Lexy: A tale of love, loss, courage and life
By Pauline Chapman

A couple of years ago, I discovered a 10-month-old puppy in great distress. She was among scores of puppies and dogs lying on blankets recovering from a neutering and spaying blitz sponsored by Amigos de Animales. She stood out because she was crying as if in great pain.

Amigos volunteers were by her side trying to soothe her. Most of the other pets were surrounded by their human families, anxious that their pets come out of the anesthesia safely. Several mothers and children had anxiety written all over their faces. For most this was an entirely new if not scary experience. “When will my puppy wake up? Will she be OK?” “Please, please can I take her home now?” a child said plaintively, pointing to a tiny white curly haired semi-comatose puppy. 

However, this little puppy had no family to soothe her. I went over to help and noticed that if anyone touched her lower back she howled. It got so bad we finally asked a couple of the vets to come over to examine her. Nothing was broken physically. Everything seemed to be fine, but she was clearly traumatized. She was a beautiful puppy, although definitely underweight: Short shiny hair, the color of pale wheat, a shepherd-like face with black snout, and coal-black eyes showing both sadness and fear. Perhaps the most striking things about her were her legs, long and beautiful, definitely a Rockette of a puppy.

But who owned her? I was directed to two heavyset men lounging against the wall. I asked if they would help soothe their pet. “No,” they said. “Have you ever petted your puppy?” “No,” they said, laughing. My heart started to break. This beautiful fragile puppy cried in pain while her erstwhile owners sat around laughing at the thought of nurturing her. I felt I had to rescue her. So I broke a rule of Amigos and asked the men if they loved her and if they didn’t, I would. I would take her. To my surprise, they didn’t hesitate and being reassured that I would take her, left laughing and saying, “That dumb dog.”

Then I noticed that she had stopped howling. Seeing the men had gone, she relaxed. I was glad I broke the rules. Several volunteers thanked me for saving her from further trauma. And that is how I came to own my first puppy since childhood.

But then, panic set in. What had I done? I had no crate, no collar or leads, no food, and oh, the responsibility!

No matter. I borrowed a crate and some dog food, and the puppy I would call Lexy and I were on our way.

From the beginning, Lexy was a handful. All she did was chew. I spent a lot of time with her—training her to chew her toys and not me or my things, petting her, telling her I loved her—trying to give her the puppy-hood she had missed. And I totally fell in love.


For a while, life went smoothly. I did notice that friends could come to my place, but only so far. My patio and casita were becoming off limits. That would change, I thought. When we were out walking, she would lunge at men in sombreros. She once nipped a child (I paid off the mother) and red flags started flying. Lexy continued to go wild if anyone came to the door, baring her teeth and growling.

She was still my girl and I adored her. But I was worried and didn’t like hearing that she was dangerous. On the streets, she was basically a wonderful dog, although the desire to lunge at men in sombreros was growing. I was unable to have friends over and worried that she would get loose and bite someone. I fought off advice to put her down. I hired trainers and even sent her away for a month of training. She wasn’t any better.

Then Lexy injured her leg and a bad post-surgery decision on the part of the vet led to more hospitalization. Lexy was hospitalized for over three weeks and incapacitated for two more at home. When she came out of it, all the training had disappeared. She became more and more aggressive. Many knowledgeable people told me that her early life had been too traumatic and that recovery was probably impossible. She needed a lot of exercise and would probably thrive on a ranch as a watchdog. That was her only chance for a life.

A friend offered to take her to live on his ranch. I was thrilled but sad at the prospect of losing her. I also was relieved. So one sunny day in October, the man’s 11-year-old son took Lexy and both jauntily went to his car. I stood there, tears streaming down my cheeks, as the love of my life disappeared into the waiting car.

I visited her once at the man’s ranch and she came running to me. Yet it was so painful that I decided not to see her again. Today, I hear that she is running free at the ranch and is doing well. When I came out of my mourning period, I realized that I had done something remarkable. I took a disturbed little puppy and saved her life. I also learned that there are things to look for in adopting a puppy and a good temperament is crucial. I will adopt with care if there is a next time for me. Meanwhile, I have wonderful pictures to remember her by.

You may find the love of your life at the SPA shelter at Los Piños 7, Monday–Friday, 10am–2pm, 152-6124. Our website is www.spasanmiguel.org. 

Consider Aby, a young spayed female black lab mix, very intelligent, beginning training and with a good temperament. .