IN JANUARY, my husband Wally and I were contacted by Brenda Alberts, a compassionate veteran employee of Albuquerque Animal Services. Knowing that we had recently lost our aged Pug, a one-time national agility champion, she asked us to consider adopting a small but vicious 18-monthold Pug that was a recent ownersurrender.
    Brenda gave us a quick picture of why this puppy might be so angry—too angry to be considered adoptable by rescue groups. He had been the badly injured victim of probable animal cruelty.
    The clinic veterinarians had cleaned and sutured a sizeable infected puncture wound (possibly from a stabbing) on his lower back, inserted drains, then injected a ten-day dose of antibiotic. Giving this medication in other forms was not an option for a dog with such a violent disposition. Because they lack a nose, no muzzles are available for Pugs, and shelter employees had already borne the brunt of his wrath. There seemed to be no middle ground. He was either cowering or attacking.
    As we left the Westside shelter with our new adoptee, we voiced our gratitude to Brenda for her personal time spent walking and socializing this emotionally and physically injured pup. We were delighted that she had invested in a new harness and leash, which made controlling him (without getting bitten) a much easier proposition.
    The dog’s attitude was reflected in his no-curl tail, angry black frown, and glaring hatred in his dark eyes. After one hour in his new home, we changed his name from Jake to Jako the Mako (shark), as this 12-pound package of dynamite lunged at each of our seven dogs.
    Three months later, the biter still has no canine friends in our home, and all give him a wide berth. So do we, as his behavior remains completely unpredictable, even after spending hours on Wally’s lap.
    Jako goes ballistic at the sound of a spray can, which sets off a ten-minute episode of snapping, barking, and growling—truly frightening, but not as intimidating as the 30-minute temper tantrum when he gets a whiff of Clorox. Could it be that he was sprayed with Clorox, besides being stabbed?
    Will his past owners repeat this cruelty with their next adopted pet (after the year’s wait required by the City HEART Ordinance)? Did we save one innocent, only to allow others to be abused by the same family? Is this the necessary, humane tradeoff?
    Because it is imperative that our shelters accept abused pets without probing, and provide them the protection of a safe haven, there are no witnesses either to the abuse or to the identity of the abuser. We are grateful that this policy allowed the city and its employees to accept and care for Jako and too many other innocent and abused animals flooding our city’s shelters.
    This wrinkly, no-nose guy with poor eyesight has captured our hearts. He is as adorable as any Pug ... in his good moments. With patience, kindness, training, and time, Jako is slowly becoming less angry and more trusting, though it will be a while before he is safe around people and pets. Wally and I are striving for a 2015 Jako with a curly tail that wags, who will forget the trauma of his former life and learn respect and love, however cautious, for humans. That is a tall order—but Jako, like every pet my family has rescued since 1910, will prove worth the effort.

Kate Kuligowski comes from generations of animal rescuers who have cared for New Mexico’s thrown-away pets since before statehood. She was education director for Animal Humane of New Mexico and Watermelon Mountain Ranch, and recently published Our Most Treasured Tails: Sixty Years of Pet Rescue, available at AbeBooks and Amazon. Contact her at wkkjk1027@gmail.com.