He’s listed on my Facebook page as “Ivan, the little pit bull that could.”
Could, and did. It’s becoming more and more apparent that my rush hour rescue left his scared, growling, street-dog persona there at that abandoned lot in the rain last week. It’s been a while since I’ve seen a dog so entirely stupid-happy to see anyone and everyone, especially so soon after rescue and after having been so mistreated before.
Anywhooz. I have a raging headache at the mo, but wanted to give a quick update before bed on the adventures of Mr. Squishy Face, for all of his adoring fans.
Today was The Big Day and I cashed in Ivan’s “get out of jail free” card this morning on my way to class. Whining with excitement, he barreled out of his kennel and straight into my arms, pausing only long enough to let me throw the leash around his shoulders before dragging me down the kennel aisle and toward the door. He barely even stopped to say good-bye to the officer who had kindly marked his paperwork with a “Do Not Destroy” note and watched over him while he served his sentence.
As he danced around the lobby, it was clear that he’d never perceived the shelter as a dangerous, stressful place to be. But you have to figure that three meals a day, a roof over his head, and daily human interaction that didn’t involve abuse probably seemed like heaven to him.
Out in the parking lot, he sulked at being banished to the backseat, then called shotgun for himself and scrambled to the front, grinning over his shoulder gleefully at me as I slid behind the wheel. “Yeah, yeah, you’re so clever,” I said sarcastically, cuffing him in the head affectionately. “Brat.”
He whuffled in my ear in reply.
Yay, shotgun!
Oh so proud of himself.
At the request of a potential foster home, we stopped by my house to test his doggie skills by introducing him to Napoleon, aka Mr. I-Love-Everything. With pits, especially those of the scarred-up variety, doggie introductions can either go really, really well…or really, really not. So I popped Napoleon into a sit-stay and let Ivan, who was clearly uncomfortable but curious, approach at his own pace.
Napoleon seemed to sense Ivan’s hesitation and he ducked his head submissively while waiting to be given the green light. Then as the two touched noses, he very earnestly lifted his paw and rested it squarely on top of Ivan’s head, both an innocent invitation to play and a promise of harmlessness. Ivan, in response, leapt backwards, play bowed, zipped around Napoleon in a wiggly frenzy of “puppy zoomies,” and then dropped to the floor in anticipation of a chase. And voila, turns out this little monkey face is not, in fact, a fight-now-ask-questions-later kind of guy (hence the scarring and subsequent abandonment, I suspect).
Thanks to a few very generous donations, he’s staying at the facility where I used to work until I get him into foster care or a permanent home. I’m trusting that those details will work themselves out as they usually do, and until then I can breathe knowing he’s no longer a deathrow dog. As to how he’s making the transition? When I stopped by after class to visit him again, one look told me all I needed to know.
Happy, much?
Yep, I think he’s gonna make it, all right.
