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It’s
been almost five years since we’ve had a dog in the house. Back seven years or
so we had to put our family dog of 14 years to sleep since she had developed a
severe hip problem and couldn’t function any longer. Shortly thereafter we
bought two more of the same breed, but had to give them up when we moved from
our house in Houston. Nothing makes a house feel like home to me better than a
dog.
I’ve missed owning one, and now
that we have room and our lives are kind of getting a bit calmer, I started
looking for one again. I found myself looking for a duplicate of the first one
that we’d had so long. Each breeder that I called got peppered with 20
questions, all of them relating to what the dog looked like. In my mind I was
trying to recreate something that could never be again. I soon realized the
folly of my efforts and quit trying. That all changed last Friday.
My youngest son and I are in San
Antonio, early in the morning, headed for a place to eat breakfast. We’re
stopped at a light and a dogcatcher truck pulls up along side of us. Now, the
animal control trucks where we live have enclosed cages so you can’t see what
has been grabbed off of the streets. Not the ones in San Antonio, nope these are
open, so you can see what’s inside each one as you drive down the road.
Anyway, we spy a type of dog that I’d love to have and speed up trying to
catch the dogcatcher. We stop at another light and I’m right behind him. The
cages just have simple latches on them, no locks. I’m tempted to jump out of
my car and open all of the cages, but the light changes before I can move. I’d
probably end up in prison for something like this anyway.
I try to pull up even with the truck
and get the drivers attention. No luck, he’s going too fast and all I get is
his unit number from the side. I call the pound and get their address. They tell
me they’ll be open at 1pm on the next day. Saturday, my wife and I drive 70
miles to go see this wonder dog that I’ve spied from a speeding car. Needless
to say, she’s rather skeptical about this whole deal. Well, here’s the rest
of the story.
When we get to the pound, they tell
us that anything picked up yesterday won’t be available for adoption for at
least 5 days, they have to wait and see if the real owners come in and claim
their lost animals. I’d forgot about that rule. So, what happens next? Well,
you know what happens. I decide to just walk back there and kind of look around
and see what’s available. Once inside I’m confronted with the animal version
of death row. Here are 30 cages; each holding an animal that is scheduled for
the big walk in a few days unless someone claims them. All of these animals know
what’s getting ready to happen so they put on their best show. I pass this one
cage and there he sits. Wagging his tail and puts one paw up on the cage as if
to say…"Hey, look at me, I’m a really neat pet. I’ll be your
friend."
We walked around for a few minutes
and I decided that this is the one for us. So, we went and paid the fee of $13
to be able to bring something new into our lives. He’s kind of a Schnauzer,
something, terrier mix; with long legs and great looking eyes. His breed on his
tag at the pound said that his name was "Terrier X." We named him
‘Buddy’. He just looked like his name. Some dogs are Rovers, some are Sam or
whatever, this was just Buddy from the start. He jumped right into the car and
sat there, like he knew he had a good deal and as if to say….."Well,
I’m here, let’s go." We headed for the pet store and paid to get him
groomed and bathed. While they were doing all of this we went to find someplace
to eat. For some reason, I couldn’t eat as I just kept getting sentimental
about this stray dog we just obtained.
Maybe, it’s because I can identify
with strays. I’m not Italian, Irish, German, French or English. I’m not
Hispanic, Oriental or African American. I’m just plain old American. I guess
that makes me a stray of some kind or another as well, doesn’t it? So, it’s
easy for me to be sympathetic to a poor defenseless animal that is about to be
gassed in 48 hours. Here he sits as I write, wagging his tail and I wonder if he
knows that he was snatched from the jaws of death yesterday. Needless to say, he
fit in well at home. We had to buy all of that stuff, we’d given away 5 years
ago and lug it all into the house. Buddy had no problem getting adjusted. He
slept all night on his new bed. I’m sure that felt better than the concrete
floor at the pound. He follows me around the house and sits by me while I’m
working.
Oh, yes, I forget to tell you
this…once we picked him up from the pet store, we started the trip back home.
About 20 minutes into the trip, he started to whine a little. I put on some
Willie Nelson and he calmed down and went right to sleep. Any dog that likes
Willie Nelson is all right by me. Buddy was made for me, my kind of dog. Buddy,
the wonder dog……Also known as "The dog formally known as Terrier
X." If you liked this dog story, tell me at www.pearyperry.com.
If not, keep your comments to yourself. I’m trying to be more positive here
lately.
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