Finding Roket (Part 2)

He will live! After what I had just experienced, these words warmed my heart. It helped make the past couple of hours all worth it. I paid the money due to the vet for the treatment and boarding. I said good bye to the little guy for the night. Finally, I thanked everyone at the clinic for their help. Before I left, I agreed I would return at 09:00 the next morning to speak with the doctor and to find out exactly how bad the puppy’s injuries were.

On my way home, I called Danielle to provide her the update on the puppy’s condition. I also told her I was due back at the vet the next morning. We talked for a bit and I told her I would really like her to go back to the clinic with me. I wasn’t sure I could do that all again on my own. I knew the little guy would live, but I still had no idea how bad his injuries were. Danielle agreed to go with me and we talked a bit about the whole experience. Danielle told me Suay  -knew- something was wrong. Suay is quite in-tune to others’ feelings and emotions and, whether it was the way Danielle reacted to my initial phone call or perhaps she just felt something was wrong, this night she was especially concerned. Apparently, she spent the entire evening waiting at the door for me to come home. She was melancholy and not herself, as she sat at waited.

I finished talking with Danielle so I could concentrate on driving home in an environment that requires every bit of attention from the driver, and sometimes, even the passenger. I sat in silence as I drove. I thought back to when I first saw the little guy. I thought back to the look on his face when I approached him as he lay in the bushes. I thought back to him refusing to give up while laying in the back of the truck. I replayed the whole experience back in my head, over and over again. It was all so surreal. Each time, I came back to those three words. He will live!!! He will live??? He will live?!?! What have I done?

Until now, I never thought about what this would mean. We live in a small studio apartment, not even 40 square meters…approximately 400 square feet. We live on the tenth floor of a 19 story building. It’s Danielle, Suay, Crash and me. Our flat is already bursting at the seams as it is. Adding another medium to large sized dog to the mix is certainly not ideal. Additionally, our landlords are OK with Suay and Crash. However, a third dog in their small flat, a puppy no less, may not be acceptable to them. The last thing we want to have happen is be evicted for violating the terms of our lease. They were quite forgiving about Oly when we had him. However, he was a very small kitten and we only had him for three days. A large puppy is an entirely different set of circumstances. Oly, pronounced Ollie and short for Olympics, was truly our first foster animal. That’s right! This journey started, months earlier, with a cat named Oly. However, that’s another story for another time.

He will live…in our flat! The pit in my stomach grew each time this realization crossed my mind. The dread that strengthened its hold in my gut as I drove home made me second-guess if I had done the right thing. After all, what could I do for this little puppy?  He would live. But, in what condition? Was I actually helping by picking this little animal up? Or, was I butting in where -nature- should be left to sort it out. Admittedly, speeding jeeps and egoistical, self-centered people may not be part of natural selection. However, the thought remains, what good can come of this? When I last saw him, this little puppy was in a lot of pain and he couldn’t walk. What if he is crippled? What if expensive surgery is necessary? What if he never recovers? How compassionate is it to prolong the inevitable and force this little puppy to endure further pain and discomfort just to satisfy some sort of messiah complex that made me think I could help. Who am I to force myself into a situation that may not be able to be fixed, perhaps making it worse? Perhaps I shouldn’t have interfered.

This internal struggle continued until I reminded myself of my efforts at making each moment count. I cannot remember the amount of times I’ve continued driving, turned the other way and kept walking or, in some other way, ignored a situation where someone or something needed help. I imagine I am not alone in this. Nonetheless, I will not pretend to know what goes on in other people’s hearts and minds. I can only speak for myself. And, for me, what I  -know- is that I would always justify these actions, or inaction, with the same types of thoughts I expressed above. Who am I to get involved? What good can I do? That person or animal can’t be helped. I don’t want to butt in. And, so it goes. I would justify my inhumanity and willingness to stand by as others struggle, and maybe suffer, by telling myself that’s what was best.  Maybe not getting involved in the past was best. Maybe it wasn’t. The point is I will never know because I made no effort to stop and ask, or offer my help in any way. Wrong or right; good or bad; I understood then, for me, the right thing IS to stop and ask. I can no longer stand by and expect someone else to stop and help. Whatever the consequences, I  -needed-  to stop and help this dog; I was  -supposed-  to stop and help this dog. It is clear to me that this will not be the last time I stop to help another living creature if they need help, human or otherwise.

Danielle and I went back to the clinic the next morning not knowing what we would find out from the doctor. As is typical for Sochi, we arrived about thirty minutes late. Based on the amount of traffic and the unpredictability of things here, thirty minutes late is almost like being on time. The staff at the clinic had already completed their morning shift change and there was no one there that I recognized from the night before. However, it didn’t take long before everyone in the clinic knew who we were. They asked our name when we entered and we gave them our last name. It was as if two strangers entered a small village and each woman and child ran from one hut to another telling everyone about the arrival of those described in the tale of the feral dog that was picked up by a crazy American. Almost before we could finish saying our name, people were coming from the back of the clinic to see us. They all smiled as they greeted the foolish Americans. Foolish or not, I couldn’t help but notice they seemed quite enamored by us.

It was only a couple of minutes before we were able to see the doctor, Vitaly. He greeted us and asked us if we would be taking the puppy home then. Danielle and I stared, dumbfounded, at him trying to understand what he was getting at. Danielle and I exchanged confused glances and briefly whispered that we were not ready to take the dog home. The doctor could tell that we were unsure of what was going on.  Vitaly waved his hand, motioning us to follow him, as he turned and led us into the labyrinth of rooms off the lobby. We were led into the crate-lined back room, where I saw the cat with an IV in his leg the night before. The little puppy was in the back left corner of the room, in a crate, on top of a countered ledge. His crate was one of two along the back wall. I walked up to his crate and said hi to the little guy. He didn’t respond to me the way he did the night before. He just laid there, with his head down.

Vitaly helped with opening the crate and reached in and pulled the puppy out. Vitaly said the puppy was “OK” and he could go home with us right then. I asked him what kind of injuries he had. The doctor told us the only injury the dog had was the large wound under his chin. He lifted the dog’s head to show me the stitches and drain tube that were placed on the wound the previous night.  I asked about the x-rays and the fact that the puppy couldn’t walk. The doctor lifted the puppy to the floor as he pointed out the puppy could walk just fine. The pup wasn’t walking “just fine”, but he was able to support his own weight and move a bit on his own.  The little dog stood with his head hung low, his back hunched over and his tail between his legs. The doctor suggested his inability to walk the night before may have been due to shock or fear. However, Vitaly assured us the x-rays were negative. He explained that, other than a few bumps and scrapes, the wound on his neck was the only injury the little guy had sustained.

I was speechless. I saw this same puppy not more than twelve hours earlier. He was unable to walk and, at times, so close to death that he wasn’t breathing. I could not comprehend how the only injury he had was the neck wound. I am not a veterinarian. But, I know what I saw. That dog could not walk. He was close to death. Now, I am being told I can take him home any time. Vitaly and I discussed a few other details regarding what still needed to be done to treat the neck wound. He showed us how to clean the wound and gave us instructions to keep the wound dry and clean. Vitaly could still see Danielle and I were not prepared to take the pup home at that moment. He offered that, until the wound healed enough for the drain tube to be removed, the little guy could remain boarded at the clinic.

Until this was offered, I wasn’t really sure what we would do. I was already running late. I was not going to be able to take Danielle all the way home before heading off to work. On top of this, we had nowhere for this dog to sleep. We didn’t have food for him. We didn’t even have a collar or a leash for him. I must admit, there was a part of me that thought we could return to the clinic that morning to hear bad news and the doctor would tell us the puppy grew weaker overnight and didn’t survive. I certainly wasn’t expecting to take the little guy home right then. Clearly, Vitaly’s suggestion of leaving the dog at the clinic for a few days was the only option. This would give us time to gather the necessary resources we needed to foster a wounded little puppy. After a few last words with the doctor, and saying good bye to the little pup again, we went to the lobby to make payment arrangements for the extended boarding and medications the puppy would need over the next few days. Danielle and I left. I dropped her off in the center of town, a few blocks away from our flat, and drove to work. As I drove to work, alone, I thought back to what the doctor said to me before we left the clinic. As I was walking out the door, the doctor said something I had already realized. He said, “I think it’s about time you give him a name”. He smiled a sly, knowing smile that suggested to me that he already knew the bond that had begun to grow between me and the pup, even before I realized it.

The previous night, after I had left the puppy at the clinic, I had the fleeting thought of what his name would be if it became necessary. It was one, quick thought that only lingered long enough for me to realize it was much too early to be having these thoughts. After all, when I left the little guy, he was in bad shape. Still, I was told he would live and I had already promised I would take him home after he was treated.  I knew in my heart Danielle and I could not have another dog. Truly and honestly I didn’t want to keep him and never intended to make him part of our family. Nevertheless, if he would be staying with us for a bit, while we found him a forever home, he needed a name. As I drove, I was reminded of my new found approach to counting my turns each day; this approach that I adopted because I wind the new mechanical watch I bought. I thought of how all of this seemed strangely connected and how the feelings and energy I experienced with the puppy was something I had never felt before. It was clear to me that my new awareness and the experience with this dog were connected. My new watch, a Raketa, was the reason for all of these strange and wonderful new experiences. This watch, and my new awareness, I am convinced, was the reason I had no choice but to stop and help this little dog. Raketa is the Russian word for rocket. And so, just as there was little thought put towards deciding to stop and help this dog, there was little thought to what his name would be. The answer was obvious and needed no contemplation or discussion. His name is Rocket.

Danielle and I, together with the doctor, had agreed that we would come and visit Rocket occasionally while he stayed at the clinic to recover. We first visited Rocket two days after our initial morning visit. We followed the doctor into the backroom where Rocket was laying in his crate. This time, it seemed that Rocket recognized us and sat up when I greeted him. We took him out of his crate and placed him on the stainless steel exam table that was located in the middle of the room. We quickly realized this was not the environment to help this little guy get used to us and to get over the trauma of the clinic experience. We asked the doctor if it would be OK if we took Rocket outside. Without saying a word, the doctor left the room and returned a short time later with a collar and a leash.

I went into the front lobby of the clinic to look for some treats that would help encourage Rocket to get outside using the leash. The clinic has a lot of different pet food options, leashes and other supplies available for purchase. I settled on two small, individually wrapped, sausage-like treats. I returned to the backroom where Danielle had finished putting the collar and leash on Rocket. We placed Rocket on the floor and used the treats to get him to follow us. Rocket was resistant to the leash and we were careful not to pull him using the leash. We held the leash loosely while he walked on his own. He would take a few steps trying to get the treat. Then, he would grow uncomfortable and put the brakes on. I broke the treat into pieces and gave him a couple of bites and then lured him, a few steps at time. He would alternate following us with digging in his heels in protest. We repeated this cycle for a few minutes, until we were outside.

Completing this process drew quite a crowd. The doctor was already with us. But, as we worked with Rocket, getting him to walk on his own, without pulling on the leash, a couple of nurses peaked around corners to watch us. Danielle and I worked together to project positive energy and confidence as Rocket worked through being unsure about the leash and the commotion of the gathering audience. We encouraged him when he worked through the tough spots and rewarded him with a small treat. However, we were careful not to coddle him or force him as he worked through his reservations on his own.  At one point, the doctor said, “You guys have a lot of experience with dogs”. He smiled, an approving smile, at our techniques. I smiled back, a bit awkwardly, wondering if he knew the two dogs we currently have, the oldest of which is only three years old, are the only dogs I have ever owned. I wondered if he would still consider this “a lot” of experience. Either way, I couldn’t help but feel that he was impressed by our approach.

We got outside and Rocket immediately went into a shell. He hung his head, half sitting, with his tail between his legs. It was almost as if he was experiencing sensory overload. The sunshine, the noise of cars in the parking lot, even the presence of the doctor really seemed to lock him deeper into wherever it was he was going as he hid from the outside world. The doctor left us, as we continued to work with Rocket. Rocket was incredibly insecure during the whole experience. The treats weren’t working as well and each time we tried to get him to walk on his own he seemed to panic. He was pacing, turning back and forth as if he was looking for a corner to hide in. It took a few minutes for us to realize that each car that drove by, especially the ones playing obnoxiously loud music, threw Rocket deeper into a panic.

With this understanding, we changed our approach and decided to try and get him to the grass area that was around the corner. This small park had a couple of benches and a few small trees. It took some work, but we were able to get Rocket to the park, albeit by skirting the edge of the parking lot, between the cars and the small fence around the park. Rocket was not about to walk in the parking lot. He was determined to stay as far away from the cars as he could. Reflecting back on the fact that he had been hit by a speeding car less than three days earlier, his behavior was understandable.

Once we reached the park, Rocket began to slowly transform. We no longer had to beg and coerce him to follow us using the treats. He was attached to us and was completely focused on the food. He completely dismissed the earlier fear and hesitation and started acting like a hungry little puppy. He was excited and impatient as he pawed at my hands trying to get more food. I poured some water into my cupped hand to offer him water. He greedily lapped it up. He still stayed close and didn’t venture far from us, but he certainly wasn’t hiding in his shell any longer.

After a few minutes of working with him to instill some boundaries with his new found love for food, I decided to take him for a small  -walk- in the grass. We only had about ten meters to work with, half of which was blocked by overhung tree branches. It was much less of a  -walk- and more of an exercise for Rocket to follow me on the leash while staying in the comfortable, much more emotionally stable zone he had entered. Initially, Rocket was hesitant to follow me. He was comfortable sitting, playing with us near the benches. He wasn’t so sure about following me. It took a bit of work, but eventually Rocket joined me. We walked in circles, in and out of the small trees. Rocket walked as a puppy does; back and forth, up and down, but never in a straight line. Now was not the time to teach him leash discipline. I just wanted him to walk with me and to trust me. I’m sure the overall scene was quite comical as I crashed through small tree branches, trying to avoid having my eyes gouged by branches while trying not to step on Rocket. This continued for a very short time. Then, it happened.

I tried to walk back to the bench where Danielle had been taking pictures and video of Rocket’s progress. Rocket had been doing pretty well, not concerned with the leash or the cars driving by. Yet, when I turned to walk, he didn’t follow. I turned to see what he was doing. He didn’t seem to be regressing into his shell, but he clearly was not interested in leaving the grass area. As I worked with him to try and get him to follow me, he simply plopped down on his belly. He just laid there, in the grass, with a silly smile on his face. At that moment, I experienced one the most intense feelings I have ever had. It welled up inside of me to the point that I was choked up a bit. There Rocket was, just laying down, with a big, dumb, happy smile on his face, enjoying the shaded grass. He was being a dog! Less than three days after being hit by a car and, I’m still convinced, close to death, this feral puppy was sitting in the grass, with his tongue hanging out, enjoying life. In that moment, he did not have a care in the world. I wondered if this was the first time he felt this way. I will never be sure. But, what was clear was, this dog laying in the grass was not the same puppy we saw two days earlier in the clinic kennel. He wasn’t even the dog we saw a few minutes earlier.

Roket just bein' a dog!

We finished our time with Rocket and made arrangements to come visit him again soon. On the drive home, Danielle and I discussed the transformation we witnessed. Danielle told me she felt the same thing I had when she saw Rocket laying in the grass. Then, as she was explaining to me what she had felt as she watched Rocket, she began to cry. She was crying now, not just a little choked up. She explained to me that when she saw Rocket in the grass, walking around, playing and just being a dog, she understood something. Through her tears, she said, “I realized this is what we were meant to be doing”. She cried for a bit and joked that she didn’t know why she was crying. One thing was clear though, this experience, this dog, had touched us both.

Those ears!!!

We visited Rocket a few more times over the course of the week before he was ready to come home with us. Rocket progressed in his recognition, and in his trust, of us. He hardly hesitated when we put the collar on him and took him outside. He transformed in another way too. His name changed, ever so slightly. We learned that Raketa (Ракета) is the feminine form of rocket and the masculine form is Roket (Рокет). With a Suay and a Crash already in the house, it was easy to have a Roket. After all, it would be unfair (to him) for him to have a  -normal- name. So, his name changed from “Rocket” to “Roket”.

In another unexplainable, yet telling, coincidence, Roket came home with us, to his foster home, on National Dog Day. On the official website, you can read about how National Dog Day helps bring attention to our best friends and the “miraculous” impact they have on our lives. They also endeavor year round to raise awareness for rescues and adoptions that help find forever homes for dogs of all breeds. There are too many coincidences in Roket’s journey for me to believe they are simply just coincidences. He had already impacted our lives in a miraculous way.

Roket's first night in his foster home.

The biggest twist of fate we’ve experienced is the fact that I met Roket first and picked him up from the road. I took him to the vet and began a close relationship with him that first night. I was touched by his progress and his ability to simply be a dog that day in the grass. But, it was Danielle that really put in the work. I’ve already described our home and how full it is. Imagine adding to that a young puppy of only 4 months old, who has never lived indoors before. Picture in your head this small living space on the 10^th floor of a large apartment building. Now, try to understand the amount of work that goes into house breaking a puppy in this environment. There is no option of opening the back door and letting him run outside. You must get him on an elevator, outside of the building and to the grass, or in Roket’s case the bushes. The bushes directly outside of our building became his favorite potty spot. And, that was a victory in itself because he finally stopped squatting and doing his business in the middle of the concrete drive way. Imagine doing all of this 4-5 times a day, sometimes running, hoping he makes it outside before having an accident. Picture yourself doing this with a puppy who only wants to jump and play and do anything else but wait on an elevator to go outside and pee. And, as you’re picturing yourself in this role, don’t forget you have two other dogs to add to this circus.

Getting to know the girls.

Danielle put in so much work into turning Roket into the dog he will become. The trips outside, coupled with the walks down a busy boardwalk with three dogs tangled around her legs as people looked on in amazement and, sometimes, contempt. She taught him to sit. She taught him to wait patiently for his food and not to jump around crazily as he anticipated his meal. She insisted he wait patiently outside and get permission to enter the flat instead of running in like a crazed, wild animal. At times there were tears of frustration and there were moments of anger towards me. All I did was pick this dog up on the road and then go to work every day while she was left to take care of him. If anyone should be praised for helping Roket, Danielle is the one who deserves the commendation.

Roket taught us a lot. He showed us what it takes to foster a dog. He helped us realize the amount of work it takes to transform a street dog into a pet. He helped us understand the teamwork that is needed in order to instill the boundaries, discipline and structure necessary to maintain any semblance of your previous life, before the foster takes over. Roket also provided me another reason to appreciate and love Danielle and reminded me of the strength she possesses. He helped us realize the path we are on was the correct one. One could argue whether we helped Roket, or if he helped us. Either way, Roket will always hold a special place in our hearts. After all, in finding Roket, we actually found ourselves.