Dogs

Faith, friends and a tweet saved Fletcher

There are days in life that shake you to your core and reaffirm your faith at the same time. Yesterday was one of those days. What started out as a hopeless, tear-filled day ended with tears of gratitude.

If you saw my post about the short, happy life of Fletcher Trouble Macgonagall Moorhead yesterday, you know that our dog Fletcher was on death row for aggression issues that were unmanageable and dangerous for us, as parents of a very unpredictable small child. As I wrote the post and afterwards, I cried for literally four hours straight, with my son telling me not to cry and to look on the bright side (having another dog to snuggle). With no real sense of hope whatsoever, I started to get in the shower in hopes of reviving myself enough to play with Fletcher and my son and prepare for the worst.

Then, I got a text from my friend Katie Klein with love and telling me to hang in there. If you know Katie, you know she is a catalyst and is also one of those people who can – and will – do anything to help a friend when needed. So on a wing and prayer, I asked her to tweet #savefletcher with a link to my blog post. We debated whether or not to do it, because of a really hateful comment I had gotten on my blog recently.

We agreed that hate cannot win. So Katie (@bootyp) posted a tweet that said: Awesome dog who’s a little on the aggressive side, needs a home. It’s life or death. Please. #SaveFletcher

Not long after, I got a DM from a kind, lovely soul who has taken in “the broken, the beaten and the damned” before and has experience with dogs with aggression and other issues. She asked to talk to the trainer that evaluated Fletcher. They talked, and we talked, and the trainer and I talked. And, in an absolute gift, this kind soul – who wants to remain more or less publicly anonymous in case Fletcher doesn’t make it in his second chance, which is totally understandable and appropriate - agreed to give Fletcher a second chance.

*cue tears* So, thanks to some amazing and generous people, armed with Twitter, and the shared belief that it might – just MIGHT – be possible, Fletcher was saved five hours before his scheduled demise. I have no words. None. *cue more tears, of happiness and gratitude*

FAITH, everyone. You have to believe in something for it to be possible.

THANK YOU, to Katie, and Fletcher’s new guardian, and to all of you who offered your love and support over the past week and especially yesterday.

So much love. Spaight

The short, happy life of Fletcher Trouble McGonagall Moorhead

Well I resolved not to blog here until the new design is ready. But that’s taking longer than expected and sometimes, you gotta write when a wound is still raw. This is a story I was NOT expecting to be writing. Not at all.

Sadly, today is likely to be our dog Fletcher’s last day of life. Unless, at his 5:00 vet appointment, they find something medically wrong with him that results in a stay of execution, which is of course highly unlikely. Or unless some kind soul with a lot of land and a lot of expertise in training aggressive animals reads this post and says “I’ll take him!” which is even less likely. (#saveFletcher?)

Some of you know the story of Gomer. We used to joke about Fletcher being Gomer’s reincarnation. Not so funny anymore. I seem to have quite the knack for picking dogs (and, occasionally in the past, men) with aggression problems. Fletcher’s former food aggression turned dog aggression turned object aggression turned human aggression quite suddenly over the past two weeks.

Last night, Amy Ammen from Amiable Dog Training came in for a professional consultation. I’ve taken Amy’s classes for years and she knows her stuff. She ran Fletcher through a bunch of aggression tests, the conclusion being like a boot to the stomach: bad genetics. You shouldn’t keep him in a house with a child, and you can’t rehome him. Which leaves us with only one alternative: The Rainbow Bridge.

Yes, I of course know the Rainbow Bridge is something a grieving dog owner made up to help the rest of us through times like this. But still, I must try to take comfort and amusement in the imagined scene of Fletcher meeting Gomer there, and all hell breaking loose. And I must try to celebrate Fletcher’s short-but-happy life.

Fletcher loved him some snow, and finally, finally just learned to drop a retrieving dummy and sit on a hand signal.

He was a pain in the ass. And we love him. And saying goodbye sucks. And I hate that Griffin has to go through it at only six years old.

But life happens. Someone said, Don’t cry that it is over. Smile that it happened. Imma try to go with that.

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