Rescued

Sienna

Rescue

An article in the local newspaper a day or so ago told about a dog rescued from an abusive home. She'd been tied up so tightly that her leather harness and chain cut all the way to the bone. Now she is the friend and helper of a man who has acute Parkinson's disease. The man says she is the child he never had.

Although the road can be bumpy, I have nothing but good things to say about rescuing a dog or cat that otherwise would be thrown on the trash heap. About 17 months ago, we also took in a rescue dog, a 50-pound Labrador Retriever/Shar-Pei mix named Sienna, who was found wandering somewhere in Pinellas County, Florida. She had four puppies in tow. The animal shelter to which she was taken weaned the puppies and fully intended to euthanize Sienna, who was big and could be wild when she was excited. But then, as now, she loved people, other dogs and even cats. An animal rescue group stepped in and said, "No way."

At first, our relationship was rocky. Sienna had been bounced around so much to this home and that and to more than one shelter that she had developed extreme separation anxiety. We tried to teach her to go into a dog crate so that we could go to church or a movie and not worry. She was having none of it and salivated so much when locked up that there were literally pools on the kitchen floor when we arrived home. Our previous dog, also a rescue, had readily gone into the crate, so what was wrong with this one?

Our vet said tranquilizers might help and gave us a prescription. They were to be used "as needed," which, for a while, was every time we left the house. We had a routine. We put soothing music on the radio. We tossed one of Ed's dirty t-shirts into the crate, along with a stuffed lamb we called "baby" and a bone to chew on. We also purchased one of those stretchy shirts, which, when strapped tightly in place with Velcro, is said to reduce anxiety. We bought a rubber toy, called a Kong, and put peanut butter inside.

All this made only a marginal difference in the puddles of saliva.

A friend who trained dogs for urban search and rescue teams suggested putting the crate in a bathroom, leaving the cage door open. He said to feed Sienna every meal in the crate, also with the door open, so she'd associate it with pleasure. When we got ready to go away, he suggested we lure Sienna into the bathroom and shut the door, saying, "We'll be back."

The first time we tried that she chewed off about two feet of the door frame in an effort to escape. Who knows what she would have done to the sofa had she been loose in the rest of the house. When we were at home, she never attempted to chew anything that wasn't one of her toys.

One night when we went to a movie, Sienna ripped the door through to its hollow core. Ed nailed up a metal sheet to cover the hole. We dreaded coming home, wondering how many wood chips and how much saliva we'd find in the hall outside the bathroom.

Our dog-trainer friend said to be persistent. We were, and we were generous too with praise when she deserved it and plenty of love. Gradually, over about eight months, the saliva became less, and the chewing stopped. We let the tranquilizer prescription run out and, finally, put away the stretchy shirt. We moved the crate back into the kitchen and began shutting the door with her in it when we left. Sienna was usually asleep when we returned home. There was no whining or barking, no chewing and no salivating.

We won, and we think she did, too.