Sheba by Avery Mojica / Avery

The Definition of Gratitude

I remember a crisp autumn Saturday in October of 2013 when my brother, my mom and I all took a trip to Raytown to pick up our second foster dog from KC Pet Project’s main shelter. Our first dog was a Border Collie named Etsy, who was very talented and smart, knowing how to catch toys mid-air and do other tricks. The next dog we were to foster was supposedly the victim of a severe case of abuse and neglect. Her appearance was supposedly horrific, causing anyone who came into contact with her to have to take a moment to contemplate the horrors she had gone through to wind up a pitiful sight. To be specific, we were told she had no hair on the entire back half of her body, as it had been cut off due to a severe flea infestation. Those gruesome details were enough to invoke a sense of wariness into the three of us. We shared some common feelings, but many of the other feelings we dealt with at the time varied between each person. While on the drive to the shelter, I remember my mom saying how she was nervous about what we were getting ourselves into. The three of us started coming up with possible scenarios involving the retrieval of this dog, her time spent in our house, the care we would need to provide for her, and the task of recuperating her enough to make her presentable for eventual adoption. I was only partially engaged in this conversation, because at the same time, I was thinking about what it would be like to be in her situation. The equivalence I came up with to being in her condition involved something along the lines of a leukemic situation with the ancillary of being abused and having malnutrition envelop my body. I immediately became more grateful than I had ever been in my entire life. I began to realize how selfish I had been for a majority of my life, taking the simple things I was provided with for granted. I recognized the fact that I was among the most fortunate people in the global population, and the realization of this was like a smack to the face. I didn’t even see it coming, but the effect lingered, but unlike a smack, this was a good feeling. I began to feel positive and rejuvenated, but most of all, hopeful. I felt like this was going to be a good experience.

Upon arrival, we had to go through a couple of doors and walk through the noisy room of seemingly endless rows of barking dogs, many with conditions that were particularly pungent. After what seemed like eons of being subjected to the overwhelming noise of the shelter, we finally reached a row in the far back of the room. Two kennels from the edge was the dog we had been expecting. I had been trying to visualize what all the gruesome descriptions would culminate to. All of my predictions were far from correct, and I was taken aback by how truly awful the situation was. The descriptions were very accurate, but I had no idea that the magnitude to which they were correct was so elevated. About 60% of her body was furless, except for a few occasional hairs that grew from the pale white skin. The rest of her body was coated in thick black fur. Upon seeing her body, I immediately forgot all about the noisiness of the shelter and went into a zone of utter disbelief. The reality of the abuse had hit me with such a striking impact that I was at a complete loss for words. The condition of her kennel was, thankfully, less severe than I had imagined. It was wet, and I couldn’t tell whether it was spilled water from her bucket or the more unpalatable substance that I had a feeling the floor of the kennel was actually covered with. I don’t remember how long it took me to snap out of that zone, but I have a feeling that the malodorous condition of her kennel brought me back to reality. If something can impact my impaired sense of smell to the extent that her kennel did, then it is a truly awful odor.

The reality of this situation was that this intake was done in a matter of about ten seconds. I remember that while I was in my zone, which lasted for much more than those ten seconds, my brother and my mom fed the dog some treats, which she accepted graciously. It was about then that I learned the answer to one of the most glaring holes in my knowledge of this situation – her name. Her name was Sheba. That name resonated with me for some reason. It was a cute name, which seemed delicate yet fair and elegant, kind of like a member of a royal court.

After a little extra introduction which I can’t recollect, we took Sheba out of her kennel and leashed her up to go outside. Leashing her was easier than I expected, since she just stood there patiently while we put the slip leash around her. We opened her kennel and prepared to take her for a short walk. It only took about fifteen steps away from her kennel to encounter what would be the first of the memorable moments of this experience. A large accumulation of water had covered a large section of the floor near the door. As we cautiously traversed the puddle, the staff member and my family had nearly cleared it, but poor Sheba slipped onto the floor and splayed her legs. We worked to get her back on her feet, but I didn’t contribute much, since I went into another zone which involved another powerful reality check. I realized how weak Sheba was, and how delicate her situation was. I became worried, thinking that we were going to have to deal with a lot of surgery and medical visits in order to bring her back to a stable health level, which I also feared may not be attainable. I remember that this zone didn’t last nearly as long as the first one, since the door opened and I exited the shelter with everyone back on their feet.

It didn’t take too long before my brother approached me with Sheba, and as she stood in front of me, I was able to come back to reality and actually take in her true condition. I realized I had only seen the front of her, which was the only possible presentable feature of her at the time. Her back was seemingly made of the things that comprise nightmares. It was nearly furless, and her tail was in such a ghastly condition that I actually wanted to turn my head away from her. It was wrinkly and had several hairs protruding from random spots around it, and some red spots that resembled acne. I couldn’t believe my eyes. This was one of the worst cases of abuse I had ever seen on a dog. I didn’t know how to react, but I didn’t want to pet her just yet, so I just looked at her absent-mindedly and thought of how I was going to proceed with this foster. I felt like an idiot. Looking back on that moment though, I feel like it was very necessary to my comprehension of the graveness of the situation. I had to realize that this was not going to be easy, but if we did succeed in saving her, we were going to have something to be very proud of as a family.

Before long, we went back to the car with Sheba still on leash, treatments and medications to help her recuperate, and several bags of food. We opened the car doors for her and thought she would get in just like Etsy had, with ease. I don’t know why we thought that, because based on her condition, Sheba was having a hard time just walking. She stood in front of the open door and evoked a feeling of pity in us, watching her helplessly stand at the mercy of us, waiting to go to a real home. I don’t even remember how we got her into the car, but once we did, my brother sat in the back with her and I sat up front.

When we got her home, we were in awe at what we had brought into our house. We took Sheba in through the front door and began getting everything set up for her – kennel, water, and the works. When my dad got home, he saw her condition and I could tell he was suppressing a feeling of disbelief, just as the rest of us had when we first saw her. I don’t even remember how the rest of that night went, but I think we kept her in her kennel at night to sleep.

The first few weeks were difficult. I’m sensitive to a lot of various things, so the repugnant smell easily overwhelmed me. It even discouraged me from wanting to continue, but resilience ultimately got the best of me (thankfully) and I regained hope that our family could make this work.

Over the span of the next couple months, we began to see Sheba’s true personality come to fruition. We started to see how sweet she was, since she always came to us to cuddle and be loved. I remember one day particularly in November when I came home and Sheba walked up to me with her slight limp and just wanted to be petted. That was the first day of the rest of her stay that she would walk up to be petted while wagging her tail. It eventually evolved into where she would walk up to the couch and stick her rear in front of us and wanted to be petted, all while banging her tail against the edge of the sofa, making some sound akin to a drumbeat. We came to love it and adore it. It got cuter, though. As time went on, she started to recognize us by name and would come over to us when we were chilling in the living room. She would alternate between whoever was in the room and as time went on, she learned what each person liked, whether it was kisses or just cuddling. She also would sometimes come up to the couch and park her back in front of someone just to get what we called “butt rubs”. Her tail also banged against the side of the couch at a constant drumbeat rhythm, which made us laugh for some reason.

I think the most memorable moment I had with her occurred one day when I was getting dressed up for an impromptu fancy dinner with some friends. I was running around frantically trying to make sure I didn’t look like I was dressed from a thrift store, and I ran into the living room with a belt. Sheba thought the belt was her leash, so she got up and went to the door. Her face was the most innocent, heartwarming expression I had ever seen. She was so excited to go outside, and it was at that moment that I finally got to see how strong she had become. Her back half still wasn’t fully hairy, but she was standing up and was self-motivated to go outside. I was so proud of her.

I even obsessed about the way she walked. She walked nice and slowly, no tugging or anything. Sometimes, she would even do a light jog, but what made that especially cute was that her ears flopped up and down. And on a good day, she would run in her own little way. She essentially galloped and enjoyed every moment of it. Everything was good – she enjoyed every second of the new life we had given her.

Things just kept getting better. Her fur was growing in, she was getting stronger, her itches were going away, and she was finally learning what it was like to be loved. Her beautiful personality never should have garnered the abuse she had received, and it was about time she learned how valuable she really was.

In February of 2014, she finally found a permanent home. The adopters were a young couple with a 4-year-old lab of their own, and they fell in love with Sheba as soon as they saw her. I wasn’t able to attend the initial introduction, but when we all went to drop her off at her new forever home, it was evident we had done an amazing job. She loved her new apartment, and she was going to get spoiled out of her mind and love every minute of it. It was especially funny when her new mom offered her a new collar to commemorate her welcome, and as soon as she said the word “collar”, Sheba wagged her tail and was so excited to have it be put on her. It was like the homecoming queen getting the tiara put on her. Everything was good. The emotions were high in a great way.

It didn’t take long for that to turn around. As we left the apartment, we could see Sheba staring out the window without any expression. It was now evident she was confused and was wondering where we were going. I suddenly came to the realization that I wasn’t going to have Sheba in my house constantly. I could visit her, sure, but I wouldn’t get greeted when I came home, I wouldn’t have her wag her tail when I woke her up in the morning to say good-bye before school, and it went on. I was happy for her though, and I was so proud of her for doing what she did. She had overcome immense abuse by keeping her positive attitude and enjoying all the love she did receive, and in time, her fur grew back and she now had a home with her very own bed and a friend to play with. I couldn’t have asked for a happier resolution.

We didn’t get to visit her very often though. Her mom was not consistent at responding to text messages, and when she did, it would be three messages long and the conversation would be done. We saw Sheba four times by the end of 2014, the last one being in May on a hot summer day where we went for a walk around a large dog park, probably at least a few acres in size. It was clear she was tired, but once again, her perseverance shined through and she got a very well-deserved water break at the end without wearing her poor legs out too much.

The inevitable day came at a time when I didn’t expect it. On Tuesday, April 28, 2015, I was studying for a big math test the following day. I was drowning in homework and other sorts of stress, so it was already a tough day to focus. I was going slowly, but I was still taking in the information. At about 8:30, my mom came into my room to check on my progress. She sat down next to me though, so I figured something was coming. I didn’t expect to hear what I heard though. It went something like this:

“Last night, Sheba suffered from a bloat in her stomach. They rushed her to the hospital but during the car ride, she… she died.”

I sat there in shock for a while. I didn’t want to believe what I had just heard. It had to be true, but I didn’t want it to be true. But the time that everyone must face at some point in their life had reached mine: the loss of a significant person or animal in your life. I haven’t had any major deaths in my family as of yet, so this was the first big loss I had suffered. It just so happened to be the one dog I had cared about most. We had fostered about 10 dogs before Sheba, and all of them came and went. I loved them all, but Sheba was easily my favorite both for the struggle and the enjoyment. She meant so much to me that I considered her my best friend (which is sad for a high school student to have to say, since most of them have thriving social lives with people their own age). And it had been taken away from me without any indication.

It was sudden for everyone who was close to her. Her adopters didn’t expect it, since it happened in the middle of the night when they heard moans coming from the living room. And obviously, none of my family expected it since we had limited communication as it was. I can’t speak for anyone else, but it meant so much to me. Many people can say things about how a passed grandparent gave them great advice and made their childhoods great. I haven’t been able to say that yet, but I think it means something when you can say a dog has done that equal deed for you. There are so many dogs in the world, and so many of them are strays, suffer from abuse, or are very hard to train. There’s always the good handful that truly impact someone’s life and make them so happy. Most of the dogs in that subset are with their owners for a majority of their life. But Sheba was with us for 5 months. And she had touched all of our hearts to the core of what they stand for. So we had a relatively unique experience.

I was up late into the night crying to myself. I had lost my best friend essentially. Not even essentially, I guess – she really was my best friend. I’ve never been able to call someone my best friend in my life – people often define a friend loosely as someone who will spend time with you. A best friend to me means someone that will also be there for you no matter what and won’t betray or judge you. Sheba did all of that and then some, including providing me her shoulder to cry on.

A milestone in my life had occurred in an attempt to veer that negativity away. I had found someone (albeit something) who really supported me. And I supported her. It was a mutual relationship that I had never experienced before, not even with family or classmates. There had been plenty of dogs I had encountered during my volunteer hours at the shelters, but Sheba was the first one I truly had time to bond with. Five months with each other proved to be enough time to teach me things I don’t think any human could have ever equally conveyed toward me. Her perseverance was admirable, and I adore that about her. In my life, she’s a gem. It was one of those encounters that happens but once in a lifetime – it ends up being the one you cherish most of all.

Coming back to the present day, I still can’t believe she’s gone. There’s hardly a day when I don’t think about her personality and her impact on my life. I can’t put enough emphasis on how much she taught me. Every reflection I made gave me deeper insight into what it was like to be in a vulnerable situation. The terror she faced before she was saved will likely remain undocumented, but its effects will be permanent. And the effects of those effects will come to fruition as well. Domino effects come into play more often than one might realize – they are so applicable to so many situations. I think this one is a good example of that.

To close, I just want to thank Sheba for being my best friend and for making my life what it was. It takes a lot of luck to find a dog as special as you were. There are plenty of dogs who make people happy, but I don’t think there are many dogs who could love teach and persevere as well as you did. You deserved all the happiness you got in your golden years and nothing less. I’m honored that I was able to make that dream a reality for you. Here’s to hoping you have all the love you ever wanted across the Rainbow Bridge.

 

If I was asked how many times you crossed my mind, I'd say once. You never really left.