My Name is Wrigley, and I’m a Shelter Dog.
At six weeks old, I was found with my nine brothers and sisters abandoned under the stairs of a broken down, abandoned house. Somehow, we ended up in the care of the staff of the Chicago Canine Rescue. We were all afraid and really malnourished, but they weaned us back to health and happiness. It didn’t take long for us to all find homes… we were tiny, cute little things, estimated to be around 25 or 30 pounds. I was adopted out with my sister, so at least I wasn’t alone.
This placement did not last. Who knows why this family, who was at first so caring and devoted, lost their patience… maybe it was because one parent was sick, the other working, and the kids unmotivated to care for two young pups. But, I was not a happy dog, and all of it combined resulted in my and my sister’s return to the shelter.
I was terrified, and so was my sister. I did not know these people anymore, even though they’d taken care of my siblings and I when no one else would… and I was afraid that they would hurt me. I growled at them; I snapped; I did not want them to touch my face or ears or mouth or paws.
It took me a long time to warm up to these people. They tried so hard to win my affection, and it eventually worked. They fed me, cared for me, and made me understand what love was. But I could still not find it in myself to trust people. My “moms,” two of the girls who worked at the dog shelter, decided that I was worth the trouble and was worth being loved. They, along with the rest of the staff, struggled with my fear of people, but they were determined and had more patience than any dog could ask for.
It was a long road—three months long, actually— until I was able to be placed up for adoption. I went on walks every day and was shown, with treats and slow introductions, that the unknown humans who passed me on the street were not going to hurt me. I had such bad memories, and it showed in my reactions, but they helped me work through it. I was given a second chance at life even though any other shelter would have looked at me pityingly and decided on euthanasia. They did not give up on me… not once.
Today, I still live at the Chicago Canine Rescue in Chicago. I am now around 9 months old; I weigh close to 65 pounds (oh, did I surpass my estimated 30 pounds). I need a lot of attention and a lot of training because I am still working to overcome my fears, but the people at CCR have faith in me and my ability to be a wonderful companion. I love long walks, nylabones, beef jerky, tearing up plush toys, and licking people’s chins.
One day, I will find a home.
