Our Reccy Boy!
Rex came into rescue underweight and shitting out plastic.
Typical bull herder, right?
Wrong.
He was just ten weeks old. A baby. Another dog let down by a breeder before he’d even had a proper chance at life.
And as we’ve said before, we don’t always get everything right at CWF. I’d love to sit here and tell you we do, but I’d be talking absolute bollocks.
Rex is one of those stories where we had to admit what wasn’t working, change what we were doing and keep going.
Because this little lad was about to make us fucking work for it.
Auntie Lace, Welly Rach and a Foster Plan That Went to Shit
When Rex first came into rescue, we placed him in a foster home.
It didn’t work out.
During that time, he spent every other weekend with me, his Auntie Lace.
He was a tiny bull herder with a lot going on, but he was still a puppy. He needed us to get things right for him.
Eventually, Rex went to Welly Rach’s house. He wasn’t supposed to be staying there another foster was lined up to collect him that same night.
Lovely. Sorted.
Or so we fucking thought.
The next part of this story belongs to Rach. She was the one who took Rex back in, worked through his behaviour and ended up at Yorkshire Canine Academy with him, wondering what the fuck she’d signed up for.
Over to you, Welly.
When Rex came to mine, he were never meant to be staying.
We had a foster lined up, ready to take him that very same night.
Perfect.
Job done.
Two or three days later, foster rang. Rex were being a bit of a twat and had started going at their dog, so I had to fetch him back.
Got him home and he seemed fine.
Good with me. Good with my dogs.
I’m stood there thinking, what’s bloody problem then?
Then half five rolled round.
In walks Brynn, back from a week at college.
Rex ran straight at him.
I managed to get between them and get Rex on a lead. A few phone calls later, we tried having Brynn feed him, which seemed to make a bit of difference.
All fixed, right?
Were we fuck.
Turns Out, Rex Had Quite a Lot to Say
Rex’s behaviour kept getting worse.
He didn’t like men. He’d charge at other dogs and practically do backflips off the end of his lead.
And I were trying. Bloody hell, I were trying.
I sat for hours in busy public places where people and dogs walked past, trying to build Rex up and get him used to different environments.
Did it work?
Nope.
Not even a fucking bit.
That’s the thing, though. You can put hours into something thinking you’re helping, but if it’s not working for that dog, it’s not working.
And Rex were making it quite clear that what I was doing weren’t enough.
Then came the invite to Yorkshire Canine Academy.
“Rach, I think it’d be really good for you and Rex to come to bootcamp.”
Right.
Brilliant.
Except I were nervous, unsure and, frankly, shitting me pants.
Hand Feeding, Cat’s Cradle and a Very Nervous Welly
Before bootcamp, we started putting some foundations in place.
Hand feeding inside.
Hand feeding outside.
Then cat’s cradle.
Then the YES marker.
And do you know what? Rex were doing well.
He picked things up quickly. Clever little sod.
Turns out he weren’t the only one who needed to learn a few things.
Then came bootcamp week.
Just me, Rex and several up-and-coming dog trainers.
It were the mentees’ final week, and me and Rex were right there in thick of it.
No pressure, eh?
Monday: CODE BROWN
Morning briefing, a bit of teaching, then time to get Rex out.
CODE BROWN.
Rex blew up and hit the end of the lead.
And I’m stood there thinking:
Cheers, Rex, ya twat. I look a right dick.
There I were, surrounded by people training to become dog trainers, with Rex putting on a full demonstration of why we’d been invited in first place.
Lovely.
Couldn’t have gone better.
Tuesday: I Cried. There, I’ve Said It.
Day two were much same, only this time I let me own head get in way.
I were terrified of fucking Rex up even more.
I felt like I’d never owned a dog in me life.
I had, obviously. But stood there with Rex, feeling like all eyes were on me, I started doubting every bloody thing I did.
Then panic set in.
Then came tears.
Phone signal were shit, and I didn’t have me usual wingwomen there to lean on.
But I had Toni in me ear telling me:
“You’ve got this.”
And I needed that.
Because I didn’t feel like I had it. Not one bit.
I wanted to do right by Rex so badly that I were getting in me own way.
Wednesday: Head Wobbled, Back to Work
By day three, I’d told everyone I cried.
Got a few funny looks.
Fuck it. We were back at it.
By this point, Rex were what I can only describe as a full kit wanker.
Sorry, Nic. Looks like you’re sharing that title.
I’d given me head a wobble, and Kirky had given me a stern chat.
Love you, Kirky.
I needed it.
Because standing there worrying about looking like a dick weren’t helping Rex, were it?
He needed me to listen, learn and crack on.
So that’s what we did.
Thursday: Hang On. Is This Actually Working?
Day four.
Rex were actually behaving.
Owain were no longer having to tell me off for loading me hand.
And for first time in a while, I started thinking we might actually get somewhere with this lad.
Not just with training, but with finding him a home.
A proper home.
One with a bunch of dog-loving loons like us, who’d understand him and put work in rather than expect him to be a different dog overnight.
It finally felt possible.
Friday: A Pub Full of Dogs Who’d Wanted to Batter Each Other
Then came day five.
And everything just clicked.
We’d made it through week.
There we were, sat in pub with a bunch of dogs who, on Monday, had all wanted to fuck each other up.
And now?
No stress.
No drama.
Just me, Rex, a celebratory drink and a feeling I hadn’t had in a while starting to come back.
I felt like I could do this.
Not because Rex were suddenly perfect. He weren’t.
But because we’d both learned so much, and I finally felt like I knew how to help him.
I’d gone into that week shitting me pants.
I came out of it looking at Rex and thinking, we might actually pull this off, mate.
Then Came Alisha
After bootcamp, it were time to get Rex onto a one-to-one with Alisha.
No problem.
Then Alisha said:
“I think I’ll adopt him.”
Well.
That excited, sick feeling came straight back.
You know when you’re absolutely buzzing but also feel like you might throw up because something you’ve wanted for so long might actually be happening?
That.
Call were made.
Rex came home that night, then a few days later off we went back to YCA, Rex in tow, to hand him over.
And it’s fair to say there were tears.
Of course there were fucking tears.
I’d lived with this lad, worried about him, trained with him, cried over him and watched him make progress I weren’t sure we’d ever see.
Handing him over were a big deal.
But Reccy weren’t quite finished keeping us on our toes.
Rex Had Other Ideas About Who His Dad Was Going to Be
All the lads and lasses at YCA had fallen in love with our goofy boy, and they wanted him to settle somewhere that really suited him.
So they kept trying to work out where that were.
First came a weekend with Simmo.
Nope. Not quite right fit.
Back to Alisha.
Brilliant, but still something weren’t quite right.
Then came Owain.
A weekend at Owain’s turned into a week.
Then another week.
And then came message.
After all that work, all that trying and all those changes of plan, Rex had basically decided Owain were getting an upgrade.
From trainer to Dad.
Reccy had picked his person.
And this time, it were right.
Still a Dickhead. Just a Very Happy One.
We still get to see Rex, which is lovely.
Although he does still greet us by body-slamming us into next week, taking teeth and glasses with him if you’re not quick enough.
Personal space?
Never heard of it.
He’s still our goofy Reccy. Still full-on. Still an absolute bloody menace when he’s pleased to see you.
But from day one to now, he’s the best version of himself.
And that’s what we wanted for him.
Not a dog with all his personality trained out of him. Not a dog who’d never have another difficult day.
Just a dog who understood more about the world, had people who understood him and had a home where he could thrive.
Owain gave him that.
Did We Get Everything Right? No. Did We Put It Right? Yes, We Fucking Did.
Rex came into rescue at ten weeks old.
He left us at almost a year old.
That’s a huge part of a young dog’s life, and it weren’t an easy road.
Did we do everything right at beginning?
No.
We made decisions that didn’t work out. We tried things that weren’t helping. We had to change what we were doing and ask for help.
And I think it matters that we say that.
Rescue isn’t about pretending you know everything. It’s about taking responsibility for dogs in your care, being honest when something isn’t working and doing what’s needed to put it right.
For Rex, that meant Auntie Lace being there for him on those early weekends.
It meant me taking him back in when he weren’t meant to be staying.
It meant going to bootcamp when I were shitting me pants and learning that I needed to change things too.
It meant Toni in me ear, Kirky giving me a stern chat and the YCA team putting their time and knowledge into a dog who weren’t making life easy for anybody.
And it meant Owain giving Rex the home he’d been looking for.
Rex came to us as a baby who’d already been let down.
He turned into a complex young dog, and we had to work bloody hard to get things right for him.
Did we get there in the end?
Yes. Yes, we fucking did.
And when I see him now, happy with his dad and still launching himself at us like a furry wrecking ball, I wouldn’t change that feeling for owt.
Love you, Reccy.
You absolute twat.
One Last Thing, From Auntie Lace
Right, before we finish, I’ve got something to say about Welly Rach.
Because this story isn’t just about what bootcamp did for Rex. It’s about what it did for Rach as well.
And unless you were there, I don’t think you’d fully understand what that dog and that week meant to her. She was absolutely shitting herself about getting it wrong. She cried, she doubted herself, and she still got up the next morning and went back out there with him.
That’s the bit I’m proud of.
Not that everything suddenly became easy. It fucking didn’t. But she stuck with it, listened, learnt and started believing in herself a bit more.
Rex came out of that week a different dog, and Rach came out of it with confidence she’d been missing for a long time.
Watching the pair of them get there was something else.
So, Rach, from me and everyone at CWF: massive fucking well done.
You worked your arse off for that dog. You gave him what he needed, even when you were scared you couldn’t do it. And now look at him — living his best life with his dad, still body-slamming people like the absolute knobhead he is.
We couldn’t be prouder of either of you.
And I hope when you look at Reccy now, you see what we see: not just how far he came, but how far you came with him.
Love you, Welly. Now stop fucking crying, you soppy cow.
