Jim Gorant - The Lost Dogs - Michael Vick's Dogs and Their Tale of Rescue and Redemption

Stirling needed to use this to her advantage. Jasmine was now on a pretty steady schedule. She got food in the morning, which as always, she ate in solitude. Every two hours Stirling would carry Jasmine out to the yard, where she would pee and then sit in the hole in the ground. In the evenings Catalina would feed her again and then sit with her, playing soft music. At night she would let all three dogs out together in the yard.

Jasmine always had a leash dragging behind her, and one night Stirling put leashes on the other dogs, too. She held these leashes as the dogs walked in the yard, and when Jasmine went to join them, Catalina picked up Jasmine’s leash in the other hand.

Jasmine stopped and looked back at her. She looked at the other dogs, sniffing their way across the yard. Jasmine seemed to be weighing her options. She wanted to walk with the other dogs, but she was nervous about the leash and Stirling ’s proximity.

After a moment she moved forward. She walked with the other dogs. She went a few steps, then stopped and lay down, frozen again. Stirling dropped the leash and Jasmine went straight to her hole in the ground. It was over in an instant, but it had been something new. Something to build on.

The next night Stirling repeated the process and again Jasmine walked a few steps with the other dogs while Catalina held the leash. She kept at it each night until she could take all three dogs on short walks around the yard.

It wasn’t much, but it was progress, and Stirling would take whatever she could get. It had been nearly two months now and nothing else had changed with Jasmine. She still would not eat with anyone in the room. She shook when Stirling came near, had to be carried outside and in-stiff and petrified-and would not be touched. Everything scared her. Voices from upstairs, footsteps anywhere, would set Jasmine to trembling. Stirling had never had so much trouble earning a dog’s trust, but the success in the yard gave her new hope.

She redoubled her efforts, using the other dogs to buy Jasmine’s trust however she could. Every night when she played the soft music, she would bring the other dogs in the room and simply sit, petting the other dogs and relaxing. From the safety of her crate Jasmine watched, unmoving, those intense eyes burning into Stirling.

Stirling took to bribery, too. From time to time she’d randomly pop her head in the door of Jasmine’s room and throw a treat across the floor. The dog would never move to retrieve the snack while she was there, but when she came back later it was always gone. Still, Jasmine did nothing to acknowledge it. Most dogs would recognize the routine and send some sort of signal-a tail wag, a yawn, a snout lick, something-to show their appreciation, but Jasmine offered nothing, just those two brown eyes, shining out of the crate.

The second month passed and so did the third. It was the same thing every day, over and over. Breakfast, dinner, hauling in and out. Jasmine sitting in the crate. Alone. Staring. Jasmine sitting in the hole in the yard. She interacted a little with the other dogs, she took her short walk on the leash, she stared out from the crate as Stirling and the other dogs sat in the soft light.

Something had to give.

ON HIS SECOND DAY with Jonny Rotten, Cris Cohen was up at 6:45. Jonny had slept quietly through the night and Cohen was happy to see that he hadn’t had any accidents in the crate. By 7:00 they had negotiated the stairs and were out on the street. Jonny was excited and scattered, but better than he had been on the first day. He still jumped from side to side, and he alternated between stopping short and pulling forward, but he wasn’t tying up Cohen in knots.

As they walked, Cohen started to get an idea of what Jonny did and didn’t like. He was very interested in people and wanted to say hello to everyone they passed. He didn’t seem to care much about dogs. Garbage trucks were a definite dislike. The first one they passed sent Jonny scrambling in three directions at once, eyes popping, head swiveling, nails scratching against the concrete in an effort to escape. He didn’t seem to know where he wanted to go, but he didn’t want to stick around.

Cohen felt sorry for the little guy and tried to calm him, but he also had to fight back a chuckle. In his moment of uncoordinated panic, Jonny reminded Cris of Scooby Doo. Whenever Scooby saw a ghost (which happened with alarming frequency), he would go into a leg-spinning, head-twisting retreat accompanied by the cartoon sound effects of speedy footsteps, klonks, bonks, crashes, and breaking glass. Out on the sidewalks of San Francisco, Jonny had just gone totally Scooby.

It wouldn’t be the last time that day. Everything was new to him, and while he spent 85 percent of the walk wagging his tail as he explored, the other 15 percent included less happy interactions with the real world. Still, they made it to the Lawton School, a small building two blocks away, before turning for home. As they paused in front of the school Jonny looked up at Cohen with his head tilted. A tall, wide set of stairs led up to the building’s front door, and Jonny seemed to be asking, “Do I have to go up those?”

When Cohen ignored the steps and turned for home the little dog pulled ahead of him, crossing back and forth as he went so that Cris stumbled comically over the leash.

After his big morning adventure Jonny had the day to relax in his crate, chewing on a few toys and basking in the sun. But when Cohen came home at 5:00 P.M., it was back to work. This time they walked through Golden Gate Park, a place full of dogs. Sure enough, they had hardly entered the park when one approached. The dog seemed like it wanted to come over and Cohen wasn’t sure how Jonny would react. He made sure to place himself between Jonny and the other dog. As it passed, Jonny looked over but seemed to have little interest. Jonny knew it was a dog; he saw it, but he didn’t care. The pattern repeated itself several times with other dogs and each time the result was the same.

This was great news, and it made Cohen feel positive about Jonny’s long-term prospects. Sure, the little guy was scattered and scared and full of misdirected energy, but he was people-friendly and had no interest in messing with other dogs.

As Cohen reflected on these things, he felt a sudden jolt in his shoulder. A crow was hopping along the ground just off the path. Yes, Jonny was fine with dogs, but he wanted a piece of that bird like nobody’s business. How many times had a big black menace like this one teased him from the trees while Jonny was chained up in the woods? Cohen had no idea, but he made a mental note. Crows: not a fan.

After a nice dinner, Jonny retreated to his crate. He was wiped out, and by 7:30 he’d crashed. The house filled with the sound of his sweet little snores.

Jonny and Cris were out by 6:00 A.M. the next day. Cohen had started to work with Jonny on heeling and the little guy was getting the hang of the leash, so they made more progress, marching right past the school and on to Sunset Playground. A set of bleachers stood next to a field, and Cohen took Jonny over to check it out. Cohen looked up at the long row of steps. He looked at the dog. It was worth a try, he thought.

Maybe it was the open-air setting. Maybe it was that there were few distractions, but Jonny went up and down those stairs without a problem. For the first time, Jonny seemed a little more focused and Cohen figured that the steady exercise was helping settle him.

But Cris had to work a little late that night and when he got home at 6:00, Jonny was a ball of energy. On their walk, Jonny was hyper. He scrambled around and he jumped up and down so steadily that Cris felt as if he were walking down the street dribbling a basketball. At the playground the sound of screaming children distracted him and made him uneasy, as did the wind, and the cars and the crunching leaves underfoot. As well as Jonny had done that morning, he was equally unfocused that night.