Confronting the floating ghost dog

Bravery is often a matter of perspective

In November, I pulled a death row dog from the shelter with the idea that we’d foster him. We’d fostered once before and that dog was amazing. He was adopted by an incredible person who still texts me updates of their fantastic beach day trips and park adventures. Being a foster was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever done. And even though it was a lot for me to go through emotionally, I felt like I could do it again. But three days in, I was so madly in love with this strange little being that there was no way I could give him to another family. Also, I needed him. He brought brightness to my life at a time when I could have been sucked into the depths of despair.

On a Sunday night, I’d seen a post on Nextdoor about how Bosley was scheduled to be put down on Wednesday. Shelter volunteers posted pictures and videos of this 22 pound, four-year-old¹ buddy who looked like what my best friend affectionately calls a “spare parts dog.” He has a perky little tail that’s oddly curved, stubby legs, a very long body, and a disproportionately large head with disproportionately large ears. He has big brown spots on his bright white fur and freckles on his eye lids and a ring of dark gray around his pupils that makes him look like a cartoon dog. He also looks a little like someone ran Roxy through the wash and she came out shrunk and faded. And I knew it was a bit simple of mind and heart, but while I am aware I cannot save every dog, I simply could not stand the idea of a dog who reminded me of my dog being euthanized. In the videos, Bosley stood on his squat little hind legs to hug one of the volunteers as she knelt to pet him. He wagged his tail when they talked to him, and came when they called for him, even though, as a stray, Bosley was a name he’d been given on intake two weeks prior. Apparently, he did great in the play yard getting individual attention, but he was a wreck in the kennel, and had started self-harming.²

It was not a good time for me to foster a dog, and also, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. On Monday, the shelter was closed, but I was able to talk with one of the volunteers³ who had posted about Bosley. Because he was on the euthanasia list and considered a problem dog due to his extreme stress, he couldn’t be pulled by an individual person, and I needed the backing of a rescue. By Monday night, I had the support of the amazing rescue who saved Roxy, and they’d coordinated with the shelter so I could set an appointment to pick up Bosley on Tuesday morning.

Three hours before my appointment, I woke up to word that my mother died Monday night. We’d been estranged (by my doing, for my emotional health, well-being, and, frankly, survival) for over twenty years. It was an odd feeling to know she was gone, and to be honest, I don’t have a enough of a handle on the intricate emotions around that loss to sum it up in any way that fits into this story. But I felt strongly that the best thing I could do on the day I found out my mother died was to go save someone. I try not to put too much stock in fate or the idea that the universe has plans for me or anyone else, but also, it kind of felt like fate.⁴

And then I showed up at the shelter, took a ticket from the machine like I was waiting for deli meat, showed my ID when they called my number, and they brought out this perfect little dog who was somehow even cuter than his photos. Several staff members came out to hug him goodbye, and then he walked out to the parking lot with me like we were old friends. He had absolutely no qualms about getting in my car, and really did seem to understand that I was taking him someplace better.

Roxy loved him, then hated him so much I thought we’d definitely have to just be his foster family, then hated him so much I thought we might have to find him a different foster family, and then loved him again (which meant we could keep him).

It has not been all cuddles and joy. After his neuter surgery and teeth cleaning, he had a paradoxical reaction to a sedative and was terrified of everything and everyone until it wore off. He seems to have had some bad experiences with men, and if my sweet, calm, gentle husband accidentally surprises him, he’ll bark like an intruder has materialized out of nowhere. And while they’re both fine on walks separately⁵, walking Bosley and Roxy at the same time is an exercise in chaos. When we see dogs we know, Roxy wants to go see her friends, but she doesn’t want Bosley to go see her friends. And Bosley would like strange dogs and strange men to stay clear of us. So, it’s a process. We’re working on it. Bosley is actually an exceptional listener and will usually turn to me when I call him, even in the throes of telling off a Goldendoodle. He’s the most food-motivated dog I’ve ever met, and he’s also extremely praise-motivated, which makes training much easier. I effectively trained a reactive German Shepherd to ignore other dogs completely, so I don’t feel that any of this is beyond my ability. But his barking was really irritating. And then the other night, I had a perspective change.

We were all sitting on the couch and Bosley caught his reflection in the picture window in our living room after the darkness turned it into a mirror. He jumped over the back of the couch and ran to the window and barked at himself at full volume. And instead of being annoyed by the racket, I thought about the situation from his point of view:

Bosley was sitting on the couch and a FLOATING GHOST DOG appeared at the second story window, and he was like “Not today, Ghost Dog, this is my family,” and felt that as a now 25 pound dog, he was the guy who should speak up to protect us.

I’m tearing up writing this, because while it may seem funny or simple for a dog to bark at his own reflection, the intruder at the window was very real to him. And I cannot get over the bravery of this little spare parts dog—who has clearly had a life where people let him down—trying to save his family, even if he’s not sure he’s up to the task.

So while rescuing a death row dog is not the easiest thing I’ve ever done, it’s also not even close to the hardest and it’s definitely one of the best. It has been a lot of cuddles and joy. At night, Bosley sleeps on his back under the covers and the sound of his sweet snoring lulls me to sleep. He sits on my lap on the couch while we watch TV and presses his disproportionately large face against my face like he wants to eliminate any and all space between us. When I’m making dinner in the kitchen, he comes to see me, standing on his hind legs to ask for a hug. He and Roxy play hard and sleep hard and keep watch of the neighborhood from our living room window. And we are all safe from floating ghost dogs on Bosley’s watch.

The bravest ghost dog fighter I've ever known

1. This was presumably based on the tartar on his teeth, but it turns out he just had really dirty teeth—probably from bad diet. Our vet estimated his age at around two, but also, he’s grown a quite a bit since then, and I’m wondering if he was just barely past the age of getting all his adult chompers in November.

2. When I picked him up at the shelter, he’d rubbed all the skin off the top of his nose and had a big raw red spot.

3. This woman is an angel — she and her friend visit with the euthanasia listed dogs and take pictures and write about their individual needs and personalities, in the hopes of finding fosters or adopters before their time is up.

4. And maybe the universe has a dark sense of humor, because my mother hated dogs and spent my childhood trying to convince me that I didn’t like them either.

5. But they HATE to be separated.