Some dogs ain’t meant to be tamed…

But he sure loved like he was.

Sherman came to stay with us in February 2018 as a foster pup, just until he could find a permanent home. We fell in love with him and his sweetness, though, and we “foster failed” and adopted him shortly thereafter.

At first, he did fine at the vet and was sweet to, if cautious of, folks who came by the house. It was an adjustment from his wild, early days, but it was fine. He did well on walks, learned to fetch better than any dog I’ve ever known, he let people pet him while we were out and about, and everything seemed…well, fine.

After a month or two, he started to show aggression towards anyone who wasn’t me or Shawn. Visits to the vet became a battle, he had to be kenneled anytime someone came over, he had terrible outbursts, he lunged at people and while he never bit down, he did rip some clothes, and it was not a good deal. And yet the whole time, he was just the sweetest, snuggliest guy to us, so loving and trusting.

We tried trainers and medicine and training collars and everything we could, but nothing seemed to help the issue much. We poured love over him and tried to make him feel safe and secure, in hopes he would get better. Unfortunately, he did not.

Then on Tuesday, he was in our yard, his collar snapped and a teeny, tiny dog that has roamed our neighborhood unattended for years, was nearby. Sherman got to him and killed him. I saw the whole thing happen and I shredded my voice screaming at the top of my lungs for him to stop. But by the time I reached them it was all over, and Sherman was wagging his tail and smiling, just happy as could be, thinking it was all a game. I picked Sherman up and carried him home, and when I saw the blood on my arms, it hit me how serious all this was.

I talked to all the rescues and all the experts and several vets, and they all confirmed what I had already suspected: that Sherman would likely not get better, he was dangerous, and with rehoming not an option, I really only had one choice.

So for the second time in 17 short months, we took that long, last trip to the vet. But this time, with our physically healthy little bear cub, Sherman. Losing my long term pal, Benson, 17 months ago was tough. This time it was excruciating. And while everyone told me this was the right choice, I felt profoundly horrible and I just kept stroking him and telling him I loved him and that I was so, so sorry until it was all over.

I don’t know why I’m even sharing all this, I just had to get it out I guess. And maybe there are other people who have struggled or are struggling with problem animals who can be reminded that they aren’t alone and that sometimes, you have to love your furry companion enough to do the very painful but very necessary thing, both for them and for our community.

So Rest in Peace, my sweet, baby bear Sherman. No more muzzles or kennels, no more fear or angry voices. I love you, and I hope there are great, big, open fields and lots of rabbits wherever you are.