About Jerry
The Story of Jerry
When my husband and I lived in St. Joseph, Missouri, we adopted a dog from their Paws in Prison program. His name was Sam, and he was an American Bulldog. He was big. And so stubborn. I loved him. I believe he liked me, but I disappointed him — he had been a stray for at least five years and loved roaming. He wanted to walk for miles and miles. My husband took him on long walks and would play Pokémon Go, so Sam liked my husband better.
Then we moved to Mena. Sam got sick one weekend, and we had to take him to the vet. He had right-side heart failure and had to be put down. We were devastated. I think I traumatized the vet with my reaction.
My husband wasn't ready to get another dog for a while, but I follow every humane society and rescue group in Arkansas, Oklahoma, Louisiana, and Texas. I watched Pit Bulls & Parolees religiously. One day I was on Facebook and saw a video of a Fort Smith Humane Society dog who had been there for a year. He was a year and a half old. Who doesn't adopt a puppy?
He had been picked up as a stray with his brother. They named them Tom and Jerry. Tom got adopted. Jerry stayed. For a year.
When I saw his face, I knew in my heart he was my dog. It had only been three months since we lost Sam. My husband still wasn't over it — I wasn't either — but I knew. I showed my husband the video, and he very calmly told me he wasn't really ready. I just as calmly told him: this is my dog. He said okay.
We took our adult son (he was visiting from St. Louis) to go meet him. Jerry was so afraid. He wouldn't look at us. He would take treats from us but then run behind the adoption volunteer. She told us how sweet and wonderful he was, but that he was terrified of men — he really loved women, though. I told her I worked from home and that he would be my dog, and that he would learn my husband wasn't a bad person. She said it would take some time. I said we'd give him all the time he needed.
I told her we had to take our son to the train at 2:30 AM the next day, but I'd be back for him the day after. She said okay — she'd give him a bath and have him ready.
We went back the day we promised, and so many of the volunteers were excited. They had bought him toys to take home. We came with a collar and leash, went to pay the adoption fee, and one of them had already paid it.
I looked him in the face and said, "Let's go home" He got so excited and ran to the door, walked to our car, and hopped into the backseat. When we drove off the lot, he stretched out and went to sleep — like he'd been riding in cars his whole life.
We took him home to three cats who proceeded to bully him relentlessly. They'd gather around the water bowl and stare him down, refusing to let him drink. He'd just sit calmly and wait his turn. He couldn't walk through the door without a cat trying to poke his eye out — he learned to walk with his head high rather than down. He did swat one of them once, and that was all it took.
It took a while for him to trust men. But after a couple of years and so many Beggin' Strips, he'd lay with my husband on the couch.
After we bought a house, our son Zack moved in with us and started taking the dogs for walks around the cul-de-sac. He told me that some of the men in the neighborhood would want to pet Jerry, and he'd warn them that Jerry was iffy — but one of them said "Aw, nonsense" and reached down and scratched his head. Zack came home so excited: Jerry had loved it. So we started taking him to Atwood's to walk around, and he soaks up every bit of attention he gets.
When I opened the yarn store, I wasn't sure about bringing him at first, so I left him home. After about a year, I decided to bring him with me. I brought his bed and some toys. He loves it. Now when I tell him in the morning "let's go to work," he runs to the garage door and trots in place by the car until I can get it open for him to jump in.
He loves all the attention from customers. His only quirk is that he barks when people come through the door. He sounds like a guard dog. He is not. I would never want him to be — I don't ever want him stressed enough to bite anyone.
We've had him for nine years now. For nine years, he has had only one job: to be LOVED. He came to us nervous and full of anxiety, chewing on the sides of his lips until they were red. He still sometimes has panic attacks. But he is the sweetest, gentlest best boy there ever was.
And I never, ever wonder if he loves me. Lord, this dog loves me so much. I jokingly tell people I'm his emotional support human — but sometimes I think I'm right.
So if you come into the shop and the dog barks at you, don't worry. He's not being mean. He's just being my doorbell.