For the Love of Luna
How I earned my rescue dog’s love
Some people talk about love transforming a rescue dog. Dogs who were reticent in the shelter suddenly come to life when they find their “forever home.” There are dozens of videos featuring that heartwarming moment a dog realized they were coming home. Like this one. And this one.
But for me, the reality was a little different. I’m not going to plaster my car with those “Who Rescued Who?” stickers, but they do have a point. Bringing a dog into your life, especially one who carries their own baggage, is as life-changing for you as for the animal.
When I first met Luna, I hated her. She was a mess, a mangy rescue dog in a cast who had never learned where or when to relieve herself. We met in the rescue veterinarian’s waiting room, where one rescue coordinator confessed that Luna had just thrown up in the back seat of her car. Probably hopped up on intake preventatives and pain meds for a recent gunshot wound (the reason she’d ended up in the rescue program), Luna never made eye contact and looked around the waiting room with exhausted eyes. Drooling, smelly, and with the lethargic energy of an 8-year-old “senior,” she was not making a great impression.
But Luna had been pretty lucky up to this point. Although her background and the bullet that had shattered her front leg were a mystery, she’d gotten picked up and moved to Austin Pets Alive! in a pretty quick turnaround. I was led to believe this wasn’t the typical progress of animals between the various shelters in Austin. She would have been safe at any of these shelters, though, since Austin, Texas, is a no-kill city. In fact, it’s America’s largest. This means animal rescue efforts in the city have a very high life-saving rate with plans to deal with overflow and other problems that often lead to the premature termination of animals. To quote the Austin Dept. of Health and Human Services’s website, the effect since Oct 2013 is that:
Annually over 90% of animals entering the center, are adopted, transferred to rescue or returned to their owners. The Outcomes data set reflects that Austin, TX. is the largest “No Kill” city in the country.
I discovered Luna through a press release. My new rental with a full backyard was finally allowing me the space to have a dog again, and in my searches I’d found a news story requesting donations for Luna’s surgery on her shattered, gunshot leg. (In fact, Luna’s luck would continue. The bones would heal without surgery, and a slightly bowed leg would be the only evidence of her injuries.) In the photo, she’d looked cute but bewildered. I hadn’t quite expected this mess sitting on the linoleum floor, though.
I was having second thoughts about my adoption plans when I decided to foster Luna instead. I’d be responsible for taking her to her numerous vet appointments as she healed and giving her a place to stay until someone wanted to give her a “forever home.” For me, it was a trial run and a chance for her to socialize with my roommate’s dog.
Within her first week at the house, Luna had chewed through a live electrical wire, peed in every room, and learned to unlock and open the sliding back door. This last one came to my attention in the middle of the night, when I discovered she’d pulled her bed out of the door and torn it to shreds in the backyard. In other words, Luna had some adjustment issues. But again, she was lucky. The other dog in the house was well-behaved and quickly taught her the ropes. She learned what items were dog toys and how to play with them, and after a few months she even wagged her tail at treat time. But she never grew out of sneaking my dirty clothes out of the hamper and into the yard, where I’d find them half-buried under bushes.
Still, that dog was growing on me. Her personality exploded as she became more comfortable in her new environment. It really was as inspiring to see as those adoption videos. When she ran, it was with a lovably ridiculous front-back hop. Her quirks became endearing. She mastered the side-eye. “Luna Goona,” I cooed to her in a baby-talk voice. It stuck as “Luna the Goon.”
To this day I can attest, Luna is a complete Goon. And we mortals are but members of her Goon Squad.
As Luna worked her charms, the idea of anyone else adopting her became less and less tolerable. Although I still had some hesitation and my living situation with the yard and other dog-friend was becoming less secure, after a few months as a foster, Luna came home to stay. (Yes Reader, I adopted her).
I’d had dogs before and was familiar with the responsibility. That was part of the reason I’d waited until my living arrangement provided a full yard before trying to adopt. But in the next stage of our lives together, Luna and I faced a somewhat unexpected challenge. It was only working through that difficulty, two years after her adoption, that I think I really fell in love with Luna and learned the true extent of the responsibilities I had to her.
Two years after her adoption, we’d moved from the house and settled into a dog-friendly apartment community. Luna was instantly miserable.
One particularly difficult night, after I’d worked 12 hours and come home to Luna’s protest piddles in my bedroom, I sat down on the living room rug and cried. I felt so completely alone and like I was in over my head.
In the apartments, Luna developed intense separation anxiety that turned into destructive behaviors. She shook when she heard the other dogs in the building, their nails clacking above us on the ceiling. In short, she couldn’t be left alone anymore. I searched for solutions. She refused crate training, and at 10 years was too old to join any playgroups in the area. Younger dogs overwhelmed her with their energy. I booked walkers to check on her several times a day. On nights I worked late, I’d take her to a kennel where they let her hang out in the office. I was desperate for options, but I knew none of this was changing the fact that Luna was miserable. I reached out to behaviorists and debated whether it was ethical to keep a dog I couldn’t care for.
One particularly difficult night, after I’d worked 12 hours and come home to Luna’s protest piddles in my bedroom, I sat down on the living room rug and cried. I felt so completely alone and like I was in over my head. We were bonded now. I couldn’t imagine giving her up, but something had to change if Luna was going to thrive again. We had to figure it out. I petted her head and gave her a little squeeze, and tearfully promised I would make things right. She huffed, expressing skepticism. Luna is not always a supportive dog.
That moment was still a turning point. It wasn’t just a promise to Luna, but the beginning of real responsibility to another being. I’d fed her and provided all the basics for her since the day she’d come home years before, but perhaps I hadn’t given her that commitment required by anyone or anything that relies on you. Now I had to step up and take charge of this overwhelmed feeling. Realizing that became one of the many steps I was taking towards greater adulthood.
A month later, we moved back to a house, with a yard, where Luna was the only Goon. Her anxiety and destructive habits stopped overnight. She (and I) had finally found our forever homes.
Now a 12-year-old Goon, Luna runs and plays like a much younger pup. As she gets older, she enjoys snuggling more and requests a sweater when she’s cold. Maybe Luna’s a little spoiled, but she’s also well loved. She’s taught me a lot about responsibility. Now, whenever a new trial like her recent cancer scare comes up, I embrace that responsibility instead of trying to hide from it. Luna is my dog, and making that claim comes with the responsibility of stepping up for her when she needs it.
I don’t know how much she knows about all this. She’s a Goon, after all. But when I look into her eyes, I imagine the trust she’s placed in me. And love. It’s the love of an animal I hadn’t expected, and had to earn.
