It Started With A Dog
- Phyllis Brust, PhD
- Aug 5
- 6 min read
Updated: Aug 6
We rescued our beagle mix, Leon, in November 2017 when he was 2 1/2 years of age after we moved to Florida. My husband had never owned a dog and I hadn’t had one since I was 17 (a long time ago). We made a deal—I’d agree to relocate to Florida, which he wanted, if he agreed to get a dog, which I wanted.
We had a lot of love to offer—and that most valuable of resources, a fenced yard—but we were scared to add a family member—it had been the two of us for so long. Finding one would require patience from the pet adoption counselors at the shelters we visited. Adopting a dog was daunting. A living being would be entering our lives.
We have now had Leon for almost eight years, and I can vow that this dog changed my life. Because of Leon, I now understand the deep visceral connection between pet parents and their dogs.
Yet finding a dog was hard. We went to many animal shelters and adoption events and left empty handed time after time. If places were used to first-time, scared prospective pet parents, they didn’t let on. We felt like oddities, and they felt we were wasting their time.
I told my husband he could pick out the dog. My fear was that we’d bring the dog home and I’d get attached only to find that my fastidious husband wanted to return him or her for destroying the house. If he gave me an “it’s the dog or me” ultimatum, I’d have to think about it. Another fear was that we’d be bad pet parents.
Ultimately, Leon picked us. We stopped by an adoption event with another shelter and my husband saw a skinny, floppy-earred, tri-colored beagle mix with splayed paws (like jazz hands) and little legs in a cage watching him. This low rider was extra long and had what looked like a heart design on his nose. His big brown eyes were lined in black, like eyeliner. He looked as if he were made of mismatched parts. As Leon trotted with my husband, the dog laid his claim. He jumped on him, wagging his tail wildly. The licks came fast and furious on his face and even up his nose. My husband announced, “This one seems like fun” and that was that. We paid the $99 fee and were advised to pick him up in five days.
When we picked Leon up he was coughing, limping and had diarrhea. The staff assured us everything was fine.
All we knew about Leon is that he was found walking in the woods. We think he was dumped, but we can’t be sure. He panics if he thinks we are abandoning him. We also believe he had been kept outside. He didn’t know what a leash was or what to do with a ball or other toys.
When we first got him he wouldn’t sit in our laps or lie near us. He pooped all over the house, scratched at doors until the paint flaked off, ate wooden furniture and screamed in his crate when we closed the door. (I swear we went slowly and followed the training manual step-by-step.) He did much better when we left the crate door open and gave him the run of the house, which was what he wanted all along.
My husband read that his prolific pooping in the house was a sign of anxiety showing that Leon was as scared as we were.
In time, he moved closer to us on the sofa. He stopped eating the furniture, stopped scratching the paint off doors and never went after our belongings except for an occasional pair of underwear. One quiet evening he laid his head on my chest while sitting on the couch. That’s when I knew he felt safe.
I love walking him. Nose to the ground, he takes pleasure in a good sniff. With those big brown eyes and hangdog face, he connives the spa staff, barber and local vet to give him treats when we go by on our daily walk. He has us all well trained.
From walking him, I’ve met people and made friends. Strangers say hi on the street only because of Leon. He studies tradespeople as they work. Sweaty, mean-looking, burly carpenters, roofers and gutter installers climb down ladders to play with him. Some call him “the inspector.” They tell us about their own dogs. Leon also watches people exiting their cars like he’s the village greeter. Most think it’s funny.
But for me, there was more than just the joy of watching Leon interact with others. I wanted to be the best pet parent I could be and explored Facebook groups for training and care tips. I came to empathize with other dogs and their owners. I joined groups including, “The Salty Beagle” and “Pet Vet Corner (Only Approved Veterinarians Comment).” My doggie algorithm resulted in many “suggested for you” groups, almost all starting with the word “Beagle.” I read posts and found myself praying for dogs I didn’t know undergoing cancer treatment and crying when dogs crossed the Rainbow Bridge (a term I learned from social media). I started driving around the city looking for lost dogs.
Photographs posted on social media were haunting: Emaciated and abused dogs; dogs with oozing sores; dogs with scars from being bait dogs in dogfighting rings; dogs chained without access to food and water. Shelters wrote posts desperate for help to defray expenses, and caring volunteers begged people and rescues to help dogs on the cusp of being euthanized. The posts always said the same thing: Despite how badly the dogs had been treated, they wagged their tails and were friendly and loving to everyone. I contributed what I could.
My dog was given a second chance, but I wondered about dogs who aren’t so lucky—those who are mistreated and desperate for help and who could die without it—the shy, older and abused ones? Leon infused me with a passion to help all animals. Picturing my boy in their places raised this to a new level. I wanted to adopt every one. My husband thought I was insane. We fostered four times and learned that Leon wasn’t too keen to share his space either.
I dug deeper—if animal-friendly laws could be enacted, perhaps there would be fewer animals in need, so I read local statutes, tracked legislation and learned about issues online from the Animal Legal Defense Fund, Best Friends, Human Animal Support Services and others. I wrote elected representatives and encouraged others to do the same. I watched webinars on topics including how to end puppy mills, how shelters can encourage adoptions, best practices in finding lost pets and saving hard-to-adopt dogs through playgroups. I developed a work-in-progress website, CareerMutt.com, to help people find animal-related careers and to encourage animal advocacy. That’s where this essay is being posted.
It was as if my dog turned on a switch that enabled me to understand the pain that all animals may suffer. Solely because of him, I read “Animal Liberation Now” by Peter Singer and learned that factory farming especially is exploitive by, for example: keeping birds and cattle inhumanely cooped up; overfeeding turkeys until they are grotesque and can’t walk; and separating babies from their mothers too early. These animals are sentient beings—they feel and they love. After learning how pesticides are destroying wildlife, I concede that animals are losing the battle against humans.
I picture scared animals being led to slaughter and so I try to eat less meat and poultry (buying humanely-raised food when I can) and flirt with being a vegetarian. (This isn’t easy, since I hate most fruits, vegetables and grains.) I avoid products that are animal tested and stopped buying leather purses and shoes. Leather looks much better on animals.
For all the low-life abusers, there are animal heroes. I read about people who, for example, transport rescued dogs to their new homes; coordinate fosters; go undercover at lab testing facilities and picket unscrupulous pet stores. I admire all of them. I’m not in their league—maybe one day.
I don’t write this to sound sanctimonious but to show the impact of one little dog. I wouldn’t be doing any of this if it wasn’t for Leon.
I’m the luckiest person in the world because of Leon. He’s now 10, with a face flecked with gray, and he is a cancer survivor. He’s given me purpose, love and countless wet kisses. He turned my husband into a dog lover who comforts him during thunderstorms and fireworks and who now seeks out cute dog videos on social media.
My passion started all because of a dog made of mismatched parts with a heart on his nose who was found walking in the woods.
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About the Author
Phyllis Brust, PhD is an award-winning career counselor and writer. Phyllis has helped organizations, including Fortune 500 companies, non-profits, NGOs and the US government, to find candidates and clients to find jobs. She is a graduate of the University of Pennsylvania (BS, MS and PhD).
CareerMutt® focuses on pet careers and pet advocacy. See our other blog posts on animal advocacy, networking, animal artists, advice for pre-vets, gaining experience and more.
©2025 Brust All rights reserved. Do not use the blog text or photographs without attribution.
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