People claim the dog cries “human-like.”
Rain, a German Shepherd noted for sobbing because he cries every time someone approaches him for aid, has touched many people. A story that also demonstrates how memories of abuse may mentally scar an animal and entirely affect its perspective on the world.
Traumatized dogs no longer perceive the world as a place where they may be joyful and loved; instead, everything has darkened for them, scaring and terrifying them. Furthermore, they no longer trust males and see little hope for a better life.
Rain, the German Shepherd dog who cries as you approach him.
The dog had been hiding beneath a van for several days, clinging to the wall behind the automobile for fear of being seen by someone. He couldn’t stop himself from shivering violently. So the locals decided to take action.
The animal rights charity “Hope For Paws” was notified by the neighbors. Volunteers then arrived to assist the dog. They attempted to approach him by showing him a burger, believing that the meal would pique his interest. Rain, on the other hand, was frozen in fear.
The German Shepherd then began to scream heartbreakingly loudly. The dog was attempting to persuade the rescuers to go since he does not trust them. They realized it would be difficult to help this sick dog. Loreta, one of the rescuers, recognized the dog’s difficult background.
It’s difficult to picture the type of abuse this dog must have received. Rescuers have never previously heard an animal wail like this. They were in terrible need. Rain crept out from beneath the car to hide in an even tighter location, making things much worse. He desired to establish separation.
On the bright side, the rescue crew placed a net on one side, while Loreta stood on the other, attempting to attract Rain’s attention. And it finally worked! The dog was apprehended, but he began wailing again and couldn’t stop since he was terrified of the scenario. He was expecting the worst.
Rain stopped crying and eventually calmed down after being taken to a veterinarian clinic for a health check, and seeing that no one wanted to hurt him, the dog was swiftly transported to a veterinary clinic for a health check. He eventually learnt to cope with his trauma. In addition, the dog was improving with each passing day.
Rain grew friendly and was able to find a temporary foster family until he could find a permanent home. He is now known as “Sassy Pants Dunbar,” which suits his wonderful attitude.
This German Shepherd had a joyful ending, which we hope will continue in perpetuity.
The pet I’ll never forget: Ella the puppy threw up on me, snubbed me and after 10 years decided to love me
Mum, Dad, my brother Michael: everyone in the family got more affection from our ridgeback-staffie cross. And guess whose bed she used to poo on…
I think the tone was set when Ella threw up over me on the way back from the Dogs Trust. She was three months old, rolling around on the back seat between me and my twin brother, Michael (we’d just turned seven), and wasn’t enjoying her first trip in a car. She could have been sick anywhere – over the seat, over the floor – but for some reason she decided to climb on to me first.
It was the start of a beautiful but strangely one-sided friendship. Ella, a ridgeback-staffie cross, was the perfect dog: playful, energetic, naughty and tolerant. She would let us poke and prod her without complaint, turn her ears inside-out or dress her up in T-shirts or the thick woollen poncho my Greek Cypriot grandma knitted her for the British winter. And she was endlessly loving, at least to the other members of the family. Me? Too often it was as if I didn’t exist. If Michael and I were sitting on the sofa, she’d bound up to him. If I came home after a day out with my dad, he was the one she’d jump at. If I tried to take her for a walk by myself, she’d drag her feet and insist that I fetch my brother.
To add insult to injury, about once a year she would do a poo in the house. Not just anywhere, though: she’d climb the stairs to my room and leave it in a neat pile on top of my bed.
I can’t pretend I wasn’t offended by Ella’s attitude – I loved her just as much as anyone. But it took me a while to realise that in her eyes we were both bitches fighting for our place in the pack. I read that dogs are 98.8% wolf, even yappy little chihuahuas. Ella was a definite she-wolf and my mother (she who opened the tin of dog food every night) was the undisputed alpha female. Ella could handle that fact, but she didn’t want to be the omega female. That was me.
Working out the reasons for Ella’s lack of sisterhood, understanding that her indifference was atavistic and not just casual, didn’t make me any less jealous of my brother, who always took great pleasure in the fact that Ella seemed to prefer him. But I resigned myself to the situation. And then one day (happy ending, anyone?) everything changed. I must have been 16 or 17, we’d been away for a fortnight in France, and when we got back it was me she ran up to first, whining and twisting with pleasure at seeing me again. After that it was like all those years of competition had never happened. We were best friends for ever, or at least for the couple of years she had left. Ella finally loved me.
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