If Marcie had been a cartoon-cat, instead of a dog from a breed known for its skill in tracking bear, wild boar and mountain lion, she would have been the character hanging upside down, claws in the sheetrock, fur sticking straight out like she had stuck her tongue in an electrical outlet.

Purchased from a canine rescue shelter at age 18 months, Marcie was to help lift our Australian Shepherd (and us) from the depression of loosing our regal German Shepherd to cancer. She was described as "a little skittish." We thought a few days, maybe a week, in her new surroundings would be sufficient time for her to regain her confidence.

After three weeks went by with no improvement, we recontacted the shelter foster parent. Our fears were confirmed: the Plott hound named Marcie had been abused so badly by adoptive parents that her spirit had been not just broken; it had been crushed. Marcie feared everything: the television set, a sack of groceries, the click of fingernail clippers, even an offer of food from our hands.

We considered taking her back to the shelter, but the thought of her being rejected once more seemed so cruel, we concluded that return was not an option.

Her biggest helper was the Aussie. Anxious to have a canine partner again, the Aussie quickly assumed the Alpha role and took charge of the relationship. Marcie gladly accepted the Beta role, perhaps feeling that associating with another canine was not nearly as dangerous as associating with people. At first, they shared their water, then food, and finally, play. We began to see a hint of confidence in Marcie's carriage. Her head came up, her tail wagged, and after two months, she barked for the first time since coming to live with us.

Confident that there was hope, my wife attached separate leashes to Marcie and the Aussie and started for a walk. Everything was great until a neighborhood cat ran across the path. Instantly, the Aussie was in pursuit, towing Marcie and my wife behind. The cat made it to the top of a fence, bordered by a concrete-lined ditch about 18 inches deep and a foot across. The Aussie didn't see the ditch and went in head-first, her hind legs and tailless rump sticking helplessly in the air. My wife fell and yelled a loud expletive. It was too much for Marcie. She headed north, red leash flying. A neighborhood teenager extricated the Aussie from the ditch and helped my wife to her feet. After making sure neither she nor the Aussie was injured, my wife tried to figure out how to retrieve Marcie, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Marcie was eventually found several blocks away. A neighbor had seen her fly across a very busy street and took both my wife and the Aussie to the general area where she was last seen. Their coming after her seemed to be a turning point. Slowly, pursuit of back yard squirrels became her "job." Her vocabulary increased from two or three basic words to a dozen. At last, after six months, Marcie pranced, played and interacted with her new family with happiness and unabashed joy. She walked proudly and let her playfulness and sheer love of running become a major part of her personality.

One morning, Marcie showed me she was not only happy and alert, but intelligent and brave as well. She and the Aussie were in the back yard for their morning romp. After about a half hour, Marcie, who seldom barked, was at the back door barking intently. There was urgency in the rhythm and volume of her barking. When I opened the door, she backed away, so I followed. I heard what sounded like heavy rain, but the deck was dry. Marcie ran from the deck, and I continued to follow. Looking through the fence, I saw that a sprinkler head in my neighbor's yard had malfunctioned, spewing water high in the air and coming down noisily on the metal roof of their storage shed. Not really heroic, perhaps, but Marcie hadn't run from the sudden, loud sound. She confronted the noise, summoned help from a person she now trusted and returned to the source of the challenge instead of letting her fear force her to hide from it.

Occasionally, Marcie will still cower from an unexpected noise or sight. If a package is placed on the floor, she'll hesitate before coming into the room. She still hasn't quite figured out the ceiling fan. But for a dog who once feared the sound of fingernail clippers, Marcie has come around 180 degrees.

Duane has been writing about dogs for several years, with over a dozen canine articles and short stories to his credit in both the US and UK. His professional background is insurance claims and underwriting administration, plus 14 years in law enforcement. He currently serves as chief underwriter and manager for a major insurance company. Duane has a fun Web site www.okpix.com with pictures of people and pets having fun in around Edmond and Oklahoma City.
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