Whisper House Press

Odin’s adoption wasn’t a foregone conclusion. He wasn’t supposed to live to see it. Even when he found his foster, it wasn’t a guarantee he’d make it to adoption day. Here’s his story.

Sometime in the fall of 2022, a nameless dog wandered the farms and streets of the Logan Valley in Northern Utah. He’d been on the lam for six weeks.

This nameless creature had endured a bad home life; his adapted behaviors tell a story of his confinement in tight spaces for extremely long periods of time. His howling is frequent and, one imagines, annoying to someone unwilling to accept him as he is. He had been locked up for entire days and had grown accustomed to “holding it” for eight or ten hours at a go. He ate rarely.

Then, something happened. He was either sent away or had escaped. Things went from very bad to even worse, for a time.

The dog with no name skipped from farm to farm, house to house, scavenging for food scraps and garbage to stay alive. He’d dropped to a dangerous thirty-five pounds (a healthy weight for this dog is between seventy and seventy-five pounds) and had no one looking for him. Given his undernourished and underweight status, the minimum temperature for survival increased far above the usual frigid temperatures a malamute-husky mix can face and live through. Thus, when winter set in, the weather turned deadly cold even for this nameless wanderer.

The animal was chased — some people wanted to help him, others to shoo him away — and he was terrified. He hid, when he could, in other dogs’ spaces — dog houses and porches and such. At one point, while wandering a farmer’s field, he became caught in an illegal hunting trap — the metal kind one sees on cartoons. His leg was badly injured and in danger of infection. Any number of risks (we’ve not even gotten to street traffic) could have ended his life without him getting the chance at a decent home.

Fast forward to December 2022. Officer Penrod of the Smithfield City P.D. found the pup cowering in a dog house in someone’s yard, trying his best to disappear. The officer wanted to help the animal and brought it to the animal control building in the hub of the rural area, placing the dog in one of two available cages in a small out-building. The unimproved and uninsulated space, about four feet by four feet in width and length, had a dog bed and a space heater. Officer Penrod looked in on the dog a few times per day and took him on walks, noticing that the dog was compliant at every turn, accepting the leash like a child wants his binky. He also noticed the dog never soiled his confined space — he must have been used to being locked up. Officer Penrod wanted badly to find the dog’s family and posted information about the dog for neighbors to see.

No one called. No one responded to the officer’s pleas. Days passed, and then weeks. Other dogs came and went. They urinated on this weak animal, afraid of his own shadow and ignored him, otherwise. He wasn’t eating much. He was going to die of malnutrition or be euthanized.

Officer Penrod called him “Odin” after the Norse god. The dog’s namesake is known variously as the gallows god, the allfather, the aged, the bear, the blind or the wavering eye, the lord of the undead, the god of burdens, the mighty god, the shape god, the wise one, the concealer, the ancient one, spear master, the screamer, the warrior, the sage, the needed one, the protector, the truth-finder, the hooded one, the high, and the found. The god Odin is said to have sacrificed himself, hanging from the tree of life for nine days and nine nights to gain knowledge of other worlds. He saw visions during this self-sacrifice, and while so doing, he could travel as a four-legged animal and observe all places in all worlds. Some stories tell of his rebirth — his return to our world, carrying with him wisdom beyond that of all others (historiska.se).

By a small miracle, Officer Penrod had heard of Arctic Rescue and on December 23rd 2022, reached out to the contact person. The Capone family got word that Odin was not long for this world — that he would be euthanized if not picked up soon. They set out immediately, aiming to rescue him — their fifth foster dog in the prior year. They drove the two hours through snow to meet the Smithfield P.D. officer, Mr. Penrod, who had been so kind to this animal and was doing all in his power to save him. He led the Capones to the city’s temporary shelter and introduced them to Odin. Odin, frightened to the point of total compliance, was led outside on a leash. He allowed himself to be lifted into the Subaru and curled into a small ball on the backseat footwell. At his new foster home, two hours later, he was too frightened to move, but eventually was coaxed from his hiding hole in the back of the vehicle and into the backyard where he met his new brother and sister, Quinn the Piebald Husky and Nova the Rescued. They ignored him. He was a non-entity.

Once inside the Capones’ home, Odin found that he was being led to a crate, and he relished the chance to disappear again into a small and safe-ish space. He curled up, again, and didn’t move for the next ten hours. He didn’t want to eat or drink, and the family fed him liquids through a dropper several times per day over the coming weeks. He’d sometimes eat some kibble if left alone for enough hours. Weeks turned to months, and Odin eventually found a second safe space beside the bed. He continued with perfect compliance while on-leash, and he never barked or made any other sounds. He became frantic when left alone in the house, and the Capones learned he did much better with access to the house and his foster brother and sister than when locked in the crate that otherwise had felt so safe to him. They learned his tics and maladaptations and did their best to help him feel secure.

By the time July rolled around, Odin was becoming more comfortable in the Capone family’s house, but they realized he would struggle with a move to a different family. They had grown to love Odin very much, indeed, and they decided it best to adopt him — to make him a full and permanent member of the family.

Over the following year (eighteen months after his rescue), Odin became more of a normal dog, though he still has his moments where feral adaptations show up. He now barks (a lot) and howls (often), and he moves from place to place in the house with relative ease — there are still only three safe places he frequents when he’s given the choice. The family is working to help normalize moving to other parts of the house. He is no longer perfectly compliant in the home or on the leash, and the family is working with him on training now that his fear levels have dropped. He’s on medication for a thyroid condition and has gained forty pounds. He likes eye contact. He’s a healthy, happy dog. Living up to his name in many ways, Odin has returned from the world of the dead and now explores the land of the living. He is loved.