It's National Dog Rescue Day: Flossie's story

Flossie and me leaving PetsInc

It’s National Rescue Dog Day, and I hit the jackpot back in September when I adopted Flossie, a medium-sized lab-ish beauty.

Here’s our story.

During Hurricane Florence, I went to PetsInc to walk some of the dogs that had been evacuated from a shelter along the coast. I’d done this before during an earlier hurricane and saw that I could fill a short-term need they had at the shelter.

My beloved golden retriever, Dixie, had died about nine months earlier, and I was in the early stages of debating if it was time to start looking for another dog - a golden for sure (read that post here). Since I was set on a golden - and figured it was pretty unlikely to find exactly what I was looking for that day – I wasn’t too worried about being tempted to bring a dog home.


I walked 15 or so dogs of all shapes and sizes in the drizzle on a nice wooded path area behind PetsINc. They each got a little loving, a few loops around the path and plenty of time to take care of their business.

As I was leaving, I went back in the building to sign out. That’s when I saw her … a mid-sized yellow lab-ish dog who was in one of the makeshift kennels in the lobby area where people come to meet dogs they may want to adopt.

Our eyes met. I walked over to pat her head. She immediately lay down on her back to get a belly scratch. I got in the kennel with her and belly-scratched. It was clear she had recently had puppies.

We locked eyes again.

I asked the woman at the desk if this dog needed to go out for a walk. “They can always use a walk,” she replied. So I leashed her up and out we went to make a few loops around the path. We came back to the building several times where I sat up against the porch and just rubbed her belly. She was engaged but not aggressive. She was enthusiastic about the attention without being obnoxious. We did a few more loops of the wooded path.

My mind started spinning. “She isn’t a golden.” “I’m not prepared with anything I would need to bring home a dog.” “Maybe I’ll come back tomorrow and visit her again.” “I have dinner plans with a friend and need to get moving.” “I wonder what her story is.” “What happened to her puppies?” “Maybe I’ll just ask how long it takes to get approved to adopt a dog.” “I don’t even have a leash with me.”

As we ventured out into the drizzle for what I planned to be the last loop, I heard someone call my name. It was Linda, my long-time dogsitter/dog lover, who was at PetsInc doing the same volunteer job that I was. I asked her to walk the dog around the parking lot a few times to see if she saw any warning signs.

Linda came back after a few minutes and gave me her seal of approval. “Well, I’ll just check with the people inside and see how complicated and expensive this adoption process is,” I thought.

To my pleasant surprise, it was an efficient, yet thorough, vetting process. I learned this dog had been turned in to PetsInc just five days earlier. She had been found with another dog on a dirt road in Pelion. Immediately when she arrived at the shelter, they checked her for heartworm and other ailments, inserted a chip and performed the spay surgery.

While we sat on the porch listening to the rain as she nuzzled my neck,  I called a couple of people thinking they may talk me out of this rapidly approaching decision to take this dog home. No one did.

I asked to talk with the staff person who would do the vetting. She was kind, helpful and efficient. They gave the dog another medical once-over while I filled out lots of paperwork about my previous experience with dogs.

I walked back outside to tell Linda I would soon have a new dog. She and the friend she was sitting with exchanged smiles. They’d made bet on me leaving there with the dog.

After I got all the paperwork finished, borrowed a leash, and spread out my yoga mat in the backseat of the car, the dog jumped in and rode home with me in the rain. I had no idea about her state of house training, chewing, jumping or general behavior beyond what I saw for the two hours I’d spent with her.

We came in the back door, and I filled the water bowl that had belonged to our two precious goldens. She immediately lapped it all up. I then let her just wander the house. She bolted between rooms, sniffing out what I assumed was Dixie’s residual scents. OK, so far so good. I waited for her to jump on the bed, put her nose into a trash can or tinkle on the rug. She had perfect manners.

I knew she was home when she found Dixie’s bed that was still out. She sniffed around it a bit and snuggled in like it was her own.

Yes, this was going to work out just fine for us both.

I’d decided on the ride home that I would name her Florence, maybe shortened to Flo. A trainer later told me to stay away from a name that sounded like “no,” so she became Flossie after a couple of days. The name fits her perfectly – a mix of genteel, sassy, laid back and funny.

To say this is a perfect match is an understatement. I like to think Flossie came prepackaged just for me. She has beautiful inside manners. Human food and getting on furniture hold no interest for her. She has no inclination to counter surf or dive in the trash can. She loves riding in the convertible with the top down and will quickly take a treat offered at the Starbucks drive-through window.

Her few bad qualities are pulling a bit too much on a leash when she sees certain cats or dashing out the door if it’s left open too long. Both are easily manageable issues. She went to overnight “boot camp” for some basic leash training, and a friend has helped me with some of the leash pulling thanks to an e-collar.

I do often worry about whether there’s a family missing their pet, because she’s so well trained as an inside dog. My biggest fear is having her out in a public place and a kid recognizing her as his long-lost dog. That diminishes a little with every passing day, but will likely always be something that sits in the back of my brain.

With my recent retirement, I’ve had the benefit of being able to walk Flossie frequently during the day. She’s allowed me to meet a number of neighbors I never knew before. Many only know me as “Flossie’s person,” but that’s perfectly OK. Lots of the young children on my walking routes have come to know Flossie loves to have her ears scratched and will quickly take to the ground on her back for a vigorous belly rub.

She sleeps (and loudly snores) under my desk at home when I’m working and follows me from room to room throughout the house. She barks only at Max, the neighborhood cat, and the snake that was curled up in her outdoor cubby under the deck. Her new best friend is the back-door neighbor’s recent rescue, a black lab puppy name Coal.

She is just like both of the past Goldens - loving beach walks but hating the ocean. A couple of the servers at the Devine St Public House know her name and preference for no ice in her water when we have Saturday lunch dates. She genteelly crosses her paws like a good southern lady when she's relaxed.

When I wrote back in August musing about whether it was time to think about a new dog, I had no idea things would play out so quickly. But I just kept going back to the words of the playwright Eugene O’Neill’s lovely essay written as the last will and testament of his much loved dog, Blemie. He quoted his dog as saying

“One last request I earnestly make. I have heard my Mistress say, 'When Blemie dies we must never have another dog. I love him so much I could never love another one.'

Now I would ask her, for love of me, to have another. It would be a poor tribute to my memory never to have a dog again. What I would like to feel is that, having once had me in the family, now she cannot live without a dog!”

Dixie and Beaufort certainly did teach me well that I’m a happier, saner, more positive and flexible person when I have a dog in my life.

Lucky Flossie and me to have found each other.

She's always waiting here for me when I come home