Almost Gus (Part 1)

Sunday noon. A volunteer at the county animal shelter led him into a graveled fenced area where I was waiting. Apprehension gripped me. Was it finally time to get a dog? And was it this particular dog, Gus?

Seven years had passed I euthanized Sonny the Husky after a remarkable 17-year run that also included time with Ray the shepherd and Jo Jo the rottweiler. I said goodbye to Sonny after a final visit to the beach with her as the process of my personal extinction and state-sponsored annihilation were just beginning and I didn't know if I would or could survive.

A volunteer released Gus from the leash and the shepherd/husky mix darted to a far corner and hid under a bench. I called out to him. Nothing. The volunteer called out to him. Nothing. Gus stood up and sniffed around the fence. I tossed some treats his direction. No interest.

It would take serious commitment to restore Gus' health and spirit. Was he too far gone? Was I ready to take on this responsibility? I'd never owned a dog in a big city nor away from the beach.

A great friend sent me a link to Gus' profile on the shelter's web site. He'd been there for a few weeks. His face looked incredibly sad. He was described as despondent. Someone had rescued him under an elevated freeway near the industrial section of inner southeast Portland, across the Willamette River from downtown. It was the area of a dozen or so long-time, addled and squalid homeless encampments, many that had been swept and re-swept. Gus' rescuer speculated that the dog's owner was a former resident of one of the encampments. Who really knew?

Naturally, I was drawn to Gus' story. Our intersection seemed cosmic. A writer who interacts with the homeless and writes almost exclusively about them adopts a homeless dog who was formerly living in a homeless encampment. It was practically a Hallmark movie of the type Hollywood should be making.

Gus finally trotted over—to the volunteer, not me. He hid behind her. I talked to Gus, sat down on the ground, and beckoned him over. No go.

I tossed a few more treats at him. He hesitated, then ate them. I scooted closer and held out my hand. I stood up. Gus came up and I petted him. He was at least 20 pounds underweight. He didn't really respond to the petting but he didn't cringe, either. I suppose that was a start.

The decision was made: I was taking Gus home, but not right away. I wanted a day to think it over and prepare everything. Shelter policy would not allow a hold on Gus, but I didn't think anyone would adopt him because the facility was only open for a few more hours and was closed the next day, Labor Day.

I said goodbye to Gus and told the woman at the counter I was adopting Gus. She was ecstatic and took my contact information. Everyone loved Gus and rooted for a miracle, but no one had yet met him in the fenced area for an introduction and possible adoption. I was the first and only person who had shown an interest.

Out in the parking lot I started crying. I called my friend and gave her the good news. Emotion overwhelmed me on the drive home. I found myself crying again in Pet Smart as I bought $300 worth of dog supplies. Back at the house, the furniture got rearranged.

A couple hours later, the phone rang. I didn't recognized the number so I let it go to voice mail. I listened to it. It was the animal shelter: someone had adopted Gus and taken him home!

I was devastated and angry at myself. I had violated the cardinal rule of helping any human or animal in distress and connected to the homeless crisis. Act right then and there! You might not get a second chance.