The Rooty Report — One Year In
A Soul-Mate Story
January 19, 2019
December 13, 2017 — I wasn’t looking for a new family member that day, not at all, no sir. We were quite happy with our 3 girls, Zoey, Sookie, and The Smurf.
My instructions and intentions were clear — Go to the humane society and do some healing work with the beings who had been evacuated due to the Thomas Fire. The fire was nine days old at this point, most of it had moved north, and yet the air was dense and heavy with smoke while hot spots continued to flare up. Just the day before Jon and Sookie had gotten stuck on the other side of a flare-up for a bit as they went on a mission for air filters.
But here’s the thing with intentions, there are those that you make in the moment, the ones you are consciously working on, and then there are those long term intentions, the ones stated and yet unfulfilled, that your subconscious and higher self continue to hold space for while your mental body moves on to other things.
Rooty, then called Pepper, was the very last being I interacted with that day. I first stopped in at the office and spent some time with the humans who shepherd the place. Every available surface in the conference room was filled with donated food (food for humans, that is). There were bags and boxes and piles of donated pet food out in front of the building. The humane society had remained open during the fire and had taken in freely any and all animals in the county that needed safe harbor. People fleeing their homes in the dead of night as the fire ripped across the hillsides were able to drop their cats, dogs, birds, chickens, goats, horses, pigs, you get the picture, off there while camping out in their respective short term lodgings. Some literally camped out in the parking lot of the humane society to be near their animals. Evacuating with a pet is not simple as most designated evacuation centers do not take animals. Most of the staff had been there 24/7, many of them evacuees as well. The humane society is on the east end of Ojai, the flames were clearly visible on the hillsides, yet the land was clear on and around the property. It was considered one of the safe spots in the valley.
After spending a good amount of time in the office, I headed to the cat rooms. There were cages and crates filled with evacuated kitties, along with the residents there waiting to be adopted. I spoke with them all, sharing what I knew about the status of the fire, and their short term residency there. I got lots of sighs and looks, kitties do not like to be confined, but most seemed to truly understand the magnitude of what was happening and recognized their captivity was less about inconveniencing them and more about their safety. Of course, there were those few kitties who were indignant at their situation no matter what I said. And all of them were sad and missing their families. There were a lot of “do not touch — evacuees” signs on the cages, and I followed the instructions. Although I did spend some time snuggling the kitties there who were up for adoption. The humane society had been closed for regular business during the fire, so the animals that came in prior to the beginning of the fire, simply there waiting on new homes, were also confused and anxious. Everyone needed some extra love.
I then headed down to the dog kennels. I made my rounds with the dogs, offering reiki, treats, and love to all and spending extra time with the ones who expressed the most anxiety. Most there were evacuees. There were just a few dogs remaining from before the fire started, who were there to be re-homed. The bigger outdoor pens, usually used for exercising the dogs and meet and greets with prospective new families, were filled with evacuated farm animals and bales of hay, so most of the dogs were stuck in their kennels all day with just brief walks when the staff or volunteers had the time (all of us wearing masks due to the smoke). Everyone was anxious and extra needy, and I had long conversations with some of those beings as we talked about the fire and their families, and their homes. Some of those animals no longer had houses to return to, and they knew it.
I had been there a few hours and needed to get back home to my family. There was one final kennel I had yet to stop in on. I approached and saw a black and white dog with freckles, shyly come to the front of the kennel to look at me and then quickly dart to the back. I looked at the paperwork on the fence and saw that “Pepper” had come in on November 19th, just 2 weeks prior to the start of the fire. They had Pepper’s breed as “border collie” but I thought he was a McNab from the brief glimpse I had gotten. I also assumed Pepper was a female, as he seemed very dainty and his energy was so pulled back.
“I’ll come back and see you tomorrow,” I said to Pepper. “I’ve got to go home to my girls.”
A McNab. Huh. Just a year ago we’d been preparing for the arrival of a McNab puppy in our home. His name was Jasper.
Hmmm, I’ve got to backtrack a bit further.
Four years prior, when Zoey was still a puppy, Jon had her out one day with him, and a woman on the trail asked him if she were a McNab. He’d (we’d) never heard of the breed before, so she illuminated Jon with some of the details, and then I did some reading. The McNabs first came into existence in Mendocino County, CA. Alexander McNab, who had emigrated to the States with his Scottish Collies in the late 1800s, bred one of his dogs with a female Basque Sheepherder. The McNabs became very popular with the ranchers in Northern California. When Alexander passed, his son John continued on.
More than once we were asked if Zoey was a McNab. Now we know Zoey’s parent dogs. Her daddy is a big Yellow Lab (his coat so light he is almost white), and her mama is some kind of herding dog of indeterminate origins. The more I read about McNabs, and then even met a few McNabs, the more I became convinced that Zoey’s mama must be at least part McNab. Eventually, I even joined the McNab Facebook group and started virtually hanging out with all of the McNabs there and their humans. I’ll admit it, I’m a bit obsessed with the breed.
Fast forward to 2016. Zoey was a couple of months past her third birthday. Jon looked at her and said, “I think Zoey needs a brother or a sister”. He was really pulling for a boy. Up until this point all of our animals had been female (3 cats and a dog), and Jon was feeling just a bit outnumbered. Plus, boy dogs and kitties have a sweetness to them that is different from their female counterparts. The girls can be a bit bossier in their love, whereas many of the boys are much more laid back.
We started the search and ran through our humane society and multiple rescues in and around our area all with no luck. Either the dogs we were attracted to and felt a connection with were unavailable to us for one reason or another (including a beautiful black and white female shepherd named Paloma, who I assumed was at least part McNab), or the ones that we could take just did not match up with Zoey and our collective energy. It was an exhausting and at times very emotional process. More than once I felt heartbroken as a being I’d fallen in love with, would go to someone else. Jon and I both transmuted a lot of underlying trauma and burned off a lot of karma along the way.
Finally, after becoming thoroughly frustrated by the process, I gave up. A week later David, the administrator of the McNab Facebook group, announced he was having puppies. He lived just a few hours from us. It seemed perfect.
Jasper was an experience of grief that we were completely unprepared for. Many times he told me telepathically that he missed David, his mother, and his father. I first heard that from him when he was just nine weeks old. He’d been with us for a week at that point. By the time he was 5 months old, it was clear to us that he was growing more and more unhappy in our home. There was an energetic misalignment we just could not rectify. We granted Jasper’s request, at David’s suggestion, and brought him back to his mama, daddy, brother, and the rest of the dogs there. We went home without him and mentally continued to try to make it work, to both force a relationship into being and also avoid what seemed inevitable, we were going to have to let go of him.
We returned to David’s a couple of weeks later, and it was clear, Jasper was not our dog. The signs, indications, and experiences are too many to enumerate. One month later he moved on to the perfect home for him. He’s got kids and older border collies to keep him in line and gets to compete as a frisbee dog where he often runs into one of his brothers. He also just got a little sister from his mom and dad’s most recent litter. I know the perfection in it all, and yet, I still feel twinges of sadness at times when I think of him and guilt that I re-homed a dog. I’d become “one of those people”, and in doing so had to confront my judgments and attachments about right and wrong, yet again.
The day after we learned that David had found the perfect home for Jasper we met Sookie. It was August of 2017, one year after we started the search for a new dog. As soon as we met Sookie, we knew she was our girl. The first time I engaged with her physically she literally threw her 4-month-old self into my arms and hugged me.
We were complete.
And yet, as I said earlier, those intentions we make, the ones that we feel so deeply, we continue to work on even when we think we’ve let go of them.
December 14, 2017 — I returned the next day to see Pepper as promised. There was one outdoor pen available and Kendra, one of the officers at the humane society, brought Pepper and me there so I could work with him a bit. My intention was to help him out so he could find the perfect family for him. Kendra left us. I sat on the dirt floor of the pen, dropped my head, and averted my eyes as Pepper circled and circled me. We did this for about 20 minutes. I snapped some photos and tried to give him treats. Every time I tried to engage he’d run away from me and then circle back around. I stood up and brushed off my pants, frustrated at my inability to make progress with him. I got the nudge to start jogging. Suddenly he was right next to me, running alongside me. When I stopped he put his front paws on my stomach and looked into my eyes, smiling. Contact! His sweetness, there always under the surface, was in full view. He took treats from me then and let me pet him. It was a very successful first meeting with a clearly both shy and very traumatized dog. I assumed abuse in his former home, based on how nervous he was on leash.
I went back the next day. There were no outside pens available so I asked if I could sit in his kennel with him. I went in and he ran to the back. I sat on the cold cement floor and tossed him treats. He inched his way forward. Eat a treat, run away, again and again. I was practically starting over with him. Finally, I was able to get him to come next to me. Like the prompt about jogging that I’d received the day before, this time I got that I needed to gently yet firmly grab him and put him in my lap. Now I am not recommending this as a way to socialize or connect with a scared dog. I want to be clear about this. If he were a fear-biter, I would have been in trouble. I circled his legs at the base of his body with my arms and put him in my lap. He weighed 43 pounds that day, so it was pretty easy to maneuver him. He looked up at me and then settled into my lap, letting out a big sigh. After relaxing for a bit he started grooming me, licking my hand, and then reached up and kissed my face.
“Dammit”, I thought as I fell completely in love with him in that moment.
And yet, my in-the-moment intent was clear. I would work with him, rehab him, and get him to the point where someone else could connect with him and adopt him. I posted about him on Facebook and in the Facebook McNab group, sure someone else would come along.
The next day I taught him to take a treat as I held it in between my teeth. Neither Zoey nor Sookie have ever taken a treat from me this way. I taught him a few other things as well. He was a very fast learner and really wanted to please. Every day, initially, I would have to reintroduce myself to him, and every day the reintroduction period shortened to the point where a few days later he just ran to the gate to see me when I arrived.
I brought Jon in to meet him. Rooty, a year later now, is fearful of most new men to him. Back then, as Pepper, he was terrified of any being aligned with a male body, no matter how many times he’d seen them. He ran to the gate, to greet me, saw Jon, and backed off. I opened the door to his kennel and we both went in. Jon was unsure of coming in, but I was confident that if he were sitting on the ground next to me, we’d be fine. We both crammed ourselves into his kennel and I coaxed Pepper/Rooty into my lap with treats. Eventually, he leaned over and gave Jon’s hand a sniff, and then let Jon pet him.
“Yay”!
I, and sometimes we, continued to visit and work with him. We walked him and took him into the agility area to play with him. He showed no interest in toys or balls (today he loves playing with them). He warmed up to Jon so much that he was able to spend time with him alone. It was becoming clear, however, that it was going to be really hard for someone to connect with him there as any time a new person went to his kennel, he’d still run to the back and hide. I spoke with the administrator of a rescue organization a few hours north. Central Coast Herding Dog Rescue works specifically with the very sensitive and intelligent herders that can be so hard for a shelter to place. She agreed to take him as long as the humane society approved it. They did. I was going to take him up that week.
January 8, 2018 — The rains came and the mountains slid. My route north to the rescue organization was shut down. The alternate route would have taken me on a journey that seemed way too arduous. I continued to visit and rehab him at the humane society. The thought that we should foster him started to creep into my consciousness. Zoey and Sookie were very curious about who it was I was spending time with away from home.
I brought Sookie in to meet him. At nine months old, she was still very playful. He was not sure what to do with all of her exuberance. He just stayed by my side as she romped about, but there were no obvious issues between them. I brought Zoey in the next day. They seemed to immediately recognize one another, and Pepper was more relaxed in Zoey’s presence than I’d ever seen him be. As the kennel staff brought him to the gate their tails were both wagging 100 miles a minute. Zoey pulled me towards him and covered his face with kisses as soon as she got to him. Now our Zoey can be a bit picky with who she loves. She’s not the best with meet-and-greets on leash, so her behavior with him was pretty remarkable.
“Dang.” I mean, “Yay!”
"We can’t have 3 dogs,” to Jon later that night.
“No,” he agreed
We’d been having this conversation now for almost a month.
I called the humane society and asked if I could bust Pepper/Rooty out for a night or even the weekend. I got permission.
January 19th, 2018 — We put Sookie in her crate and then Zoey in the car. We thought it would be easier on him if Zoey was with him. Rooty is the kind of dog that NEEDS other dogs. He’d be lost in this world if he only had humans to relate to. If you are a human who already has a dog, well, in Rooty’s estimation you are probably more trustworthy already. He jumped in the car right after Zoey.
One of our biggest concerns was how he’d be with The Smurf. I had cat tested him at the humane society and he’d shown no interest in the kitties. They, on the other hand, were very interested in him, which was a good sign, but I was still unclear. I kept him on leash in the house initially. The Smurf had been out back and wanted to come in. I held his leash as she walked by and he completely ignored her. Okay. Good.
He mostly slept that first day and night. He had no problem jumping into our bed. Zoey and Sookie were super happy to have him home with us. He spent most of his time in our bed and they spent most of their time on either side of him. I still tear up thinking about the sweetness and love they showed him that first week he was with us. They gave up most activities and just stayed in our bed with him.
That first night I awoke at 1 am to the softest snore. Rooty's snout was leaning against my crown chakra and his front left paw was wrapped around my shoulder, completely spooning me. Zoey had given up her spot next to me to the new guy. She was below him, and Sookie was in her usual spot at my feet. And we had a third dog. Clearly. He was family.
The next morning we hit a rough patch. We’d been up about an hour, Rooty, the girls, and I, and were out in the front yard. Jon had just gotten up and came out to see us. Rooty saw him coming towards him out the front door and was up and over our fence and down the block in an instant.
“Oh shit!” In my p.j.’s I grabbed a leash, and some treats, and ran out of the gate yelling at Jon to get in the car in case he really took off. I followed him up the street, gently coaxing him to me, thoughts of having to explain to the humane society how we lost him and berating myself for being a terrible dog guardian raced through my mind. He was having none of it and turned the corner. I stopped and took a breath. I sent him love and watched as he came to a standstill. He seemed to suddenly realize he had no idea where the heck he was or where he was going.
I gently said, “Come on”, as I struggled with the fact that he did not even know his own name. We didn’t even know his name yet, and “Pepper” meant nothing to him. He cautiously reversed course and headed suspiciously in my direction. I nabbed him, gave him a treat, and clipped his leash onto his collar. Jon pulled up in the car, Rooty heard his voice and slipped his damn collar. I was able to grab him by the scruff before he bolted again and asked Jon to leave. He drove home and I was able to get Rooty’s collar and leash back on and walk him home.
Back in the yard (and back in his body fully, fear-based reactions in check) he grinned at me. Jon was sitting on the step, no longer towering over him, and Rooty said, “Oh, that was you coming through the door earlier.” We kept him on a long leash in the yard for the first week we had him. He’s not tried to escape since.
About a month or so in with us we were walking one day. Rooty was staying right next to me as the girls were off scampering about. And suddenly I remembered. He’d been my dog, long ago, in Scotland. Almost 20 years ago, on one of our earliest dates, Jon had done some reiki on me. During that session, I had recalled a life in Scotland. In fact, the first memory I had was of being dragged through the streets of my Scottish town by my long, red hair and thrown in a cell. I was the town healer. There was a shift in power. The new ruler did not like me nor the fact that I knew what I knew about him and had me tortured and killed. Rooty was my dog in that life, not a McNab (they did not yet exist), but an ancestor of Alexander McNab’s collies.
In a year’s time, Rooty has progressed in leaps and bounds. He’s still anxious at times and unsure about new humans, especially men, but he loves all dogs especially his girls, as we call Zoey and Sookie. We are fairly certain that Rooty did not understand English when he came to us. It took him about nine months to really understand English words. Much of his training had to be done initially with a lot of body language, signs, and telepathy. Now I can say to him, “Hey Rooty go on and get in the bed”, or something of the like, and off he’ll go.
He is playful and loving and once he gets to know you, he’ll demand that you pet him by shoving his nose into your hand. He’s grooming Zoey right now as I type this.
It’s been one year, today, since Rooty came home with us. We are also celebrating his third birthday, since we have no way of knowing his actual birth date. And we have a McNab, after all.
Updated: Not long after publishing this story Rooty looked at us one day and we discovered a new name for him. Jon had been calling him Teddy Roosevelt Rootsman (we have many nicknames for all of our furry family members), and he seemed to really like being called Teddy.
So, Teddy, he has become.
