Delores

Delores's Story

Hi. I’m Delores. I’m about 9 years old and have been living with my foster family since September. I’ve just recently decided they might be okay. Might. I’m a very shy, very anxious, very particular lady. I do not enjoy change. I do not enjoy surprises. I do enjoy personal space and being dramatic about things like rain, squirrels, and the existence of other people.

I weigh around 100 pounds, and I look pretty intimidating. I bark at people who come to the door. I give off full guard dog energy. But here’s the twist: I’m actually a giant chicken nugget. If someone unfamiliar comes into the house, I will be the first one to run downstairs and consider locking the doors from the inside. You want protection? Get a Roomba. I’m here to observe.

Walks are a bit of a saga. I love long ones, but I can’t be off-leash under any circumstances. I have zero recall, and if a squirrel looks at me wrong, I will take off and pretend I don’t know my own name. One time I even escaped my harness mid-walk. My foster parents now walk me with a secure double-attachment system, like I’m part of a canine witness protection program. That said, I’ve been working very hard with my foster parents on training. I really love getting treats during walks, and I’m trying my best to learn things like “heel” and “ignore the squirrel.” I’m food-motivated, which helps—but I’m also not exactly the brightest girl. I try hard, but let’s just say I’ve got more enthusiasm than natural instincts. Think “gold star for effort” vibes.

Rain is a hard no for me. If it’s even thinking about raining, I will act like you’re asking me to walk into a war zone. And storms? Forget it. I’ll need lots of encouragement, soothing words, and probably a treat or ten to survive thunder. After a walk in the rain (which I will resist), I demand to be towel-dried and then burrito-wrapped for maximum comfort. Bonus points if the blanket comes straight from the dryer. I’m a diva, but I deserve it.

As for car rides—I’m hesitant. The car is weird. But if you bribe me with a Starbucks pup cup (half only, please—I have a sensitive stomach) and my foster sister is with me, I’ll manage. Once I’m in, I go full golden retriever fantasy and stick my entire head out the window like I’m living my best life. Air in my ears? Bliss.

I currently live with my senior foster sister (another ARTS dog who is even lazier than me). Having her around when the humans are gone helps me feel secure. She naps in the sun, I dig next to her—it’s a whole peaceful scene. I have a little energy for play, but not a ton. We’re more into parallel lounging than anything else.

Now let’s talk about cats. I’ve never lived with one, but I’ve seen them. In the alley. And I mistook one for a squirrel. After almost ripping my foster mom’s arm out of its socket and chasing it full-speed (no, I didn’t catch it—he was crafty), we’ve decided I’m “curious.” Interpret that as you will.

Kids? Hit or miss. I’ve done okay with respectful teens (15+), especially those who understand that I need space and calm energy. I’m a big loaf and I have no idea how big I actually am. I’ve accidentally bulldozed my foster sister more than once during a zoomie moment. So smaller kids probably aren’t ideal unless they’re good with dodging incoming freight trains.

My foster parents don’t know much about my life before coming to ARTS, but I’m house-trained (I maybe peed the bed once or twice, but who’s counting...), I can sit and shake a paw (with reminders—I want my treat now), and I LOVE sleeping on the couch. Like, passionately. I absolutely require a home where I’m allowed on the furniture. Bonus points if I’m allowed to sneakily lick the couch like it’s forbidden ice cream. That’s between me and the upholstery.

Also, fair warning: there’s always something coming out of my face. I drool a lot. I snore loudly. I breathe like I’m narrating my own life in surround sound. My eyes get goopy, and my jowls are basically a mobile splash zone. But I actually like it when someone wipes my face—it makes me feel pampered. If you’re someone who keeps tissues and towels within reach at all times, we might be soulmates.

With time, patience, and a whole lot of soft encouragement, I’ve started to show who I really am. I like toys. I love a good ear rub or bum scritch. I’ll lean into your leg with a giant sigh when I’m starting to feel safe. It takes a while, but it’s worth it. So no—I’m not the easiest dog. I’m not a plug-and-play kind of dog. I’m complicated, anxious, rain-averse, kind of gross, and deeply committed to personal space. But if you’re a patient human who finds joy in earning trust, wiping drool off your pants, digging holes together, and warming up blankets for a living burrito… maybe I’m your girl, so please apply here to get this low energy introverted party started.