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

As the vans arrived, the sanctuary staff unloaded the dogs into their new homes. The housing at Best Friends consists of a series of octagonal-shaped buildings that are designed to look like a typical suburban house. Inside, kennels radiate out from a central work area and those interior spaces are connected by doggie doors to large exterior runs (ten feet by twenty feet), so the dogs can go in and out as they please. They’re large spaces and typically two or three dogs live together in each kennel-run combo.

That was not possible with the Vick dogs; they needed to be housed separately. During the previous weeks, workers had placed large crates inside the kennels and subdivided the exterior runs, so that each dog would have its own crate and its own run, but it would not be able to go in and out unless someone transferred it from one place to the other. It wasn’t what the staff preferred, but it would have to do for now.

Two of the trainers had spent the previous two weeks in Virginia, providing the dogs with some companionship and getting to know them a bit. They were on hand now giving advice to the others. The sheer variety of canine personalities was notable. Some of the dogs stood in their pens ready to come out and meet the latest group of people looking to help them. Some barked and some sat patiently waiting. Others cowered in the backs of the pens, scared and uncertain.

One trainer approached a crate and lifted the name tag attached to the outside to read it: Little Red Hair. It was the same dog that Nicole Rattay had spent so much time with while in the shelters in southern Virginia. During Rattay’s six-week stint, Little Red had gone from a dog that was so scared she wouldn’t even come to the front of her kennel to eat treats and needed to be carried outside to the exercise area, to one that walked outside on her own, welcomed petting, and came to so enjoy the company of people that she would spend time hanging around the shelter office.

Now, as happened with so many of the dogs, the trip and the new surroundings had set her back. The trainer opened the crate and tried to coax Little Red into her arms, but the dog stayed anchored against the back wall. The trainer reached in and slid Little Red out, clipped a leash on her, and stood her up on the ground. She started to walk toward the closest building, encouraging the dog to follow, but Little Red stood frozen and then slowly sank to the ground. The trainer had to carry her inside and set her in her new home, a much bigger all-wire crate set in between two others.

The dogs were split between two of the octagonal buildings, and by the time they were all settled it was nighttime. The staff took each dog out for one last walk and then prepped them for sleep. As the dogs got comfortable, a few of the attendants pulled out cots, sleeping mats, and sleeping bags. They set these up in the center of the octagons or even inside the kennels. The dogs looked at them questioningly.

The sanctuary workers were doing what they considered to be part of their job: ensuring that the dogs were comfortable and getting the attention they needed. Some dogs were more active than others and they tried to split up the energetic ones, but they also had to be careful not to let the activity of a hyper dog harass one with fear issues. Through the night they continued to rearrange the dogs, trying to find the best combinations.

When morning came they got on to the real work.

The staff began evaluating each dog, finding out its strengths and weakness and setting individual goals for each. They also started charting every dog’s mental and emotional state on a scale of one to ten within six parameters: confidence, fear, energy, human interest, individual enrichment, happiness.

About half of the dogs were dealing with severe fear problems, Little Red among them. For most of the first week, she did little but hide in the back of her crate and bark at those who came to tend to her. She certainly did not lack attention. Best Friends had staffed up so that they had about one attendant for every five of the Vick dogs; the usual ratio averaged something like one person to fifteen or twenty dogs. There was at least one person with the dogs twenty-four hours a day.

One of the caregivers assigned to Little Red’s area was Carissa Hendrick, who had left Best Friends a few years earlier to move to Maine. She came back just to work with the Vick dogs. During those early days she helped move Little Red through the daily routines-feedings, walks, outside time. Other than that, she hardly saw the dog. Whenever she was not otherwise occupied, Little Red hid in her house. From time to time Hendrick would see the dog’s head pop up for a quick look around, like a periscope breaking the surface of the ocean, and then disappear again.

Hendrick made it a habit to be around Little Red without paying attention to her, giving the dog a chance to get used to her presence without the anxiety of being engaged. The strategy worked, and before long she began to work with Little Red on basic training and enrichment. She also took Little Red for her medical evaluations. The staff vets examined Little Red’s coat, which was thin and spotty, and they looked over the criss-cross of scars that stood out prominently on her snout.

Their tests revealed that she had babesia, a blood parasite that’s fairly common in fighting dogs because it can be passed through deep puncture wounds. The condition can make dogs anemic and sick. Little Red had not shown any symptoms, but she would have to be watched.

For now, though, Hendrick began to work on Little Red’s fear. She had begun to bond and show trust. Hendrick didn’t know about Nicole Rattay, but without a doubt the work she’d done with Little Red in the shelter was paying off. Little Red already knew that people could be good. She already knew how to trust, at least a little.

By the end of the second week, Little Red had started to come around. She was friendlier and more comfortable with the three or four people who worked with her on a regular basis. She even began to show off a little smile. She pulled the corners of her mouth back and lifted her lips to show her teeth. It was a nervous and submissive gesture, but it was endearing nonetheless and she became known for it around the compound.

Hendrick looked at it as a metaphor for all of the Vick dogs. They had been through so much, overcome so much, and yet they continued to persevere. They could smile. It might be a bit forced and quivering, but it was there. She hoped to help make Little Red happy and secure enough that it would turn into a real smile.

To start the process Hendrick began introducing a few comforts and enrichments-toys, blankets. They worked on basic training too, although Little Red’s past experience didn’t help her in this area. The first command taught is almost always sit, but Little Red refused to do it.

The most common method of teaching a dog to sit is for the trainer to encourage the dog to perform the desired behavior and then offer a treat. The dog soon associates the command with the behavior and the reward. When a dog has trouble figuring it out, trainers will often hold the treat out over the dog’s head. As the dog attempts to look straight up, it is almost forced into a sitting position, but it didn’t work for Little Red. When anyone held their hand up over her head, she didn’t look up; she cowered.

Another trick trainers use is to enter the dog’s area in the morning with a full bowl of food, give the command, and simply stand there until the dog performs the desired behavior. As soon as the dog does what has been asked, the trainer puts the bowl down. This didn’t work with Little Red, either. She simply refused to sit and Hendricks or others would sometimes stand there for twenty-five or thirty minutes waiting. It reached a point where if Little Red’s butt came anywhere near the floor, they dropped the bowl and got out of there.