By Joann "Jo" Farnham Magee
It all started in early January 2015 when I found a Great Dane lying in a ditch near our home. As I approached him, he raised his head and hobbled to his feet. He didn’t immediately run away, but he made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with me. As I spoke softly to him he started to walk off, and that is when I noticed his leg wound, which was visibly open down to the bone. As I stood watching, he ran into the woods, where he had apparently been living for quite some time given his deteriorating condition. He was so thin and could not put any weight on the wounded leg. The next week or two I saw very little of him. He would go to our pond to drink and then run back into the woods, not giving anyone a chance to get close. My neighbor said that he thought the Dane had been dropped off, as no one in our area had a rental cabin or a large dog—and he has lived in the same place for over fifty years and would know. Mid January we had a light snowfall, and my husband and I went walking into the woods, following the Dane’s tracks in the snow. We were able to see all of his trails, which seemed to just circle around with no definite stopping place.
Lessons in Patience
In early February, while on a walk, I found the Great Dane’s
hideout—his base camp area, which happened to be in the next pasture from our
home. Since my first sighting of him I always carried warm hot dogs in my
pockets whenever I went walking, for I never knew when I would come upon him. I
had at this point named him Ivan, for it seemed like a strong name to me, and
for him to survive in the freezing winter without food or a warm shelter was a
definite sign of strength.
Initially Ivan would appear, see me, then run away back into the
woods. I was so tempted to just take him his food and leave, but I thought
better of it, as I wanted him to associate food with me, to hear the sound of
the can of food opening, to hear my calling his name and know I meant him no
harm. Day in and day out I went, morning and night, regardless of the weather,
to bring him food. His leg wound looked terrible, but it was no longer open to
the bone. To aid in his healing I started putting an antibiotic in his food
bowl inside hot-dog pieces.
Hot Dogs and Freezing Cold
After having Ivan see me each time he came to eat and my
leaving trails of hot dogs and chicken that brought him ever closer to me, I
was thrilled to see him actually leave the shelter of the wood line and come
closer. I neither made any sudden moves nor spoke to him as he approached. I
wanted him to know that I would not harm him in any way or make any demands on
him.
The owners of the property where Ivan was hanging out were soon to be there camping, which I knew would scare Ivan away, so for the next two weeks, I kept moving Ivan’s food bowl closer to our pasture and away from the area where the owners would be camping. Ivan managed to find his bowl each day and gobbled down his food. A friend gave us a large crate to put in the field so we could make a shelter for Ivan to get out of the wind, rain and cold.
Getting Closer
By the second week of March, Ivan felt comfortable enough
with my presence and me hanging around, that I started talking to him,
sometimes singing (which I found may have been the cause for him not to appear
for two days). I wanted him to get used to me and my voice.
After a lot of
coaxing and my gentle voice, he did come up to me and gently took a piece of
hot dog out of my hand, but he would immediately cringe and back away,
sometimes growling or barking. He would whine while approaching as if to ask me
not to hurt him if he came closer, but in no way was he ready to trust me
completely. I did not attempt to touch him, as I think that would have taken us
back several steps. Both morning and evening meals I would see Ivan go into the crate to grab pieces of hot dogs and chicken I had put inside, but he would not use it as a shelter. He would go back into the woods almost immediately after eating. Then one day toward the third week in March he came and sat beside me and nudged my pockets, as he could smell the hot dogs I had buried in there. I told him I was going to pet him, and although he cringed when he saw my hand, he allowed me to pet him for several minutes. I spoke softly to him and continued for about the next half hour. It was almost dark by then, and I told him I needed to go home and that I would see him tomorrow.
A T-bone Steak
March was a very cold month for anyone to be out sitting in
a pasture—or for finding shelter if they were a stray dog. The temperatures
ranged from zero to 17 degrees, with freezing rain and snow hitting my face
as I waited and waited for Ivan to appear. My husband kept texting me to see if
I was okay and asking how much longer I was going to wait. I think at one time
I had waited up to six hours for Ivan to make an appearance as I sat freezing
on the little stool I carried with me. Just as I was about to leave and trudge
home, feeling totally defeated, he would come out of the woods and bark at me,
which I assumed was him either saying “Hello” or “Are you still here?”
The next morning, as I fixed his food bowl, he came to eat,
and then just started barking at me loudly and lunging at the same time. This
went on for about 40 minutes nonstop. My husband heard him from our house and
was worried that I was in danger. I assured him I was fine and that Ivan just
had a lot to say. While Ivan was barking at me I would just gently say, “I
know, it’s terrible what someone did to you. I would never hurt you.” He was so
loud that my pet heifer, Breaker, came running across the pasture to see if I
was all right. I had brought Ivan a T-bone steak bone, and after he had
finished barking I gave it to him. He immediately carried it to a spot near the
fence and devoured it. Breaker, along with some of the younger bulls and
heifers who had joined her, stood watch over him to make sure I was okay.
A Miracle—and a Setback
On March 20, about three months after seeing Ivan for the
first time in the ditch, the most miraculous thing happened. I was putting
Ivan’s food in his dish and I called for him, saying, “Ivan, breakfast!” and he
immediately came loping out of the woods, whining, with his tail up and
wagging. He started eating while I still had my hand in his food dish stirring
the combination of kibble, hot dogs, chicken, and antibiotics. After he was
finished he came to sit beside me, and after a few minutes I asked if he wanted
to walk with me a bit. I got up and started walking away. I looked back, and
Ivan was following me. I walked along the creek and around into the pasture
with Ivan following behind me. I went back to our feeding spot, collected my
things, and said, “I am going home now. Do you want to come with me?” and off I
went. Ivan was right by my side, and I would stop every few feet to hug him and
tell him what a good boy he was. We made it all the way home, but when we got
into our yard, Ivan panicked and ran off. Thinking I had moved too fast and
expected too much, I was devastated. To watch Ivan run back into the woods
broke my heart.
The following day was another huge progress report. At 7:30 a.m., I went as usual to feed Ivan, and after a great bonding experience he again followed me home. He sat with me outside, and when my husband opened the door to come outside, Ivan was very protective of me and barked and lunged at him. I told my husband to go and get a warm hot dog and come out slowly and offer it to Ivan, which he did with great success. We then opened both doors of our house, and Ivan went in one and came out the other about ten times, until he felt certain he was not going to be trapped. Within 20 minutes Ivan was stretched out on our living room floor.
Two Long Days
That evening I took Ivan’s dinner at the normal time and
there was no sign of him. After sitting until dusk, I again walked home dejected
and feeling guilty. I could not wait for morning to arrive. I was up and out by
daybreak with Ivan’s food. It had rained all night and was extremely foggy, and
a torrential rain was still coming down, with heavy wind and freezing
temperatures. I sat and waited. And waited. No sign of Ivan. I cried
hysterically, texting my husband, saying I had blown it, that it was all for
nothing, that I had totally blown Ivan’s trust. My husband told me that everything
would be fine, to be patient, to not give up.
I sat in the freezing rain for five
unending hours of crying, feeling defeated, feeling devastated for Ivan,
feeling like a failure, and feeling like a total jerk but knowing I would not
go home until I absolutely had to when it got too dark. As I sat there with my
head bent to keep the rain and wind out, I heard a whine, and I look up and
Ivan is coming through the woods to me. This time, instead of going immediately
to his food dish he comes to me and pushes into me. I hug him and cry some
more. After he eats, I say, “Let’s go home, Ivan,” and he follows me. We go
inside, and Ivan immediately makes himself at home. He lets me give him a bath,
as he is covered with pine tar and caked mud. He lets me towel him off, and
then we snuggle on the sofa. My heart is swelling for the amount of courage it took
for Ivan to make the ultimate sacrifice to trust me.
Love and Gratitude
Every day Ivan was with us was one of great joy and love. He
went everywhere with me and for a couple weeks would never leave my side. If I
got up to leave the room he was there with me every single time. He loved
riding in the car, and he loved going to Home Depot every day on our way to
work. He loved walking and did beautifully on a leash. He was my “Baby Boy.” Ivan
had many trials and tribulations to overcome. Our visit to the vet found he had
arthritis, a degenerative disease in his hind legs which would eventually
paralyze him, and several other small issues.
He was almost ten years old,
which is amazing, as most Great Danes have a life span of six to eight years.
His wound was inoperable, as it had been too long since the initial
injury, so it had to heal from the inside out, which takes a long time. Ivan
also had to have a cancerous growth removed from his lip, which was benign. He
was also bitten by some sort of snake in August, and the bite became infected and had to
be lanced. The poor guy just couldn’t catch a break.
His bad leg started to
swell in October, and he began limping badly, some days being much worse than others.
We took him to the vet for an X-ray and received the worst news ever. The X-ray
showed Ivan’s leg was riddled with a very aggressive bone cancer, leaving very
little bone in his leg. The vet said an aggressive cancer at this stage had
undoubtedly metastasized into his lungs, and at best Ivan had only a couple of
months remaining and that those months would be spent in excruciating pain. The remaining bone was so brittle and thin
that his leg could fracture in any given second, so the vet strongly suggested
we get Ivan out of pain.
We made the decision to have Ivan put down right then
and there, which was not an easy decision to make, yet at the same time it was
the easiest decision to make. Ivan had suffered so much already before I found
him. We had a wonderful seven months with him, during which he taught us so much
and gave us so much love. We could not make him suffer any longer.
Ivan passed
away with his head in my lap and my love for him bursting through every fiber
of my being. It was an absolute honor and a once-in-a-lifetime experience to
have had the opportunity to go on this journey with Ivan, and I will forever be
grateful for it and for Ivan.
# # #
Joann Farnham Magee is a native Vermonter who married her high-school sweetheart—she and Ridge will celebrate 46 years together in November 2016. Jo is a pencil artist, an LP vinyl-record collector, a mother, a grandmother, a Harry Potter fan, an avid reader, and a golfer. She loves to travel and to go back “home” to Randolph, Vermont.
# # #
Joann sent me many photos of Ivan, spanning their entire journey together—more than I could fit into a blog post. So I put them into a slideshow, and Joann did a voiceover. I think my favorite image is of the two of them fishing in a nearby pond. —Sara Tucker
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