Story #44: What Snowflake Taught Me About Second Chances
As told by Dean Daubert, CEO & President
Meeting Snowflake
Snowflake was a three-year-old pit bull who arrived carrying a heavy amount of fear. She was shy and wary of people, walking on a leash was difficult, and trust was not something she gave freely. She was not the kind of dog who made an immediate impression on potential adopters and required patience, structure, and consistency.
For a time, Snowflake stayed in my office away from the noise and stimulation of the shelter floor. We worked together quietly, day after day, and slowly, she began to open up. I fell in love with her in the way you fall in love with a dog you believe in deeply, but Snowflake was a “single-dog-only” household kind of dog, and she couldn’t come home with me.
So we continued working together.
Months went by. In many shelters, Snowflake would have been euthanized because of her behavioral challenges. Here, we knew better. We knew the right person was out there.
Then one day, an elderly woman named Shirley came in and asked about Snowflake.
I will be honest. In the back of my mind, I was already dismissing the idea. I didn’t think Shirley would be able to handle Snowflake. I assumed it wouldn’t work. Shirley was kind, thoughtful, and persistent. She asked questions. She wanted to come back the next day.
That night, I had to sit with my own bias. I asked myself a different question.
Not why it wouldn’t work, but what it would take to make it work.
So we leaned in.
We checked the yard and inspected the fence. We spent intentional time observing them together. We moved slowly. We paid attention. And gradually, Snowflake began to soften in Shirley’s presence.
That is when we said yes.
What followed was remarkable.
For the first two months, Shirley emailed and texted me every single day. Questions about food. Updates on walks. Photos. Stories. Joy mixed with worry, pride, and love. After a while, the messages became weekly. Then monthly. A rhythm formed.
About a year and a half later, a month went by without a message. I reached out, concerned. Shirley replied that everything was great and that life had just been busy.
About a month after that, we received a call from the Elgin Police Department.
Shirley had passed away.
Snowflake was alone in the home, and they were having trouble getting her out. They were understandably intimidated.
We didn’t hesitate. We loaded up the truck and went.
When Snowflake saw us, she came running to the door, wiggling with relief. Her people were there. She knew she was safe.
Snowflake came back with us and settled once again into my office. For several weeks, she decompressed while we looked for the right next chapter.
And then we found it.
A family with a fenced yard, experience, patience, and a willingness to work with Snowflake and her unique quirks.
Snowflake went home again.
I often think about the impact Snowflake had on Shirley’s life.
That year and a half mattered. Shirley loved Snowflake with everything she had.
Some organizations would never have approved that adoption because of assumptions about age or ability. And while the worst did happen, the safety net held. For both of them.
Several people deeply loved Snowflake throughout her life. Shirley spent her final year and a half with a dog she adored. And Snowflake, once fearful and overlooked, learned again and again that people can show up, stay, and love her fiercely.
That is what we do. That is what second chances look like.
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