Princess Pepper T. Lincecum

She's 11 years old and looks it. Greying muzzle, warty, lumpy, wonky hips, but one doesn’t really see all that. One sees that happy tail, that beautiful face reaching up for touch, and the carefree body wiggle when she spots pretty much anyone.

                 She wasn’t that open when she came to live at my house. It’s been a new and wondrous adventure for all of us; myself, my two little guys - Munchie and Mutley, also from Give a Dog a Bone - and her especially. After having led an unbelievably barren life for most of her 11 years, moving into a home with furniture, music, television, other people, doggie beds and water bowls everywhere, and in particular, enough food, she’s well on her way to being a regular dog. All new to her.

                 She eats regularly, something else new, and when she first began to recognize doggie meal preparation indicators, my heart stung at the sight of her drool on the floor. She was so very anxious. After around three months, she still gets a bit worried around meal time, but her progression from high level anxiety to almost mere nervousness is so gratifying.

           She rearranges the dog beds frequently, and curls up in the smallest of beds. She hops in pleasure and heads for the front door when she spies her leash in my hand. She is able to settle now, unlike when she first moved in, unable to relax.       
She loves riding in the car. She loves going on walks.  Her favorite place to go turned out to be Bernal Hill, as soon as she discovered the joy of trolling for gophers. If staring into holes on the hill for long periods of time was an Olympic event, the Princess would win the gold medal hands down.                

            She’s slowed down some, my theory being that she finally feels safe, and I think that if she spoke English, she would now be able to define the word “home”. She IS safe, she is cherished, the boys are comfortable around her, and she with them. I do not allow her to make mistakes with them. We have had, of course, some “faux paws”, not at all unexpected, but our learning curve continually steadies.

            When we go upstairs at night, she hums softly as I kneel and tuck her into her bed, covers up to her neck. Bedtime rituals have developed. Pepper sleeps on two soft beds, with a lovely heavy quilt covering her.                                                                   

         I feel almost compelled to photograph her. I have to document that she has a life, that she is a good weight now. Not just for me, but for her shelter family, who have greatly loved and cared for her. Each of us remembers being stricken by our first sight of her, every rib visible, her bony skull, her graying muzzle.                                                                                                    We’re well aware that Pepper’s life, her life now, is to be recognized and cheered. I don’t need to say why that is so. Soon she’ll just be a regular dog. I can’t think of anything better.

 For more on Pepper and from whence she hailed:                   

 read incorrigible animal lover Eileen Mitchell's column in the San Francisco Chronicle/SFGate at http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgif=/c/a/2010/12/29/DDAV1GUCSQ.DTL

              "Give a Dog a Bone cares for animals in custody"

  (Please note Pepper’s unique necklace.
     It’s made of 2010 World Series tix.
        The Princess is a diehard SF Giants fan.
            She looooves Orange Fridays in particular)  
 - AND -  from the January 2011 issue of the Bay Woof:
http://baywoof.com/1101.HappyTails.shtml.
    (scroll down Happy Tails for Princess Pepper T. Lincecum )

Almost 300 Days

That’s how long Pepper was at the shelter, in the Give a Dog a Bone program. Her owner took her home yesterday. And, yet, this is not a happy ending.

Pepper came into the shelter as a cruelty case. The four-year old female pit bull had come in looking like a skeleton. She was seized by Animal Care & Control due to her awful physical condition. Pepper had been starved, that was obvious. Who knew what seemed like a cut-and-dried case of animal cruelty would be anything but.

As a GADAB volunteer, I don’t know the details of every dog’s story. That is on purpose. But, I hear bits and pieces, and what I don’t hear, I can guess. I can fill in the blanks. A starving dog. An owner charged. The dog is taken away from the owner.

Yet, the last part never happened. This story didn’t end that way. And I still don’t understand why.

The owner fought the charge. While Pepper stayed in the shelter, in a kennel, her owner walked free for 10 months. She had to appear at court a few times, while Pepper served the entire sentence behind bars. Why? Why would someone who had starved their dog fight to get her back? And why would ANY judge who saw the photographic evidence ever let them succeed?

I saw the photo. I wouldn’t give the owner a goldfish. If it were up to me, the owner would never, ever be allowed to have an animal again. What is wrong with our legal system? A story was laid out for them, with photos and testimony. A living creature was mistreated. Starved. And the person responsible was not held accountable. For 10 months, Animal Care & Control fed, loved, trained, and took care of Pepper. And now the owner was getting her back, healthy. With even a little extra weight on her. How could it be that this person gets back the dog they starved? How can that be right?

The case was never heard. ACC lost the motion to suppress due to illegal entry. Apparently a starving dog is not an "emergency"... So, tell me, judge, what would be an emergency? A dead dog? Explain that to me.

The only good side I can think of in this case is that we all got to be friends with Pepper. Smart and funny Pepper. We took her out to the park, and Corinne was able to spend time with her in the GADAB office. We did so much to keep Pepper sane and sound. She was first to go out. She had a special place in the office where she could enjoy a kong on a cushioned bed. She learned so many things, and made so many friends. The perfect girl, we called her. I especially loved the way she trotted when out for a walk. She always trotted, like she had somewhere to go.

Like Corinne says--"it's pretty amazing to shelter a dog for 10 months and see her leave as temperamentally sound as when she came in, if not better socialized, more mentally stimulated, very playful, and with some new and fun tricks up her sleeve."

Oh, Pepper, big girl, you will be missed.

And, because we are helpless at this point, I am trying to think positive thoughts for Pepper. Maybe her owner learned something. Maybe her owner will realize she can’t handle the responsibility and we can help Pepper find another home. Maybe…

Yesterday I did a google search for “animal law.” Am I too old to go to law school? Because, if the case of Pepper came across my desk, you better believe I wouldn’t sleep until the roles were reversed. The human behind bars. The dog, free to go.