8. Sadie finds a home
Updated: 4 days ago
Lisa, one of our wonderful trustees and fosterers, mentioned that Diane and Alistair — a lovely couple who had recently adopted Phoebe (was Fifi) , another Romanian dog who
travelled to the UK with Sadie in January — were thinking about adding a third dog to their family. Phoebe needed a friend and playmate as her other housemate is an old dog and not really interested in young bouncy rommies, and suddenly Sadie’s name was gently floated into the conversation, where it sat quietly looking hopeful.
Phoebe had already been on trial with a family, but it had not worked out because, among other things, she was frightened of their children. In many ways, her worries were similar to Sadie’s, although she had not been as deeply traumatised. While we were chatting in the trustees’ group, someone said it was such a shame that we did not have any dogs available at the moment. Then Lisa suggested Sadie. My first reaction was complete panic and a very firm no. Sadie was not ready — would she ever be? And, if I am honest, neither was I. This gorgeous, loving, frightened little soul had become my scared — at times, but funny little dog. Then the second thoughts crept in. I could not keep carrying her to the car every day; my back was constantly aching, and Sadie was making progress. But would a move set her back, or could it help her move forward? The home sounded ideal: patient people, a friend of a similar age — the very thing I thought she needed — and a fellow Rommie who, I believe, had been in the same foster kennels in Romania and travelled over on the same happy bus. In Sadie terms, that was almost like having someone who spoke the same secret dog language. I hesitantly messaged Diane and Alistair, then rang them. They were lovely and seemed to understand that everything would have to be taken slowly — very slowly, possibly at Sadie-speed, which is somewhere between cautious snail and “absolutely not today, thank you”, with the occasional “Oh, all right then, let’s give it a try.” They understood that Sadie was far more traumatised than Phoebe, was not yet walking on a lead very far — about 20 metres tops, could not really go out, and might need months, or longer, before she was ready for an outing. But with a friend to copy, who knew what might be possible? She had already started to enjoy short car journeys, which felt like a small miracle. We spoke for nearly an hour, and I felt they would do their very best. They had the time, patience and understanding to wait for Sadie to progress, as well as a friend who might help her. So, despite my misgivings, I agreed to let her go on trial. We decided that we would take Sadie to them a few days later because, if they had come here, she would almost certainly have growled at them from a safe distance, and that might have been the end of that.
Sunday morning arrived bright and fine, and I had packed all Sadie’s things the night before — because apparently sending a dog on trial requires almost the same amount of preparation as sending a child off to camp. There was her new harness with the matching lead, to be worn only for very short periods and, according to Sadie’s own strict regulations, used for the occasional brave expedition of up to about ten metres from the gate. I packed washable pee pads too, essential for those moments when Sadie temporarily forgot that the garden existed, her blankets, I also sent some of her raw frozen food, to be mixed gradually with whatever Diane and Alistair feed — which, naturally, I had forgotten to ask about. Into the bag went skullcap and valerian tablets as well. I had stopped giving them to Sadie but felt they were worth taking in case the move proved stressful. Hemp oil and collagen went too, as both had helped her regain her health and grow the lovely thick coat she now has, even if the warm weather had decided it was time for her to start shedding half of it around the house. By the time I had finished packing, Mother Hen did not even begin to cover it; I was practically clucking.
So I carried Sadie out to the car, she wouldn’t get in or out herself, with only a little shaking from her and rather large gulps of guilt, loss, and sorrow from me. I think once we had gone further than we ever had on her little practice trips, she realised this was not just a quick adventure round the block and began to get restless. She was not fastened in — the dreaded harness was safely hidden in her carrier bag, where it could not offend anyone — and she decided the front of the car looked far more appealing, which was definitely not part of the travel plan. Jim had a bit of a tussle with her at first, until I told Sadie quietly but firmly to lie down. She is usually quite obedient, but even I was surprised when she settled beside Sammy, who was not impressed by this act of uninvited closeness. After that, she barely moved, apart from sitting up now and again to look out of the window whenever Sammy did, as if he had been appointed official scenery inspector or are we there yet officer. She was amazing, and I was so proud of her.
We arrived at Diane and Alistair’s home about an hour later. After a quick introduction, my back and I somehow managed to carry Sadie into the house — a joint effort, though I am not sure my back was fully consulted. Once again, I was struck by how lovely Diane and Alistair were. Sadie was very attentive and followed me around, then came into the garden with me and did a poo, which she must have been saving for a moment of maximum awkwardness. We had a cup of tea, while Sadie snuggled into either Jim or me on the sofa. Phoebe watched us from the enormous dog bed with a look that clearly said, “Who on earth are these people, and why have they brought that dog with them?” Cole, their sweet giant, old ,retriever/Labrador — or something along those lovely lines — was friendly, gentle, and an absolute dear. I went through all the things I had brought to help Sadie settle, including her snuggly blankets, then we signed the adoption/trial contracts, while Sadie followed me around. I gave Diane and Alistair a very honest written assessment of Sadie and silently prayed they would take it all in. By then, I was close to tears — for Sadie, who looked so lost, and for me, because I was leaving behind the little dog I loved so much but knew I could not manage long term. I had to leave quickly. I kissed Sadie, told her I loved her, and practically ran out in floods of tears. Nearly nine months together, and so many mountains climbed side by side. Poor Diane — very professional of me, wasn’t it? Still, she understood. Afterwards, we took Sammy and Bizzy for a well-earned walk in the nearby park, followed by a quick drink in the pub — only a Coke for me, before anyone imagines anything more dramatic — and then I drove us home.
Diane was wonderful, keeping me updated often and asking questions whenever she needed to. For the first day or two, Sadie spent a lot of time tucked under the kitchen table, on a nice comfy bed, just as we had expected. — Sadie’s way of decompressing and wondering why we had just left her. But she did wander into the lounge a few times, then back to under the table. I spent those first couple of days in a bit of a fog. I am a very empathetic person, and I could almost feel Sadie’s confusion and uncertainty as if it were my own, so yes, there were quite a few tears. Sammy, on the other hand, was ecstatic. The toy-pinching, fly-catching, much-larger dog who kept cuddling his mummy and occasionally unbalancing him from his permanent throne on my knee had gone. Even better, Mummy had thrown out several half-chewed toys and bought new ones. Yippee indeed. Bizzy has been a little more loving too, though I suspect that is mainly because she can finally get near me without joining a queue or filing an application form.
On Monday, Sadie snapped at Diane when she tried to touch her, but it came from fear, not aggression. Sadie needed to approach her new humans in her own time, on her own terms and, preferably, without anyone rushing the official introductions. By Tuesday, she was spending much more time in the lounge. She had growled at poor Phoebe as she passed the table, leaving Phoebe rather nervous about squeezing by on her way to the garden, but Sadie was simply saying, “Please don’t come too close — I’m frightened.” Before long, though, she began wandering into the lounge more often, sitting in the middle of the room looking a little lost but clearly wanting to be part of things. Brave little soul — she seemed caught somewhere between “I’d like to join in” and “please don’t notice that I’ve joined in.” I was delighted to see her engaging in her own cautious way, and so proud that she was managing it far sooner than I had expected. This was one of those rare and wonderful occasions when being proved wrong felt absolutely marvellous.
By Wednesday, Sadie was spending quite a lot of time in the lounge, although she still preferred the safety of her little command post behind Alistair’s chair. She even sat on the enormous dog bed at the opposite end from Phoebe — plenty of room for them both, with a suitably polite diplomatic distance in between. Then, on Thursday morning, she greeted Alistair when he got up. Later that day, she sat beside his chair and, with a little encouragement, jumped up next to him. It felt like an enormous step forward: our frightened little girl was beginning to decide that these new humans might be kind, safe and possibly worth keeping. At last, I felt myself beginning to relax, and I dared to hope — with a heart full of love and everything crossed — that this really might work.
By Friday, Sadie was accepting tummy rubs from both Alistair and Diane. In true Sadie style, the moment they stopped, out came a paw to guide the hand back into position — apparently her new humans were already in need of a little training. Saturday brought cuddles for them both, and when they returned after going out for a while, she greeted them with great enthusiasm: tail wagging, bouncing up and down, and looking thoroughly delighted to see them. She still used the space under the table whenever she needed a quiet moment to think — or perhaps to plot her next move.
Sunday, only one week in, she was on the dog bed exchanging a few careful sniffs with Phoebe before the two of them settled quite close together. At the rate this little dog was moving forward, she would be running the household within a few weeks. That same day, she allowed Diane to brush her, which she loves. On Monday, she demonstrated her impressive fly-catching skills, darting in and out of the garden like a small, furry exterminator. Then, on Tuesday, 22nd September, which happened to be my 53rd wedding anniversary, Diane and Alistair tried the harness on her. She was not keen, but she allowed it. Alistair clipped leads onto all three dogs and, just like that, Sadie set off for a walk to the park with her new friends. I cried, of course — that is me — but in just ten days, she had begun to work it all out. Amazing, and on a date I will never forget. I think having the influence of Cole and Phoebe gave Sadie the right signals and confidence to copy their behaviours, allowing her to follow and join the ‘pack’. Since then, her progress has been on a roll, with new goals overcome each day. Alistair and Diane have done a great job with her and love her very much. Sadie and Phoebe are best friends, and today I watched a fantastic video of both dogs playing and chasing each other off lead in a field.
I am so incredibly happy for Sadie, for Diane and Alistair, Cole and Phoebe, and, through all the tears, for me too. And perhaps I should allow myself a small pat on the back — although, after months of carrying Sadie, my back may prefer a gentle one. All the hard work, angst and worry; every tiny step forward; and all the love I poured into her gave her the firmest possible foundation from which to find her own family and, at last, her happy-ever-after. A true Rags to Riches story — and one very brave little dog who finally found exactly what she deserved.
Diane continues to give me updates on Sadie which is truly wonderful and I hope they continue.
I will continue to share Sadie’s progress, and perhaps a little of the history and adventures of other Rags to Riches foster dogs too — because every rescue has a story, and they do have a habit of writing the funniest, most amazing chapters themselves.
“Saving one dog will not change the world.
But for that one dog, the world will change forever.” – Karen Davison
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