Jonny Be Good

This post has been sitting in my drafts folder for almost a year. And today I am finally doing something about it.

It was late summer 2009. I was at Animal Care & Control in Brooklyn playing God for the day. I had just started rescuing and fostering for United Action for Animals, a friend’s New York City-based animal welfare group.

I walked past his cage, we locked eyes and I fell in love. His name was Jonny. He was the victim of an almost-overnight ban on pitbulls in New York City Public Housing Authority buildings (otherwise known as “the projects.”) Jonny was handsome, goofy and VERY strong. My dog Ella had just gotten out of being in casts though, and so it was imperative to pull a pit who would NOT want to rough house with her. Jonny didn’t make the cut.

Shortly after I walked away from being Jonny’s ticket out of a death sentence, I met a young man in my neighborhood who told me he wanted a dog like Ella. I took him to the shelter to meet the pitbull I was so drawn to and they hit it off. Because space and time is of the essence when saving an animal from a high-kill shelter, Jonny was adopted out to this man through my friend’s organization.

I always had a bad feeling about the adoption for many reasons that I can’t detail here. But at the same time, I take full responsibility for adopting Jonny out to the wrong home.

I was almost 5 months pregnant when we got the dreaded phone call from AC&C. Jonny had been picked up as a stray. He was emaciated and throwing up at the shelter. They rushed him to the hospital where he had surgery to remove objects that were obstructing his stomach and keeping him from digesting food.

Emaciated Jonny recovering in our Brooklyn apartment.

A couple of days later we picked Jonny up from the hospital, but we were not in a position at the time to do a long-term foster. Thanks to my amazing mother-in-law, she offered to take Jonny up to her home in Connecticut.

Days later while she was walking with him off leash through her secluded, neighborhood lakeside community, Jonny met the woman who would give him his third and final home.

The couple were from New Jersey and spent weekends at their house on the lake in Connecticut. Their dog had died the previous year and the wife was about to retire. When she saw Jonny and learned from my MIL that he needed a forever home, she called it fate.

I often think back to mine and Jonny’s first-chance meeting. How we locked eyes and something inside of me surged. I think about what his life might have been like with the young man, how he was loved but not properly cared for. I remember how hard I cried when we picked him up from the hospital. I think about how I stroked him and whispered “sorry” into his ears over and over and over again. I think about my petite and serene MIL with this massive pitbull, and how grateful I am that she extended her home to such a powerful dog.

He was the dog I wanted to save but couldn’t, and then ultimately did.

Jonny, now called Sunny, at home in Conneticut.