Something went wrong with Sophie Mae
My daughter rescued her when she was six weeks old. She had been used as a bait dog, because screaming terrified puppies rouse savagery in fighting dogs. She had scars on her little head and sores on her feet from standing in her own urine. My daughter took her home, cleaned her up and fell in love.
Sophie was a wonderful puppy. She was so eager to please, so loving and trusting of Rachel. She was housebroken and kennel trained in a matter of weeks. She didn’t stay in the kennel much, however, she thought she was a lapdog and her big, wedge faced head was a scarf that she’d drape over your shoulder and sigh with contentment. Soon, she migrated to the foot of the bed.
At first, it seemed like Sophie Mae, the most deserving of animals, would live out a happily ever after, that love would conquer all, and that the bad guys wouldn’t win. She would go to the dog park and though showing some nervousness, she would soon be playing, albeit cautiously, with the strange dogs there. She loved Rachel’s other dog and my own Springer Spaniel pup. Mostly she avoided my old terrier, who by virtue of being an old dog, hates any young dog.
But then when she turned one year old, things started to change with Sophie Mae. She became less social with other dogs, she’d nip at those who came bounding up to play with her at dog parks. She showed signs of intense anxiety whenever a new dog came near her on a leash and would curl her lips. The aggression towards dogs escalated. She lunged at strange dogs. My daughter engaged a renowned trainer well versed in bully breeds to come see her and she taught all of us some methods of helping Sophie Mae but her sad evaluation was that Sophie Mae was not right. Some wiring had been snipped that could never truly be repaired.
That was a year ago and Sophie Mae has been kept strictly away from dogs she does not know. A few weeks ago Sophie Mae bit my terrier. It was not the first time but this time but the way she went from standing to lethal weapon stunned us. We talked about it for long hours, about how her aggression had been turning to strangers. Even more concerning was that she’d started barking at children walking by the yard and her hackles would go up if startled by someone she didn’t know and know well. No amount of correction worked. She hated being chastised, hated her people being angry withy her, and would turn on her back with a harsh word, but she had no control over whatever is was that set her off.
Once again my daughter spoke to several bully breed trainers, bully breed rescue people, and our vet. Sophie Mae was assessed. I won’t go into a long explanation what this involved but the upshot was that Sophie Mae was not right. No amount training was going to turn her into a relaxed, solid, trustworthy dog. As my vet put it, “some dogs can’t climb the mountain of their earlier experiences.” The choices outlined for her were few: either find a Sophie Mae a home where she would never come into contact with other dogs and very few people or put her to sleep.
My daughter, who runs a small non-profit dog rescue, knows all to well what happens to most “iffy” rescued pitbulls: they bounce from home to home or shelter to shelter. If they are placed, they are lost to the original owner. My daughter could not face the idea of Sophie, her beautiful sweet lapdog shivering in a kennel surrounded by the dogs that terrified her, or rotated through a series of foster homes where she would never be at ease because most foster homes, wonderful people that they are, have more than one dog. Or kept away from small children because no one can take a risk with a potentially aggressive dog—pitbull or not. Or worst of all somehow end up in the hands of a monster to be used as a “sparring partner.”
Dog fighting is a crime whose victims suffer throughout their lifetime. I am glad that many of Michael Vick’s dogs were salvageable, that they were able to overcome a horrifying and inhumane past and learn to trust and play and be happy again. But not all such dogs have happy endings. While Michael Vick and other criminals are offered the choice of rehabilitation that choice wasn’t open to Sophie Mae. She was doomed from the beginning by things done to her as a puppy by savages on two legs. Yes. I am emotional. I am angry. I am sad. Because yesterday afternoon my husband and I took our Sophie Mae to our wonderful, compassionate vet to be euthanized. My daughter simply could not do it. So I sat with her head in my lap during the process. I kissed her cheek and scratched her ear and whispered over and over that she was the best dog in the world. And it broke my heart.
There are no good options for a dog like Sophie Mae. No second chances to rejoin the doggy equivalent of the NFL. Just death.
I’ll miss her sweet face and her warm body curled up next to mine, the goofy way she leapt around a Bonz treat as if she’d just had a hundred years of Christmases thrown at her at once. I’ll miss her happy grinning face when she burst through the front door of our house looking for me. I’ll miss her teasing my spaniel by racing by him carrying his favorite ball. I’ll miss her somersaults onto the couch. I’ll miss her nibbling on my earlobe. I’ll miss her sighs of contentment and her woofs of doggy joy.
May a thousand Christmases await you, Sophie Mae. Until we meet again.
