I was involved with a no-kill group. We had a meeting at the Humane Society one evening. One of the group members mentioned that a malamute had been picked up wandering the streets, and that he was in one of the kennels in the bulding. I went to see him after the meeting. He was a four-month old beast, not house trained, chewing on everything, out of control but desperately craving human contact. I picked him up and he melted. So did I.
After being approved by the Humane Society, I took this wild creature home. I've had dogs all my life, but this one was determined to beat me. After two weeks, I was ready to take him back to the Society and forfeit my adoption fee. He wouldn't eat, he would urinate and deficate everywhere, and tore up anything in his path. Some of his history was discovered; he'd been a puppy mill puppy, and was given as a Christmas "gift" to someone who had no clue how to raise a husky. They opened their front door and kicked him out. He had wandered the streets for so long that his toenails were worn down to the pads of his feet. I decided that he needed lots of TLC, exercise and more patience than I thought I had.
Twelve years later, I said goodbye to this loving, gentle giant. A tumour in his tummy was killing him. He was the eternal puppy, and had no clue how sick he was the day he crossed the rainbow bridge, in spite of months of pain killers. Innu, I named him, after the First Nations peoples of Labrador and Quebec. I miss this guy every day, and am happy he spent his life with me.
Port Alberni, British Columba, Canada