Rescuing Rolfi

I am an avid supporter of animal rescue, and have rescued several animals over the years.  This is the story of the first one.

I was on a medical leave, recovering from surgery, when first heard about the dog that was haunting one of the parking lots where I worked.  I actually felt fine, but since my job was public safety at the local university, a weight-lifting restriction of 10 pounds was enough to keep me from being able to return to work.  So, here I was, bored and antsy.  When a coworker mentioned the dog, my attention perked right up.

What kind of dog?  Was it hurt?  How long had it been there?  Had the Humane Society tried to capture it?

The dog was big, and maybe some kind of hound mix.  It was limping.  It had been showing up at night in the lot, after any hours when animal control was willing to come and try to catch him.  It was also keeping his distance from people and appeared to be very fearful.  That’s all anyone could say for sure.  That, and the dog was extremely thin.  People were speculating that it had been dumped there, since it was staying close to the same lot and would occasionally limp after some cars before returning to the lot again.

Challenge accepted.  I was going to catch that dog.  I was determined.  I also had no idea how hard this dog was going to make my task.

I went out to the lot, armed with a slip-leash and various treats.  When I arrived, the dog was already in the lot.  Some compassionate student had left a bowl of rice and meat out for the dog.  But as much as he was enjoying his meal, the moment he saw me, he moved to the far edge of the lot.  I sat down a few feet from the bowl of food and got out some of the treats I had brought.  Well, the dog must have been hungry, because he warily came back and ate the food, then stood just out of reach, his head stretched toward me, wanting that treat.  I tossed it to him so that he could get it.

That first night I was somewhat encouraged.  The dog, who clearly (and I mean very clearly) was male (and I mean VERY male) eventually took a treat from my hand…but only when my arm was stretched all the way out, and he was stretched out just far enough to grab the treat and then dart away.  I might be feeding him, but he wasn’t getting quite close enough for me to catch him.  If anything, though, I was more determined.

Over the pursuant weeks, I went out nightly and fed the dog.  I started calling him Rolfi.  He was filthy, desperately thin, and sporting a distinct limp.  Perhaps he had been hit by a car.  I’ll never know.

Rolfi started coming to greet me when I showed up in the parking lot each night.  He seemed happy to see me and would approach me, tail wagging.  But he still remained wary and never came quite close enough for me to catch him.  My medical leave was drawing to a close, and I still couldn’t quite catch this dog.

One of my supervisors, and a fellow dog lover, took pity on me.  He knew I was out there every night, so he offered to let me use his puppy exercise pen in the hopes that maybe I could get Rolfi into it.  I had just a few nights left before I’d be returning to work, so I eagerly agreed to try the pen.

That night, I set the pen up in the lot.  At the end farthest from the pen’s door, I set a bowl full of the stinkiest wet dog food I could find, and also made a trail of globs of the food across the pen and out the door.  And I waited.

I actually wasn’t planning to capture Rolfi that first night.  I thought I’d just get him used to going in and out of the pen.  I’m sure Rolfi wasn’t planning on being captured that first night, either.  But by this point he was comfortable enough around me, relatively speaking, that he approached the pen without too much concern.  He started eating the food that was outside the door, and then followed the trail right through the doorway.  He only briefly paused at the doorway of the pen, his head and neck inside straining for the next morsel of food, his shoulders outside the doorway.  But the lure of the food proved too much for him, and after that brief pause he went all the way into the pen, following the trail of food to the door.

I was casually making my way around the outside of the pen, and when Rolfi reached the bowl and proceeded to wolf down the food, I was standing with one hand on the door.  Rolfi wasn’t even paying attention to me, and I realized I wasn’t going to get a better opportunity than the one I had right then.  I closed the door.

I thought Rolfi might try to jump over the top of the pen, but he didn’t.  He immediately flattened to the ground, tense and trembling.  But then it was as if he accepted that I had caught him.  He got up and walked right up to me, bowing his head.  I gently slid the collar over his head.  From that moment on, Rolfi was my boy.

Rolfi was with me for the next six years.  It was far too short a time.  He liked to be outside in nice weather, and I am forever haunted by the day that he was outside and somehow found a bone that he choked on.  I blame myself for not saving him.  I had fallen asleep after a particularly stressful day and didn’t know that as I slept, my boy’s life slipped away.  I had saved him so many times, but in the end I failed him.  I miss that boy.