My Dog Was Purposefully Run Over by His Previous Owners & He Survived
By: Alexa Le
Tags: Anecdotes, Animals, Animal Abuse, Trauma Recovery, Dogs

Animal Anecdote

My Dog Was Purposefully Run Over by His Previous Owners & He Survived

I’ve always been someone who loves animals. From beta fishes to birds to bearded dragons, I have had close to almost every type of pet one can think of. I still remember being five years old and pleading with my mom to let me have a chicken… as we were passing by a poultry shop. She humored me and went in to ask, but I’m sure you can guess that those chickens weren’t exactly the right type to raise in a chicken coop. I soon forgot all about it, but there was one pet that I was set on having as a young child.

Like most kids growing up, having a dog had always been a big dream of mine. However, my mom and I had a standing agreement that my younger brother and I would not be able to get a dog until I was ten years old, an age old enough to handle the everyday tasks taking care of a dog. And I wasn’t exactly the most patient child when it comes to waiting to get a dog. At age eight, I simply couldn’t wait two more years, so I created a binder filled with exactly 100 reasons as to why I was trustworthy enough to have a dog, including a signed contract that promised to take care of this pet. As you can imagine, it was not entirely convincing enough to persuade my mom though she thought it was cute and clever; however, I could tell she was being moved in the right direction. One day, everything suddenly changed.

At my local pet store, a rescue organization would hold weekly events to encourage people to adopt dogs, especially those with disabilities or trauma. I was enamored with these events and would go as often as one of my parents could take me. One Saturday morning, I remember thinking myself to be so clever as I told my mom I would be tagging along with her to the car wash, which was conveniently located close to this adoption event. My master plan was, in a nut-shell, to gently remind her of the rescue organization’s event along the way… a plan that would only be classified as brilliant by an eight-year-old girl. But I mean, it worked.

When we arrived at the event, it was like something out of one of those cheesy movies. There were rambunctious dogs of all different breeds everywhere, some were playfully fighting, others were fighting for real, and frazzled volunteer workers were running about in desperate attempts to get them all under control. In the midst of all of that chaos, my mom and I were immediately drawn to a quiet, melancholy-looking Corgi mix laying on a forest green stretcher about three inches above the ground. I couldn’t tell what about him that was so compelling. Was it that he was so calm in the clamor? Was it the terror in his eyes as he observed his companions?

Either way, I slowly walked over to him, not wanting to scare him off. It didn’t make a difference, as he shrunk back in fear at the sight of a stranger approaching him. At that moment, I felt an acute sense of pity as my heart ached for this young, golden-haired dog who must have gone through so much to be there. I knew that he didn’t have a secure home, and I wanted my family to be the one to provide that for him.

One of the volunteers saw me looking at him for a long time, and she came over to ask if we would like to take him outside. During that time, we learned he was between two to three years old but more importantly, the shocking experience he had undergone over that last couple of months as a young dog.

His previous owner was a gentleman with a disability that required him to be in a wheelchair, and this dog was his therapy dog. It was the man who brought him home and truly cared for him, much to the dismay of his significant other. It appeared as though whenever the two had any type of disagreement, she would take her resentment out on the dog as a way of punishing the gentleman. During one of their arguments, that was exactly what had happened. The girlfriend trapped this poor dog so he could not run, got in her car, and deliberately ran him over. Twice.

I can’t begin to imagine the tumultuous fight that must have occurred over this, but the man was furious and deeply concerned when he found out. Recognizing that his partner was unstable and had no regard for the lives of animals, he chose to send the dog to a rescue organization when she threatened to do it again. Not knowing whether or not this story was true, we checked for signs of abuse. Sure enough, he had a bald, black scar running along his entire midsection.

After hearing that story, I didn’t know what to think. I was unsure as to how anyone could ever be so cruel to run over an animal like that, especially for the sake of revenge. It made me much more aware of how prevalent animal abuse was, and I had trouble reconciling that realization with my innocent, eight-year-old worldview. From then on, I decided I would do everything I possibly could to help, and that included adopting him.

Fortunately, that story had also given my mom the same idea, and I knew that my dream would come true when we started discussing possible names for him with my brother and dad. We went through all of the proceedings the very next day, and I was ecstatic when the time came to take him home.

It should have been obvious, but it was not a seamless transition when we got him home. It took a week to get him to even look at me, much less go anywhere near me. Every human and noise scared him, from the vacuum to the TV to the doorbell. This was a process of patience, learning, and understanding, culminating in lessons that have paid off tremendously as I grew older.

My family and I had to learn about the psychology of an abused animal as he always has a sad look in his eyes, determining what he was comfortable with and what he would shy away from. As the weeks progressed, he gradually became more acclimated to our home environment and even began to turn into a “Velcro-dog” of sorts, always following us around the house.

Weeks turned into years, the light in his eyes slowly appears brighter. Of course, we can still see signs of his trauma occasionally, and I don’t think that will ever go away completely. It was a life-changing journey with struggles and obstacles, but I am eternally grateful that I had the opportunity to watch him turn from a scared, shy dog into the much more playful, bold Corgi mix that he is today. He lazes around the house most of the day, but that’s just due to his personality and the fact that he is bordering on old age.

There was one thing, though. He had trouble responding to the name he was given previously, not looking up or realizing that it was him when we called his name. We never thought it was a fitting name anyway. We wanted a strong name, something that commemorated his perseverance and resilience through his traumatic experience.

So we named him Champion, Champ for short.