Lost, Found, and Online Bullying: A Story about Zoe, a West Highland Terrier
On August 6, 2022, at 4:30 AM, I left my house, heading to my son’s place. It was the beginning of an exciting day. That morning, my daughter-in-law would be delivering our granddaughter, our third grandchild.
As I pulled out of the driveway, Josh Tatofi, a Polynesian singer/songwriter with a swooning voice, serenaded me through Pandora. I sang along, “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me….” Suddenly, my attention was seized by a large shadow moving in front of my car. My eyes quickly followed the swooping silhouette as it tracked a scurrying flash along the sidewalk, moving in and out of the bushes. The shadow was our neighborhood owl flying overhead.
As I looked closer, the scurrying creature came into focus. It was a little bigger than a bunny, running close against the chainlink fence as fast as its little legs would carry. It darted in front of my car. I hit the brakes, and it turned and darted back the way it came. As my eyes adjusted, I saw that it was a little white dog, and it was headed out into the four-lane street a few blocks down. Thank goodness it was so early in the morning, and traffic hadn’t filled the roads.
I stopped my car in the middle of the street, and for a minute, I struggled with the decision of being late to my son’s house or witnessing a dog getting snatched up by an owl or hit by a car. I decided to jump out of the car with the dog in the middle of the street. I worked to persuade the pup to come to me. She was hesitant, clearly terrified and lost.
Then I kneeled on the pavement in the middle of the street and put my hand out. The dog ran up to me, shaking like a leaf. I picked her up, and I could feel her heart beating so fast in the palm of my hand. I held her close to my chest, even though she smelled terrible, and I had no idea if she would bite me. I placed her in the back of my car, and we drove off in safety into the early morning glow.
Beginning the Search
When I got to my son’s, I quickly snapped a photo of this tiny white dog in the back of my car. I placed her picture in a public post on my Facebook page. It read, FOUND DOG, and included all the pertinent information for people to contact me. Messages quickly began to pour in with all kinds of advice on how I could locate the owner. This information led me to contact Everett Animal Shelter (EAS), the designated animal shelter and submit Lost and Found reports to all relevant agencies. The search had begun.
On my way back to my house that afternoon, I wanted to see if she’d been chipped. My vet’s office was closed for the day, so I began the search by taking her to a local Banfield Pet Hospital to scan for a microchip. Thankfully there was one implanted in her, but it was unregistered. Banfield gave me the phone number of the company that sells the chips. When I got home, I called them, and they provided the name of the breeder to who they sold the chip. I followed this new lead and left several messages for the breeder with no returned calls.
I called the animal shelter back. While on the phone, the shelter representative shared with me that another dog of the same breed, another female West Highland White Terrier, had been picked up on the street adjacent to where I found this dog. Animal control brought her into the shelter. Inquiring if the two dogs were related, the shelter representative confirmed that both dogs had sequenced microchip numbers but couldn’t ensure they were sisters. However, the sequenced chips indicated that they came from the same breeder.
My husband had begun to form a theory of his own: An old cemetery in the woods adjacent to our house would be the perfect place to dump dogs. The graveyard is accessible from one street over, where animal control had picked up the other Westie. The motive could have been that the dogs were in poor health. The person who owned them may have died, and a family member dumped them, or a new breeder using the old breeder’s information ran a puppy mill that had gone awry. These were all speculations. But, dead dogs are more complicated to dispose of than sick and alive ones dumped in quiet places.
He postulated that someone left the dogs in the early morning hours, and in the sibling canine confusion and fright, they ran in two different directions. The little dog I had come to call “Zoe” made her way to the street just in time for the owl (my Aumakua or spirit animal since I was young) to guide the little creature to me.
I asked the shelter if I should bring Zoe in. They explained how the shelters are sadly full of lost, found, and unwanted pets, and with COVID protocols still in place, their staffing was limited. They asked if I would be willing to foster Zoe until the owner was found. I gladly obliged.
The search continued. I finally managed to get a hold of the breeder attached to the microchip number. We had a short and curt conversation. She emphatically stated that she had closed her kennel some years ago, had no record of the dogs she sold, and could not help me any further. We ended the call, and I marked that lead as closed.
A Trip to the Vet
While actively searching to reunite Zoe with her owner, my husband and I could not sit and watch her suffer. She itched like crazy and had skin lesions and bloody patches throughout her body from biting and scratching. Her nails were so long they curled under her pads, and her ears were inflamed and full of scabs. I was uncomfortable bathing her until I knew what was going on with her skin, but she smelled terrible. A trip to the vet was in order, and we made an appointment for the earliest possible opening.
Our vet determined that Zoe was approximately three to four years of age and had pyotraumatic dermatitis or acute moist dermatitis. The condition causes red, inflamed skin lesions that ooze and may contain pus. Her ear infection was so bad that the vet could not place a Q-Tip into her ear for treatment or inspection. They also found that she had a painful UTI. She was given medication for all three conditions and a special diet to help soothe her inflamed skin. A second trip to the vet would address the overgrown nails. It would be a long and expensive road to recovery, but we would do what we needed while she was in our care.
Over the next few weeks, we treated Zoe’s medical conditions and watched her transform from a scruffy, itchy dog into a beautiful, healthy pup. She loved playing fetch, going on walks, and playing with our other family dogs, Dany, a Belgium malinois, and Oliana, our adult son’s labrador mix. She even met and played with my sister’s dog, Axel, a Cane Corso.
Zoe quickly became a part of our pack, and we enjoyed every moment with her. We were so grateful that she was literally dropped into our lives.
Saving a Dog Turns to Online Bullying
When I first posted on social media about finding Zoe, dozens of people from Snohomish and King County stepped in to help find her owner. I was impressed by their willingness to place signs around the neighborhood and share her information on other platforms I couldn’t access. I have always been a person who takes responsibility and due diligence seriously. With the help of these folks in the community, I did all I could to reunite Zoe with her owner.
However, after our first day with Zoe, my husband believed this dog had been extremely neglected. Whoever had Zoe before us not only didn’t provide basic care but, from his assessment of her injuries, he believed she had been locked in a kennel for long periods, leaving her to live in her excrement. He told me with no reservation that even if the owners did come forward, there was no way he was going to give the dog back to them. I reminded him that our legal obligation was to spend the next 30 days looking for the owners. He wryly encouraged me to do so.
Things changed online relatively quickly. I did not realize how popular West Highland Terriers were. The demand for Zoe was high, and people were coming out of the woodwork, claiming they were best suited to care for her. I politely thanked them for their inquiry and let them know that Zoe was safe and properly cared for during this fostering period. I had no intention of transferring my responsibility to another person. The vets, the shelter staff, and much of the online community encourage me in this effort. However, a vocal online minority was beginning to get louder.
People were angry that I would not give Zoe to them, saying they could foster her because they are a “Westie” family and would help find the owner. One woman who offered to help took the initiative to put posters around town with her phone number. As she was getting her campaign together, she sent me a message that said, “Hi Gerry, I’m working on pics and signs. Can you please share the pup’s microchip number with me?” My response to her was, “I’d rather not have that information public. This way, I can vet people who may claim they are Zoe’s owner.” She replied, “I would never publicly put the chip number out there, but I hope you can trust me enough to share it with me.” Trust her enough? I didn’t even know her!
The situation became even more heated as the days went on.
The posts on a particular Facebook page, whose mission was to help reunite lost pets with their owners in Snohomish County, suddenly became the epicenter of public attacks against my character. Those making assumptions and accusations about me had no evidence of my actions or knowledge of me whatsoever. A few days into this, the page administrator posted that I had stopped all communication and was not being upfront with the community. I hadn’t stopped all communication; I just stopped communicating with this page! I posted all the necessary info on the site. I no longer had the time or desire to respond to every request to foster, answer inquiries into how the dog was doing that day, or provide updated doggie pictures to feed strangers scroll habits.
After a few days of this, I removed my post from the page because I didn’t appreciate the manic frenzy of attention quickly descending into bullying. It got so bad that people were messaging me privately, telling me to beware because they were coming after me. I leaned into the other agencies and pages with which I had registered a found dog report and moved on from that experience. At least, I thought I had.
Quite quickly, friends and associates who were part of that Facebook community began to message me about the ongoing dumpster fire engulfing this local lost dog page. I started to get texts, phone calls, and instant messages of support. Some wanted to know how they should proceed with attacking back. Some wanted me to return to the page to defend my honor, but the administrator had banned me. I didn’t have any desire to return anyway. That’s the thing about online bullying; you feed the fire by trying to put it out. That community page would have to run its course without me. I encouraged my friends and associates to leave it well enough alone.
This experience was my first online bullying, impacting my mental health for a few weeks. I presumed only teenagers and young adults participated in online bullying, not boomers from up the street or in the adjacent towns. These people didn’t even know me. They didn’t know my story or even the story of this dog. Strangers were coming at me with narratives about the dog or myself that were complete fabrications of their minds. All they saw was a post about a poor lost Westie, and they immediately assumed the worst about me when they didn’t get what they wanted.
The incident made me realize how important it is to be careful with who you share information and to be aware of the possible negative outcomes of going public with something people may see as having value. I lean into the idea that humans can be incredibly giving and generous creatures. Unfortunately, we are often reminded that humans can be the complete opposite as well.
Thankfully, I have an amazing support system in my husband and family, who stood by me through the entire ordeal. I was able to move on. But it did leave me feeling shaken and wondering why people are so quick to judge and attack others online. What is it about our online presence that tempts the worst in each of us to come forward?
Lessons Learned from the Situation
The whole experience was a rollercoaster of emotions, from the high of finding and rescuing a dog in need to the low of being publicly shamed by strangers online. I learned that some really amazing people in this world are willing to help lost pets find their way home. I also learned that some not-so-nice people will jump to conclusions and attack you without even knowing who you are. But most importantly, I realized that I can’t please everyone, and that’s okay. I’m doing all I can for what is best for Zoe, and that’s all that matters.
If you find yourself in a similar situation, my best advice is to stay strong and true to yourself. Do what you think is best for the animal, and don’t let anyone bully you into doing anything you are not comfortable with. If you don’t feel you can care for the animals’ needs responsibly and reasonably, that is okay too. There are resources out there to help.
In conclusion, Zoe is still with me, and no one has come forward to claim her. I have grown very attached to her, and I think she may be here to stay. As of today, August 30, 2022, I have six days before I can legally adopt her.
If you would like to follow Zoe’s story, follow her on Instagram-Zoelani_WestHighlandTerrier
Have you ever gone through something similar? I would love to hear your story in the comments.
