We set up a comfortable space for Ollie in the garage, which had a screen door that looked directly into our kitchen. It gave us a barrier between him and our furry family while still allowing him to see us, hear us, and feel somewhat included.

Over the next few days, we slowly began introducing him to the other dogs. We walked him on a leash around our five acres, and the other dogs immediately seemed to decide he was a good boy. They gave each other a quick sniff, a tail wag, and then went right back to their usual business.

The chickens took to him right away, too. Ollie was calm and completely accepting of them. Our cats watched him from the safety of a high window, occasionally wandering over to the screen door to check him out. Ollie showed no undesirable reaction to any of them.

He seemed to be blending into our little family without incident.

But we remained cautious. Ollie stayed separated and leashed. We weren’t willing to risk the safety—or lives—of any of our animals until we were completely sure we could trust him.

As the days passed, we gave him a little more freedom. We fenced off the patio so he could have some supervised time outside, where he could stretch his legs, soak up the sun, and enjoy the fresh air.

All was going well.

Until it wasn’t.

Our cousin Chucky came home from his day program one day and walked up to the house to say hello like he always did.  Ollie walked toward us as we stood at the low patio fence.

Ollie (and Chucky) both looked completely calm.  It appeared as though Ollie was simply coming over to say hello.

And then, in what felt like slow motion, Ollie suddenly lunged forward and grabbed Chucky by the forearm.

Shit.  He bit him! We couldn’t believe how quickly it happened. There was zero warning.

No growl.
No obvious change in body language.
No teeth.  Nothing.  Just a quick leap and a bite.

And in that moment, everything changed.

Chucky was ok.  It did not break skin, but he was still a bit traumatized.  We now knew, for sure, that we could no longer take this risk.  We had done our best to work with him, but decided to try and find a Komondor rescue, anywhere in the United States, that could take Ollie and give him the kind of specialized care and placement he needed.

I reached out to my coworkers at the shelter, hoping someone might have resources or connections that could help us better understand the breed and find a possible rescue. Vicki spent hours researching online and contacted several rescues in different states.

Eventually, we found a rescue. They couldn’t physically take Ollie because they didn’t have a facility, but they agreed to help us find him a suitable home.  They even offered to cover any cost for transportation.

Within just a few days, they called with good news. They had found a family in Texas.

Texas!

Okay. This was great.

We found a list of possible rescue transportation services.  We reached out to several and eventually hired a driver. They would pick Ollie up from our home and drive him all the way to Texas.

Easy peasy?

Oh boy.

The “experienced” driver called us ahead of time to get the details. We explained everything we knew about Ollie and his history, including the bite incidents. The driver reassured us that he knew what he was doing and that this certainly wasn’t his first rodeo.  We emailed him instructions and directions to our home.  He asked more follow-up questions about how to handle Ollie.

Several days later, he showed up at our house.  It was 6:00 a.m. and still dark outside.

We greeted him at the door and spoke with him for a few minutes in our dining room, while Ollie watched from the garage. We went over Ollie’s history again and specifically reminded him not to approach Ollie over the kitchen gate. We told him to wait until we had Ollie safely leashed and could bring him outside for a controlled introduction, and then assist him into the van.

He verbally agreed.  He literally said “ok”.

Then, almost immediately, he walked over to the kitchen doorway, reached over the gate, and tried to pet Ollie.  Oh for the love!

Ollie lunged.  And bit him square in the stomach.

The man immediately started yelling at us that the dog was aggressive. What?? We yelled back that we had literally just warned him not to approach Ollie yet.

He yelled some more, said some more words, said he was not going to transport the dog, and stormed out of our house.

And just like that, we were back to square one.  Vicki and I stood there in shock.  WTF just happened?

Over the next couple of days, this guy sent me a series of threatening text messages, accusing us of trying to set him up with a dangerous dog. We exchanged more than a few words, reminding him—repeatedly—that we had been completely upfront about Ollie’s history and that he had agreed to the transport knowing exactly what we had told him.

He threatened to sue us. He wanted money to cover his hospital visit.  He reported the bite to Animal Control.

We reminded him that he had presented himself as an “experienced rescue-animal transportation specialist” and that we had trusted him to handle the situation accordingly. We had trusted him to be a responsible human being and listen to our simple instructions.

Thankfully, we had kept every communication. Every text. Every email. Every conversation leading up to his agreement to transport Ollie. We had clearly explained his history, including his bite history, and had the messages to prove it.

We reminded him one last time that we had all of that documentation showing exactly what we had told him and that he had acknowledged understood the situation.

Then we blocked him.

Geez.

That was so frustrating.  The next morning I received a phone call from animal control because the hospital filed a report of a dog bite.  An officer showed up at our home to get our side of the story and to let us know that Ollie would now have to be quarantined for 10 days.  After explaining the whole situation from the beginning, and also knowing that I worked at the county animal shelter, the officer allowed us to keep Ollie at our home for the duration of the quarantine.  

But we still had a family in Texas waiting for Ollie.  So… now what? I decided that if the family still wanted him, I would drive him to Texas myself.

We contacted the rescue and explained everything that had happened. They were appalled and shared our frustration. They crossed off the possibility of ever using that transportation service for any future rescues.  They reached out to the Texas family, explained the whole situation, and asked if they still wanted Ollie.

The husband said yes! He had grown up with Komondors, understood the breed, felt confident that he could work with Ollie, and fully understood the situation.

So that was it.

After the 10 days had passed, I would rent a minivan, load up Ollie, drive him to Texas, and deliver him directly to his new family.

What could possibly go wrong?  I’m kidding.  Sort of.

Vicki and I planned everything together. She stayed in constant contact with me and mapped out my stops and motels along the way.

A few hours into the drive, I discovered that the charging port in the van wasn’t working. My phone battery was slowly draining from running the navigation and talking with Vicki, so I had to go old school. I studied the route ahead of time, wrote the directions down on paper, and shut my phone off to conserve the battery. I only turned it on periodically to check my location and see if Vicki had sent me a message.

At each rest stop, I carefully let Ollie out to potty and stretch his legs. I was extremely cautious about where I parked. I didn’t want to get too close to anyone because, after everything that had happened, I simply wasn’t sure how Ollie might react to strangers. I had packed a muzzle for him, but wasn’t planning on using it unless absolutely necessary.

With me, though, he was a good boy.  We were bonding.

He was easy on a leash, did his business quickly, and happily jumped right back into the van when I asked him to. I had the XXL kennel set up in the back, and he seemed very comfortable in it. Eventually, I left the kennel door open so he could stretch out that enormous, long body if he wanted. But he chose to stay in the kennel. He was a great co-pilot.

I drove all the way to Flagstaff that first day from Grass Valley. That was a 12 hour, 800+ mile drive, not including all the stops for walks, gas, potty breaks and food.

Yet somehow, we both did really well.

When we arrived in Flagstaff, I checked into our motel. Thankfully, Vicki had found us a place where the rooms had exterior entrances right near the parking lot.

The room had two queen beds. One for me.  One for Ollie.  Perfect.

I invited him up onto his bed, and he stretched out like he owned the place. I took a shower, climbed into my bed, turned off the lights, and settled in for a good night’s sleep.

Or so I thought.

Shortly after I turned off the lights and closed my eyes, I realized our room was directly across from the vending and ice machines.  And apparently, the entire motel had suddenly developed a serious need for snacks and ice.

People came and went. Doors opened and closed. Voices drifted down the walkway. The machines hummed and clunked.  Every sound put Ollie on high alert and he would let out a single loud, deep bark.  He just stared at that door all night, almost double dog daring someone to walk through it.  Then, at some point, once the world got quiet, I finally drifted off to sleep.  I woke up suddenly in the middle of the night (probably because it was so quiet and I was wondering where the heck I was!) and noticed that this enormous dog had climbed off his bed and positioned himself directly between my bed and the door.

I guess I had hired Komondor Security and Ollie saw fit to take the first watch.  I slept like a baby.  LOL 

I woke early just before sunrise after maybe 3-4 hours of solid sleep.  I fed the boy breakfast, walked him around the back of the building to do his business, and hit the open road with my cell phone now fully charged.  It was going to be another very long day of driving.  Actually a bit longer than the day before.  The plan was to arrive at the family's house just before sun down.  I did not want to spend another night out on the road and was anxious to get this introduction over with.  I was exhausted and looked forward to spending the night alone in a nice hotel with an ice cold beer (or two).  I had already decided that the family would meet me outside of their home, we would talk about Ollie first, then I would leash him up, put on his muzzle, and we would all go for a walk together through their neighborhood.  This would allow Ollie some time to see that the family was not a threat.  Hopefully at some point I could just hand the leash over to the husband and all would be well.  

When I arrived, the wife and their young teenaged son both seemed immediately intimidated by Ollie.  Their body language spoke fear.  They walked close to each other and kept their distance.  The husband on the other hand was beaming with a quiet excitement.  We all walked down the street for a few minutes.  It was getting dark, so we started heading back to the house.  My instincts told me not to hand over the leash yet. It didn’t feel like the right time.  I did not feel trust in Ollie’s body language.  He was walking calmly, but he seemed suspicious of this new encounter. We all walked inside the house and sat in the living room.  I kept Ollie muzzled and on leash while we all sat and talked for a bit.  I wanted Ollie to see that we were all friends and everything was ok. The husband shared about his experience with the breed and how grateful he was that I drove him all this way.  During this time it crossed my mind and I wondered what Ollie thought about these people as he sat there muzzled and leashed.  Was he getting conflicting messages about the whole situation??  If these people were friendly then why the heck did I have him muzzled and leashed?? I continued to listen and observe everyone.  They offered me a glass of water and I accepted.  As the wife stood to walk to the kitchen, Ollie perked up and went from a sitting position to standing on all fours.  The wife flinched and showed a nervous smile.  When she returned with a glass of water and attempted to put it down on the coffee table… Ollie growled and tugged hard on the leash.  Now the wife was terrified.  Visibly terrified.  I could feel her energy!  

That was it.  That was all I needed.  I was certaintly not comfortable leaving Ollie with this family.  It was not safe.  I stood and walked out to bring Ollie back to the van.  I returned to the house and spoke to the husband at length.  I told him I did not feel comfortable leaving Ollie when his wife and son were obviously terrified of the dog.  It would not be a responsible decision for either of us.  This was not a good match.  Plus, their home was small and barely had a backyard suitable for such a big dog.  Unfortunately, there was really no way for me to know any of this without having this in-person meet and greet.  Otherwise I would never have agreed to the long ass drive.  He was heart broken, but understood.

Now what?

I called Vicki and updated her on the situation.  Neither one of us could believe how much this story kept unfolding with one thing after another.  She had made me a hotel reservation at some fancy pants place, so she called ahead to see if I could have a dog for the night.  She explained the whole situation and the hotel said yes.  Great.

I arrived and pulled up to the valet area.  I parked and locked Ollie inside while I walked toward the lobby doors.  I told the valet guys to please NOT approach the van and that I was going to check in and would park the car myself.  They agreed, but of course Ollie saw two strange guys talking to me and he began barking like he lost his mind!   It was loud and scary, and the van was rocking back and forth like an earthquake.  Then he stopped once I went inside.  OMG. If I didn’t already have high blood pressure, this dog would have definitely given it to me!

I approached the registration desk and immediately started taking in my surroundings.  My head was on a swivel.  I would have to walk Ollie past the valet guys (danger Will Robinson!), walk through a huge open lobby, past a nightclub bar area (which was hopping with music and dancing people), walk down a long narrow hallway, ride up an elevator (hopefully avoiding other people wanting to ride the same elevator!), head down another hallway, past a billion other rooms… just to get to our room!  Oh For The Love!  This was not going to work.  Calgone take me away!

I explained the whole situation to the very nice hotel manager, who was very intrigued by the whole rescue experience.  BTW, he received way more details about the last week of my life than he asked for.  I pleaded to him to please cancel my reservation with a refund.  He did.  God bless him!

But now what?  It was almost midnight.  I was utterly exhausted, mentally and physically.

With guidance from Vicki I found the nearest Walmart parking lot and was going to call it a night.  I parked under the over bright lights, away from all other cars.  I had no blankets. No pillow.  No sleeping pad.  Barely an overnight bag.  It was going to be a cold chilly night and was already in the 30’s, but I figured I would wake once and awhile and briefly turn on the heater. I crawled in the back of the van and stretched out as much as I could with my legs wrapped around the side of the kennel.  Then, bless his heart, Ollie squeezed out of his kennel and tried to lay beside me.  Even after everything this dog has been through, he had such pure moments of sweetness.  He knew and wanted to keep me warm!  My heart melted as I enjoyed some snuggle time with my furry friend.  However, I only lasted a couple hours because I could not get comfortable on the hard surface.  

Then a flash of an idea hit me.  My half sister Kim lived in Texas! I struggled with my cell signal and finally was able to punch in directions to learn that she was only about 2 hours away, and she had a nice warm comfy guest bed!  I headed there and arrived about 4:00 AM.  I parked in her driveway and decided to wait until at least 5:30am before let her know I was there. I tried calling a few times, but her phone must have been on silent because she was still sleeping.  I sat in the drivers seat, leaned back and tried to close my eyes.  About every twenty minutes, I turned on the engine so I could get some heat in the van.  Around 6:00 AM I saw the kitchen light turn on.  Kim’s husband Tom was up and appeared to be starting his day.  He stood in the kitchen window for what seemed like forever, but could not see out into the darkness to notice a strange van parked in their driveway.  I really didn’t want to startled them with my unannounced visit, so I waited until at least the sun began to rise, then  I walked around to the front of their house and knocked on the door.  No answer.  I rang the doorbell.  No answer.  I went back to the driveway to see if I could still see Tom in the kitchen, but he must have moved into another room.  I tried calling Kim again.  No answer.  I went back to the front door and rang the bell again.  I did this for hours!  Just kidding.  It seemed like a long time, but was probably only 5-10 minutes.  Then Tom answered the door.

He had to blink his eyes a bunch of times to register who he was seeing.  He was like “What the heck are you doing here?  Are you ok?  Come in!”  I almost started crying.

He went and woke Kim, who came storming out of her room with bed head, sleepy eyes, and nothing but worry and concern on her face.  I was a wreck.  We went to the kitchen, sat down at the counter and I began to tell them the whole crazy story.  It played out like some thriller mystery dark comedy movie.  We chuckled now and again at how unbelieveable this rescue was and it felt good to laugh and relieve some stress.  Tom left for work.  Kim ordered me to go take a shower, then climb into the guest bed to get some sleep.  She assured me that she would help me figure this whole mess out after I got some rest.  I let Ollie sniff around their backyard for a bit, fed him breakfast, and then left him happily napping in the van.  I tossed and turned for a few hours because I couldn’t stop my mind from trying to figure out what to do next.  I sat up and called Vicki.  We both got a little choked up about the whole mess.

I spent the entire day talking with Vicki and the Komondor Rescue, trying to come up with a Plan B.  After much discussion, we all reluctantly agreed that euthanasia was probably the kindest option. Who on earth could we ever feel comfortable leaving him with? It was a heartbreaking situation, and I was completely exhausted. Can you imagine my sleep deprived state of mind at this point?

I contacted a vet near Kim’s house, explained the whole situation, and made an appointment for 4:20 p.m. to have Ollie put down. I drove to the vet a few hours prior to fill out paperwork and pick up sedatives for him. At precisely 2:50 p.m., I was instructed to give him the entire bottle of Xanax in hopes of sedating him enough for the veterinary staff to safely handle him.

I sat at the kitchen counter talking to Kim (and now also her daughter Sabrina) while stuffing pills into little pockets of cheese.  I was laying them out on my hand and was about to walk out to the van to give them to Ollie.

But then (I kid you not!), at exactly 2:49 p.m., my cell phone started ringing off the hook. Vicki and the rescue were both calling with the same incredible news: They had found a Komondor breeder willing to take Ollie!   

You cannot make this stuff up. Talk about cutting it close!  I called the vet and cancelled.

The breeder lived three hours away, so we arranged to meet halfway in Waco, Texas. 

I arrived in the parking lot and parked right alongside the her small SUV. She got out, we introduced ourselves, and we began talking about our little troublemaker.

I couldn’t help noticing that she had some unusual facial tics and kept sticking out her tongue at the end of nearly every sentence. I was a little distracted by this and had little questions bobbing around in my head, but I had bigger things to worry about. I trusted the rescue, but I needed to know for myself, without a doubt, that Ollie would be in good hands.

Fortunately, her energy and behavior soon put me at ease. I opened the back hatch of my van so she and Ollie could see each other. The woman immediately sat on the edge of the van with her back to him and just began talking with me. I could tell she was communicating with Ollie that she wasn’t a threat. I liked that maneuver! It showed me she understood something about dog behavior, and I was encouraged.

Ollie seemed calm and completely unfazed by the whole thing.

Then she casually suggested that we leash him up and put him loose in the back of her little SUV.

Um, NOPE.

I was not about to put a potentially unpredictable, 100-plus-pound Komondor loose in the back of a stranger’s vehicle. I insisted that he travel inside his kennel and I was not taking no for an answer. My solution seemed simple enough: fold down the back seat, and we could slide the kennel right into the car. Easy peasy!

She told me she couldn’t fold down the seat but did not explain why.

And then, because this story apparently needed one more plot twist, a little toddler boy popped his head up from the back seat AND his little sister peaked around the front passenger seat!

WHAT?!

You brought two small children with you to pick up a strange, potentially dangerous dog, and your plan is to put him loose in the back of the car with your grandchildren?

I was officially about to lose my mind.

I firmly told her there was absolutely no way I was handing over Ollie unless he was safely secured inside his kennel for the drive. She finally agreed.

We lifted the kennel with Ollie inside and started sliding it into the back of her SUV. There was just one tiny problem.

The freaking XXL kennel was too tall to fit through the hatch!

At this point, I didn’t even bother discussing other options. I moved quickly and simply started turning the kennel onto its side, maneuvering it every which way to get the thing through the opening.  There was no way this woman was driving away without him in her car!

Poor Ollie probably felt like he was being tumbled around inside a dryer! But somehow, we managed to get the kennel inside. I gave Ollie one last look, told him to be a good boy and closed the hatch.

Sigh.

One last crisis averted. Ollie was safely on his way to his new adventure, and I could finally begin to let go of the death grip I had on my sanity.

Just like that, Ollie was off to go live on a farm with acreage and other Komondor dogs! I stood there crying as they drove away, overwhelmed with relief, exhaustion, excitement, and every other emotion you can imagine.  Over the next few days, the breeder sent me photos, videos, and updates. And guess what? Ollie was behaving absolutely perfectly. PERFECTLY! He was finally showing everyone a side of himself we desperately hoped was still in there.

The breeder decided to keep Ollie as a long-term foster so she could continue working on his socialization and give him some much-needed obedience training.

A few months later, she reached out with some wonderful news: Ollie had found his forever home with another Komondor family in Washington State!

After all the stress, sleepless nights, heartache, and uncertainty, Ollie had finally found where he belonged. What began as a desperate search for a Plan B turned into a second chance at life for a dog who had run out of options. And somehow, against all odds, his journey brought him full circle, back to the very state where he was born.

I often think about how differently that story could have ended. If that phone call had come just a few minutes later, Ollie’s life might have taken a very different turn. Instead, he got a new beginning, a family of his own, and the chance to live the life he deserved all along.

Sometimes, the most difficult rescue stories take us right to the edge of heartbreak before reminding us why we never give up hope. Ollie was one of those stories. And knowing that he finally found his forever home made every tear, every sleepless night, and every ounce of worry worth it.