watching the birds, squirrels, and bunnies running around the yard). Annie was not a normal dog, nor was she a normal rescue dog. But she adapted in ways that no one expected. She lived a happy life, loving squeaky toys, being petted on the backside, bouncing around the house joyfully, and barking (not my personal favorite). 

Annie came to me from a rescue organization in NJ where I was a volunteer. All of the other rescue groups passed on Annie because she was feral. I reluctantly agreed to take her, I already had four dogs (two of my own and two from an elderly friend who passed away) and a busy life; but I was the only real option. The other fosters were taking 8-10 dogs, and we knew that Annie was going to need more attention than they could give.

Annie was born in a puppy mill to a traumatized puppy mill mother. Unfortunately for Annie, she was a beautiful, a white cockapoo with big brown, doe eyes. She was larger than most dogs and the puppy miller knew that she would produce a lot of pretty babies. She was sold to another puppy mill. She fetched a good price.

Annie’s original home was the back of tractor trailer stuffed with dogs in crates. It had little light, no air conditioning, or heat. In was a dark, filthy, deafening home where she spent her whole life in a cage. The dogs barked incessantly, trying to alert someone, anyone, to their plight. Annie stayed in the back of her crate and trembled. There were no trays underneath the cages, allowing the poo and pee from the dogs in the above crates to rain down on dogs in the lower crates. Her feet were splayed from never being able to stand on a solid surface. When she was covered with feces and urine, she was yanked out and hosed down no matter the weather. 

Annie arrived with severely matted fur covered in excrement, her eyes were matted shut, she was unable to move, and her butt was severely matted. Our organization took her, vetted her, shaved her down; took care of her physical needs. It was my job to work on emotional needs.

Annie had a long way to go. She was at 60% of her body weight and feral. She bit vigorously and continuously. When she was not attacking, she was running and hiding, always trying to escape. She was terrified of humans, dogs, the outdoors (which she had never seen), and the world in general. Grass was scary, bunnies and birds, everything was there to hurt her. After I put her in the house, I made a cardinal error of taking her leash off. It took me an hour to catch her; she bit me more than 20 times.

I worked with her slowly, but her formative years had taken their toll. She never learned cause and effect. She had learned that no matter what she did, her life would be one of abuse and neglect. It was hard to get her to eat quality food. She ate boiled potatoes (a staple in puppy mills), and it took weeks to get her to eat meat and other foods that are natural to animals. 

It was not the easiest of journeys. It took six years to housetrain her. Food was not a motivator. She was originally suspicious of every treat, food, and toy. She could be frozen in her past trauma. 

But Annie was very resilient and eager to please. She stopped biting by the end of the first year, determined to be feral no longer. Annie had too sweet a disposition for what happened to her. Annie was too trusting, too loving, and too kind for her abysmal treatment. 

Some people give me credit for her transformation. But the truth is that it was her. She was willing to let go of her fears and see if another world was friendly to her. She was willing to trust.

Over time, Annnie became a sweet, loving dog. I learned a lot of lessons from Annie. She taught me that a fearful, feral dog can become a loving, sweet, happy, gal. Annie never gave up trying to fit in. She taught me how animals and people who are abused in their youth bear permanent scars and how fragile trust can be. 

She also taught me about empathy. The Annie that I first met had no prospect of a happy life. But she was willing to open up to another world. 

After caring for Annie, I understand the permanent scars that remain after childhood abuse, especially sexual abuse by trusted institutions. But Annie’s resiliency is in everyone. Annie taught me patience. Changes can take years…but Annie taught me that they will come.

Annie ended up living a long, happy life, she was joyous, carefree and always so sweet. She was kind to people and animals. I think I will miss her sweetness the most.

Sorry for the picture, but Annie was afraid of phones pointed at her.

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Angela Rieck, a Caroline County native, received her PhD in Mathematical Psychology from the University of Maryland and worked as a scientist at Bell Labs, and other high-tech companies in New Jersey before retiring as a corporate executive. Angela and her dogs divide their time between St Michaels and Key West Florida. Her daughter lives and works in New York City.