Forest

One day, a Fremont Humane staffer asked me to look at a large, 4-year-old, unaltered Pit/Lab male named Forest. As soon as Forest saw me walk in front of his kennel, he charged the kennel door and showed me one nice set of teeth.

Many shelter directors would have taken a quick glance at Forest and thought, “There is nothing we can do with this dog.” In those shelters, Forest would have been systematically and routinely destroyed. Why? Because killing is an easy method to create cage space and killing is the only option some shelters consider when a dog is growling at them and won’t allow a human near their kennel.

But Fremont Humane is not your typical animal shelter. So, I sat on the floor outside of Forest’s kennel, pulled out my phone and quietly replied to emails for the next 10 minutes. 

Forest paced inside of his kennel the entire time I sat on the floor. Back and forth, he never stopped pacing. He seemed to have one eye on me at all times. If our eyes locked, even for a second, he showed me his awesome set of teeth again.

It was time to enter the kennel. I stood up and tried to open the kennel door, but when I did, Forest charged the gate. I quickly closed the door and sat on the floor outside of his kennel again.

Eleven minutes later, I stood up and slowly opened the kennel door for a second time. This time, Forest didn't charge. He stood stiff as a board and stared me down. He allowed me to put one leg inside of his kennel while the other leg remained outside (in case I needed to make a quick escape). 

I stood in this position for about 5 minutes. I’d be lying if I said I wasn't concerned about my own safety with the way Forest was looking at me. But this dog’s life was at stake, this was about the dog, not about me. So I took a few slow deep breaths (cues from my time doing yoga) and I stepped completely into the kennel, closing the door behind me. 

Forest started to move around the kennel like a lion stalking his prey in the wild. After about 10 minutes, as I was standing with my back against the inside of the kennel wall, Forest sat down about seven feet from me. 

He was far enough not to overly worry, but close enough to be concerned what might happen with the kennel dog closed. I never moved a muscle. 

A LONG Four minutes later Forest laid on the kennel floor. So I also laid on the floor. 

About six minutes later, I reached over and slowly grabbed the bed in the middle of his kennel. Forest lifted his head off of the floor looking concerned that I was touching his bed. I pulled the bed close to me, waited until he was looking at me, patted the bed two times (saying come sit next to me).

Forest slowly stood up and gently walked toward me. It took him a slow 20 seconds to walk seven feet. He then stepped onto the bed right next to me, stood very stiff for three second, probably second-guessing his decision to trust me. I reached out and gently stroked the top of his head twice, and then he moved his large head close to my face, since I was still on the floor.

Though I should have been solely focused on Forest at this point, I was also wildly taking pictures. I had no idea what I was capturing in those photos as I was looking at Forest, not my phone. My concerned face in one photo tells the story of how I was feeling at this moment. I was downright terrified. 

I petted his head several times since he was now right next to me. Then his neck. Then I rubbed his left ear. I think we both were thankful that the behavior from a little less than 60 minutes earlier seemed long gone. 

And then it happened. Just like it has happened for hundreds of scared dogs over the years for me. Forest politely gave me one gentle kiss to my face. He paused for a brief second, looked at me and started licking my face like I was a cold Popsicle in the middle of an Arizona summer. He licked my face so hard and for so long, my glasses popped off my head.

Soon, Forest was lying on his side with his feet in the air and I was happily giving him belly rubs. Forest, a large, unaltered male dog, that I guarantee would have been destroyed in thousands of shelters across the Nation, showed me who he really was in less than 60 minutes of working with him.

Forest was scared. He was protecting himself. When he felt safe -- when he realized I wasn't going to hurt him -- he showed me the sweet, playful, loving pooch he truly was. A few months later, Forest found a second chance at love with his forever family. Forest had been adopted! 

A happy ending – all because we recognized the difference between scared and aggressive. If your cat or dog was ever lost and brought to a shelter, became petrified due to a shelter's scary environment, and was tossed into a caged kennel, and was separated from his or her family making it hard to trust the strangers imprisoning him or her (like Forest was), wouldn't you want the shelter staff and volunteers to explore every option possible before killing your dog? I like to think we all would want this for our own animals. 

For this reason, and many more, we at Fremont Humane explore every option available for each animal that comes to us. Forest and so many other animals are safe and alive today because we do what we need to do to get animals past the anxiety of being dropped off in a terrifying place like an animal shelter.

For those who might question why Fremont does what we do for difficult cases like Forest, the ultimate reason is simple. Because it’s the right thing to do for the animal, and because it’s the only thing we know how to do in Fremont County, CO.