Rescued American Pit Bull Terrier

I was driving home from town with a load of groceries, including a trunk full of dog food, and ahead in the road I saw her. A fawn colored beauty, long nipples swinging as she ran, grinning bigger than any dog I've seen. Running behind her were three young pups.

Here, I must step back to give you a little background. I am the Center Director for a small animal rescue organization located in Southern Missouri, the foothills of the Ozark Mountains. Our center, The BuckHawk, is in a rural area in the 4th poorest county in the US. Driving to town means a 20 minute trip.

I was not in my usual old Ford pick-up, but a classy Toyota sedan, silver in color. It was a borrowed vehicle belonging to one of our board members who happened to be around, but it gets much better gas mileage than the pickup.

This grinning beauty of a dog came running up to me, up to the driver's door and expressed what I can only describe as relief in her big brown eyes. I could just about hear her say "You came back for me. I knew you wouldn't leave me."

Then a quizzical look came over her face. I knew right then what must have happened. The car looked right, but the human looked different. This wasn't her human that she thought was returning to her. This was someone else.

My heart has gone out to many dogs in the years I have been a rescuer, but this time my heart broke. Here was a lovely dog dumped in the woods by her owner. She had no idea what she'd done, no understanding of why she was left there.

I knew. She was left there because she got pregnant...probably again!

I couldn't just scoop her up right then, although I wanted to. I was driving a town car, not made to pick up strays. So I sped back to the Center to swap this car for my pickup.

In my rearview mirror, I saw her and the three little ones, running to keep up. I was close to the Center. It would be a short trip and I would return to pick her up and her little ones.

It took several trips up and down the gravel road, winding through the woods to find them again, but we did. That beautiful mother had moved her daughters into the woods. She came out first, a little unsure.

When she saw us and heard us talk soothingly to her, she advanced eagerly, putting on that gorgeous grin. And her young ones followed.

I didn't know much about her. I only sensed her sweetness. So I did the one thing that I knew would help. I picked up one of her little ones and put it in the front seat. Then, up she jumped into the cab and promptly sat expectantly smack dab in the middle.

O.K. We scooped up the two other pups, crowded ourselves in with them and off I drove. Here, I thought, was one happy healthy Mama!

Once we got her back to the center and settled into a temporary shelter, I realized what we had. This was a very thin dog. She laid down in her shelter and bones stuck out everywhere. While I ran for food, the pups nursed. When I returned to her, she lifted only her eyes to me. Not her head.

I realized she must have been out in the woods for sometime, fending for herself and her three pups. Not a single pup looked underweight at all. In fact, one of them seemed a little on the rotund side. What was clear was that she had sacrificed her own health for the sake of her pups.

That is not unusual. Shelters see skinny mother dogs all the time. But, usually, they are quite happy to eat all they can. This beauty didn't even attempt to eat.

Just as dawn hit, I raced out to see her. Nothing had changed. The food was untouched, the pups were sleeping soundly, while Mama only lifted her eyes to look at me.

In our rural world, there is no 24 hour emergency vet clinic. I waited impatiently for the local vet to open. They told me to bring her in immediately. There I found out more about the courage of this beauty.

After her examination, they thought she might have the not uncommon uterine infection that comes from giving birth. The vet told me it could be fatal if left untreated for too long.

The vet took Mama into surgery that very minute.

The drive home was worrisome for me. I was a scared somber human. The beauty I had met was in emergency surgery.

The vet's office promised to call when the surgery was over. While I waited, I worried over how long it would take. I worried over the outcome. I tried not to worry over how much it would cost. But I am responsible for a shelter with many other dogs. Would this cost eat up too much of our reserves?

I was nervous and anxious and scared. That might as well of been my own daughter in surgery. But the call came, finally. She was resting comfortably. The surgery went fine. The infection had been bad, but that was all over now. I should call the next day to see how she was.

Two days later, I picked her up. And blessed the vet for the small price he charged. I listened carefully to all the instructions for after surgery care including how often and when to administer the medicine. My head swam with information as that beauty and I left the vet's. But I had to chuckle when I opened the truck door.

In jumped that beauty, plopped herself in the middle of the seat and looked at me expectantly. She was ready for a ride.

During her stay at the vet's, I had to convince the pups to eat on their own. By the time Mama returned, the little ones were gobbling down their "mush" as though they had eaten that all their lives. I was unsure if they would want to nurse just as soon as they were reunited with their mother. The vet had warned me not to allow this. Beauty Mama needed all her strength and the pups were way overdue to be weaned.

I was prepared to intervene at the first sign of attempted nursing, but it wasn't necessary. The reunion was like a group of wonderful fans welcoming back their pop star. The pups bounced all around their mother, they licked her face and wagged their tails so furiously I thought they may tip over. That beauty accepted it all with dignified grace.

The pictures in this story are of Quincy, and two of her daughters, Taft (above) and Clinton (here), Just to let you know, they are all doing well. The girls have grown into sweet and warm ladies themselves.

As for that beauty, Quincy, she is healthy and happy. And still gets a ride in the same old pick-up every chance we get.

And she still hops right in, sits herself right in the middle of the seat and prepares to help with any navigation needed.

But, she remains with us. She is one of the "Pit Bull" dogs and that means a problem for many.

If I could possibly convince people of her great loving nature, her total gentleness, and her complete lack of "fighting" instinct, she may find a home that loves her and understands her. In return, she gives love freely, shares everything she can with her human and makes sure everyone is happy.

It was early in the morning, it usually is, when I started my day. First off, check email. Ah, an inquiry about a dog. OK, which one - Quincy? Quincy! QUINCY!!! I nearly bounced out of my chair. Calm down. Read the email first.

Disappointment had been my companion with each email inquiring about this beauty. She is an Am Staff, afterall, and that equates to "Pit Bull." Most people don't know that, and this was probably the same situation. Someone liked a picture but didn't know what they were getting into.

This email sounded different. It wasn't just inquiring, it sounded more serious. For one thing, the woman who wrote it told me many things about her, and her husband's, situation. They are dog lovers, but currently dog-less. Several years ago, they lost their long time loving pet and not had the heart to replace her, until they saw Quincy. Plus, she included their phone number.

Now, you may think that's not such a big deal, but let me tell you, it is! At BuckHawk, we insist on a phone conversation. It's a chance for us to talk live to a prospective adopter. After years of placing animals, I've learned how to gauge people's questions, comments and responses. It tells me most of what I need to know. Whether the potential adopter is really loving and can care for this animal. It also tells me whether or not we are talking about an impulse or a truly planned out adoption.

The conversation was scheduled for the following evening, and I was nervous, anxious, excited, worried. Via email, this couple sounded good. But we are talking about a "Pit Bull" which could mean a short "no thanks" or worse.

Sue and Dave put me on speaker phone so they could both hear what I had to say and ask the questions they needed to ask. That settled me down just a bit. But not completely. I still had to ask the ultimate question.

Me: Do you know what the Americarn Staffordshire breed is?
Them: Uh, no.
Me: It's also known as a Pit Bull.
Them: silence.
Me thinking: Well, that's it. Short conversation.
Them: OK.
Him: Don't those dogs have to be trained to be aggressive?
Me: (Whew) yes, they do.
Her: But, Quincy's not aggressive.
Me: No, Quincy's not even remotely aggressive.

And the conversation continued. They told me about their previous dogs, their "granddogs", their house and yard. They asked all the wonderful right questions. They answered all my questions and listened as I told them more about Quincy. They ahhed and oohed in all the right places. We ended the phone call with plans for them to come to BuckHawk and meet Quincy the following Saturday.

Trying to get sleep that night was nearly impossible. I wanted to run right to Quincy and tell her the good news. When dawn finally came, I did! Whether she understood me or not is still open for debate, but she grinned that glorious grin of hers and wagged her whole body in response.

Saturday finally arrived. It took 3 years. My daughter was there to say goodbye to Quincy. Sue and Dave drove up just on time, excited to meet Quincy. Of course, Montana, the Great Dane and Official BuckHawk Greeter, was there with Quincy. I'm not sure I can remember all the comments that afternoon, but most went like this: Oh, she's more beautiful in person. What a loving dog she is. She is just what we hoped for. And they gushed on. Don't you know, Quincy gushed back. I could practically hear her: Oh, they are so loving. What great smells they have. They're just what I hoped for!

My daughter stood back and watched this scene. With tears in her eyes, she finally said: You've got a great dog there.

I really don't think they needed any more convincing, but that did it. They signed the papers, gave us a wonderful donation, and headed back to their car. Quincy hopped right into the back seat and sat there like she owned it. As they drove off, not only did I breathe a sigh of relief, but I let a few tears of my own leak out.

The following Monday morning brought an email from Sue:

Quincy is doing great! She is such a sweetheat. We are so lucky. She's adjusting very well, it's like we've had her forever. She followed me downstairs this morning with no problem. We can't believe what an awesome dog she is! Thank you for saving her for us.

Several weeks passed with nothing further. Not unusual. The adopters and their new pet settle into life together and often we hear nothing. We understand. Daily life has a habit of getting in the way of our best laid plans. But, that always leaves people like us wondering. Are we going to get one of those dreaded phone calls - it's just not working out.

Instead of a phone call, I received an email this morning. It started off with a repeat - Quincy is awesome! Sue went on to tell me of little things that have happened during the intervening weeks. She reported Quincy's first trip to the vet. If ever I believed a dog could be an ambassador for her breed, Quincy is it. At the vet, she drew lots of attention and showed off beautifully. Sue's email confirmed what I believed - Quincy finally has what she has always deserved: a truly great home of her own.