In this week's issue, here's what we are sniffing out

• It's Adopt a Senior Pet Month. Senior dogs don’t always present well in shelters, so it’s important to learn to think beyond the kennel.

• Meet Radar, Rose, and Esther. Three of our shelter seniors: a stray whose file said he had months, a sick old girl who found her way home to the fireplace, and a shut-down hunting dog who became our biggest goofball.

• Give an old dog a chance to feel safe. How to see who she really is before you decide, plus a call for your own senior adoption stories.

A senior dog in a shelter is living through the hardest weeks of her life. Grief for a lost home and family, on top of the stress of the shelter, can make her look older, sicker, and more depressed than she really is. Old dogs are tougher than they look, though, and a safe home and a little patience can bring them back to joy. For Adopt a Senior Pet Month, here are three of ours who came out of shelters looking down-and-out. Two had years left that nobody expected, and one had two weeks, which she spent warm, safe, and loved.

Radar

I first saw Radar on Nextdoor, in a post about a little stray someone had found in Denver in December. He was matted, caked with dirt, and so worn out that he looked older in that photo than he did after a year with us. The next photo I saw was from the shelter's meeting room, the day my husband went to meet him (I was out of town). Radar was cleaner by then, but still exhausted and a matted mess. My husband sat down on the floor, and Radar crawled into his lap and stayed there while the shelter vet read through his file. He had been returned once at 12 for being "vicious," and when the shelter reached his owners this time, they said they didn't want him back. He was 16, his file was stamped everywhere for euthanasia, and on paper he was a dog with no time left and a bad reputation. The shelter actually told us that if we didn't personally adopt him, they would euthanize versus listing him for adoption. They thought he might live a few months more.

Radar turned out to be the sweetest old dog, and it was obvious how happy and grateful he was to have a safe home. He settled in right away. Definitely not vicious, but he did have a few rules: Nobody handled his mouth, whether for brushing his four remaining teeth, giving meds, or a mouth exam; and he was very bossy with Uma, our senior who was three times his size. He would bark ferociously at the air around her, reaching only up to her elbow. Uma would look away, wait out his little tantrum, and calmly walk off once he was done. 30 minutes later he'd be pressed up against her sharing her bed to sleep, ignoring his own bed nearby.

Our third little senior, Groot, got the opposite treatment - she was the unrequited love of his life. Radar worshipped her with every ounce of his soul. He followed her from room to room, wagged his tail whenever she came near, and curled up against her every chance he got, and as far as we could tell, she never knew he was alive. If he came looking for her while she was busy running around the house doing Grooty things, she didn't miss a beat. She'd just hop right over him and keep going. To Radar, there was never a more perfect dog. If they'd been schoolmates, he'd have been pulling her hair and leaving notes in her locker.

When we first got him, Radar never wanted to be held. Toward the end of his life he grew to love it, really relaxing in our arms, though he never enjoyed being fawned over, and he didn't snuggle much on the couch with us. He usually preferred his own spot nearby. The week before he died, I was recovering from a medical procedure, and in the only time I can remember, he came over on his own and draped himself across my legs. I didn't know he was near the end. Looking back now, I think he was telling me thank you, that he loved me, and that he was grateful for his time with us. A few days later he had heart complications, and we said goodbye. The shelter had given him three months at most, and he gave us three years and memories for a lifetime.

Rose

Rose was the one who really was sick, and I could see it in her shelter photo. She was posed in a bandanna in front of a Thanksgiving display, clearly photographed by a professional volunteer, and she looked beautiful. But her eyes were stressed and her tongue was pale. It was the middle of COVID, and her owner had died with no backup plan for her dogs (I wrote about making that plan for your own pets here). All four of her dogs ended up at the shelter. Blanche, Dorothy, and Sophia were adopted. Rose, at 14, was the oldest, and she was the one left behind.

I called the shelter vet before I made the drive. Rose was anemic, which isn't normal for a dog unless something serious is going on, and she wasn't eating well and was tired all the time. I suspected cancer, but had no way of knowing. I drove from Denver to Columbus, Ohio, to bring her home anyway.

Rose fit into our home from the very first minute. Uma always had a little leash aggression, so I was nervous when the two of them met on neutral ground, both on leash. Rose gave her a few quick sniffs and then simply started walking beside her, and the two of them went along side by side as if they'd been friends forever. At home, Rose found the snuggler ball bed by the fireplace and settled into it like a pro. Maybe she'd had a setup like that in her old home. I like to think that's how she knew she was home again.

For two weeks she ate a little, enjoyed her walks, and was so patient and loving with everything we did for her. It was obvious how grateful she was for a warm, soft bed, a quiet house, and a safe life. Then one day while I was at work, she collapsed in the yard. My husband carried her inside and called me. I came home, looked her over, and called the hospice service. I'd already taken Rose to meet the veterinarian when we got back to Denver, so I knew what to look for, and we were able to let her go quickly and peacefully, without suffering. We put her to sleep in her favorite spot by the fire.

Esther

I met Esther at a shelter on Kauai, listed as "approximately 10 or 11," and she looked far older than every dog around her. Her eyes were sad and resigned, with no life in them. She held her head low and stood at the front of the run facing out, while the dogs in the run with her jumped and played around her. I watched one of them land on her head, and she didn't even react. She was a shell of a dog. She'd been "bred" to hunt pigs and had been in a few unkind homes before the shelter.

A staff member who took her on a field trip called her the most well-behaved dog ever, but I suspected she was simply shut down. A trainer I respected warned me that some dogs with that much trauma never come back from it.

About two months in, Esther started struggling. She went through a very brief phase of snapping when she was scared. She never bit anyone (and then the trainer's help was pivotal), but that was when I knew she was coming out of her shell. She finally realized she was safe enough to react to things that scared her. Then she started testing boundaries. She wasn't fully housebroken yet, so I'd gate her in the kitchen, and one day I came home to find the gate still in place and Esther in the living room. She had jumped onto the counter, eaten an entire bag of treats, and jumped down the other side. After that day, I knew she was going to be just fine. She started snuggling with Uma for comfort, and as she blossomed, she made us laugh every single day. She knew it, too, and she loved it.

I was afraid Esther would hate hiking, one of our favorite things to do. Instead, she came alive on the trails. As a hunting dog, she had likely lived outside more than in a house, so at home Uma was the teacher and Esther watched her for every cue. In the woods, the roles flipped. Esther knew exactly what she was doing out there, and Uma followed her.

I'll never forget one of the monthly hikes our local humane society hosted for families and their dogs. Lots of little dogs showed up dressed for the occasion in tutus and sparkly outfits. Esther was huge next to them, and she was the only one in the group who knew the woods. About five minutes in, she caught a scent off the trail, started baying, and charged straight up the hill. Every little dog in a tutu took off after her, because whatever Esther had found, they wanted in. For one hilarious minute, a parade of muddy tutus and sweaters was charging up the hill behind Esther, who was baying her head off, with their very surprised owners scrambling right behind them. It was quintessential Esther, the same goofball who knocked things over, bounced around the house, and never met a rule she didn't want to break.

Esther lived eight years with us, when one or two was the most anyone expected. She was so very happy and fully embraced every joy up to her last day - she was one of the biggest goofballs I've ever met in a dog.

Standing at the kennel

I know I'm not a typical adopter. I'm also the person who picks the Charlie Brown Christmas tree over the tall, straight, showy one. I don't wander through shelters, because I'll lose sleep over a face I had to leave behind. I said yes to Radar because of one sad photo on Nextdoor and a shelter that told us he'd be put to sleep if we didn't take him. When I looked at Esther in that run, my heart cried for her, and even if she had never come out of her shell, giving her a safe, comfortable place to live would have been enough for me. I don't expect most people to feel that way. I know it's unusual.

What I do want you to know is how an old dog ends up looking the way those three did. Old dogs end up in shelters for whatever reason; death, family losing interest, expensive medical care. Then the noise, fear, and chaos of the shelter runs shut them down even further, and by the time an adopter walks by, they look like there's no hope. If an old dog catches your eye, ask to take her somewhere away from the runs: a quiet room, a walk outside, or a day trip or short foster stay if the shelter offers one. Give her a chance to show you who she is when she feels safe.

Ask the staff where she came from, what her old home was like, and what they've seen from her outside the run. Think through what special care she might need, and whether her temperament fits with any pets you already have. If she might be sick, let your own vet weigh in. Those answers will tell you far more than the face in the kennel, and they'll help you decide whether you're the right home for her.

Show me your old dog

If you've adopted a senior, I'd love to feature them. Reply to this email by Sunday, November 22, with a photo, their name, how old they were when they came home, and one sentence about them. I'll share as many as I can in a reader issue over Thanksgiving weekend.

🐶 Sniffing Out Senior Dog News 📰

• A week away from the kennel makes a real difference. A Virginia Tech-led study found that shelter dogs who spent a week in a foster home had lower stress hormone levels and rested more, and earlier research found that even a few hours out of the shelter made a dog about five times more likely to be adopted. This is the science behind asking to take an old dog somewhere quiet. 1 week in a foster home has big benefits for shelter dogs, Futurity

• A vet once recommended putting Gibbs down. The senior Dachshund mix arrived at an Arizona rescue in rough shape, got the care he needed instead, and more than four years later he went home with a family of his own. Senior rescue dog gets forever home after 4 years of waiting, Parade Pets

• An old golden got his strength back, and his owner built a business around it. A senior golden retriever's recovery through Pilates-style exercise inspired his owner to start a pet wellness business. It's a nice reminder that old dogs can still get stronger, and that more people are building services just for them. Senior golden retriever's Pilates recovery inspired a business, Business Insider

Senior Dog Meme of the Week

About the Author

Angela Dinsmoor is the Founder of Grey Whiskers and a passionate advocate for senior dogs and the people who love them. With years of hands-on grooming experience and a deep commitment to compassionate, age-appropriate care, Angela created Grey Whiskers to raise the standard for senior dog grooming through education, certification, and community. Her mission is simple: help senior dogs live more comfortably. To join the free Grey Whiskers Community for professionals and owners, click here.