Niko’s Story
“I’m never going to get another dog!”
How many of us have said that at one time or another? In my case, it was after my 14-year-old dachshund Smokey crossed the rainbow bridge from old age. I’ve had dogs since high school, and decided it was finally time to go dogless. I told myself it was because I’m a senior citizen and slowing down, but in truth, it’s because I’ve suffered enough canine-caused heartbreak.
I never got over the passing of any of my beloved four-footed friends. (Who does?) I still mourned my old dogs, even after all these years. There was Jade and Brandy and Scarlett and Ivy and Baron and Tivvy and Oscar and Striker and Sheba and now Smokey—all gone. Over the years the losses kept mounting and the sadness kept accumulating. I felt enough was enough. It was time to close that door in my life and hang up the dog leash for good.
I decided my retired husband and I would go and see new places—like the crimson lava of Hawaii’s volcano flowing down to the ocean under the night stars. Or a cruise down the Mexican coast to see the Incan ruins. Perhaps a drive up the beautiful New England coast to tour the lighthouses. We could just lock the door to our house, have my son watch over the place, and take off into the sunset.
At first, it wasn’t a hard decision to make. Our last two dogs were dachshunds, and there aren’t that many of them to rescue where I live. Locally, almost all dachshund rescues were seniors (I didn’t want a short-lived pet I would lose far too soon,) or bonded pairs (my lease says only one pet,) or special needs. That usually means wheelchair dogs with diapers, as dachshunds are so very prone to IVDD. Intervertebral disk disease is sadly common in these long-backed dogs and can often result in permanent paralysis.
Unbeknownst to me, my husband surreptitiously checked into adoptions while I was making travel plans to get my mind off things. Those “things” being my grief for Smokey. I decided New England should be our first trip. But soon after, I learned of my husband’s “wiener dog hunt.” He’d actually found a gem! A one-year-old miniature male dachshund had been surrendered to a shelter specializing in small animal rescues. I suspected behavior problems, but since the dog was a young purebred, I knew someone would soon snatch him up.
I then learned my husband made the very first phone call AND email AND sent a text to the shelter. He was told that since we had owned dachshunds before, we would get the first “meet and greet” appointment after this dog was neutered. The adoption fee would be the price of the vet bill. I found myself somewhat curious, so after the surgery, off hubby and I went to check out the canine.
The dog had a strange foreign name meaning “sausage.” Not very original, I thought, plus it was long and hard to pronounce. But the last syllable sounded like “niko,” and since he responded to that, the shelter christened him “Niko.” We met him outside and watched him frolic on the grass. My husband was YES, let’s get him! But I was still on the fence, thinking of lighthouses and Incan ruins…until Niko started playing with the leash. Tossing it, chasing it, and playing tug of war with gusto! It was just too adorable! He seemed like such a happy little thing, with no fear or aggression issues whatsoever. My heart melted. So, home he came.
Well, every rescue comes with its own set of issues. On the plus side, Niko was blessedly housebroken and had no problem with the dog door. He did know one command, “SIT.” On the negative side, he was behind on his shots and terribly skinny; his ribs and spine visibly stuck out. Worse, he now had terrible abandonment issues. He went from his only home to the shelter and then to us.
Good food and the vet took care of his physical needs. The abandonment issues were a nightmare. Although housebroken, when we left him alone, even for a few minutes, he peed and pooped inside and yipped and howled from fear. We tried crate training while we hid outside, but our security camera showed him going so crazy in the big wire cage I was afraid he’d break a leg. That ended the crate training. He was miserable. We were miserable. I wondered if I’d just made a big mistake. I was now the frustrated owner of a Velcro dog.
We tried to cheer Niko up with new toys. No luck. He wasn’t happy. But one day I left his leash on the couch instead of hanging it up. Niko pounced on it, threw it up in the air, caught it, wrestled with it, and did zoomies all over with the leash still in his mouth. It was just like the “meet and greet!” I brought out my spare leash for him, and with two “toys” he went crazy with delight! We played keep away, catch, tug of war, and he showed us what every happy, healthy dog should have…pure joy, family love, and no fear. That day convinced me we’d made the right decision after all. Niko belonged with us 100%.
It’s been three months since Niko became ours. We’re still working on his separation anxiety. It’s going to take a while to heal the mental trauma he went through when his family abandoned him. But I can be patient. In the meantime, I’m looking into driving vacations and dog friendly hotels for the future. I’ve had dogs all my life, and loving them has always been a big part of living my life to the fullest. I’m not ready to close the door on that anytime soon. Whatever was I thinking?
As for my little Niko, all he needs is more time, more “lovings” — and more leashes!
