I was glad for the garage that sleety morning as I started out for my day shift. At least I wouldn’t have to stand in the cold and scrape ice off my windshield. As I headed cautiously out my slippery drive, I caught sight of a tiny red Chihuahua hopping down the middle of the street in the dark. Knowing how Chihuahuas suffer from the cold , I knew someone’s precious baby must have slipped out. Surely, no one would have intentionally left such a fragile creature out, so I stopped and called out. The grateful dog jumped in my car as soon as I opened the door. She looked like a red Chinese Crested Hairless Chihuahua at first. Shivering, she was chilled to the bone. I called work, letting them know I’d be late and took her back home. Upon inspection, I found her flea collar had slipped to fit bandoleer style, pulling her front leg out of line. Cutting the collar off, I saw chafing under her left front leg. This pitiful beast had been abandoned. Flea-infested and starving, she had horrendous breath, the result of muscle breakdown, After hand-feeding and watering her, I put a heating pad in a small box and wrapped her like a mummy. She buried up head and ears, still shivering and coughing. Bud hadn’t gotten in from his night shift so I left him a note and went to work. I worried about her all day.
I needn’t have concerned myself. When I got home that afternoon, I found her enthroned on Bud’s lap, cozily wrapped in a blanket, her food and water bowls at hand. She was crawling with fleas but Bud was unconcerned. I gave her a warm flea bath, which she welcomed, removed a few ticks, and treated her chafed leg. The next day, we took her to the vet who put her on antibiotics for her cough. She weighed four pounds six ounces.
We nursed her back to health before worming and vaccinating her. Her cough cleared. By the time she’d reached her target weight, her golden coat grew in. She turned out to be a beautiful, honey-coated Pomeranian, the sweetest little dog possible. This little rescue was so grateful for her home. Her personality blossomed. She got bossy, trying to get us to go to bed at eight every night. Ruling the roost over our bigger dogs, she pushed them out of their beds and confiscated their toys at will. She particularly loved Bud, who’d wrapped her in a blanket and cuddled her all day, her first day home.
If you are thinking of getting a dog, consider a rescue. They are likely to already be house trained. They are definitely grateful for their home. No one need buy a dog when there are so many rescues waiting. Even if you have your heart set on a particular breed, you can usually find one. People often buy purebred dogs thoughtlessly, then turn them in to shelters.
We have a nice little wet-weather creek that runs along our property line, cutting through the middle of the wooded lot next door. My kids played in the creek and in the woods all the time. They were a few years older than Greg, our neighbor’s boy, so by the time he played there, he had Annie, our Dalmatian and other kids from the neighborhood with him. Sometimes, I think Greg was the only person Annie really liked. Greg got in from school and made his way straight to the pantry, just like always. He filled up, chatted a while, and took Annie out to play. Before long, he and Annie were back. “How do you get a fish hook out of a dog’s mouth?” I thought it was it was the lead in to a joke. “”I don’t know. How?” “I don’t know. But I was crawfishing with a piece of bacon for bait on my line and somehow, Annie jumped and swallowed the hook, bacon, and all. I just can’t imagine how it happened!” I could. Annie pranced right behind Greg, proud of the long string hanging from her mouth. Tentatively, I pulled it. It was stuck. Off to the vet. As you can see from the xray above, the fish hook was imbedded in her stomach. It had to be surgically removed, along with about five hundred dollars from my wallet. Annie moped around for three or four days, with nothing to do but brag about her surgery. Greg made himself scarce, not even checking on her.
Izzy is our little rescue dog. He looks for all the world like an American Eskimo Dog, but weighs less than ten pounds, so I suspect there’s some Pomeranian in there as well. Like a Pom, he hates getting his feet wet. He’d strayed up a home on my niece’s mail delivery route. The homeowner was kindly fostering him but hunting a home. We’d recently lost our darling dog, so we ended up with him.
He’s adorable, so sweet and loving but has one quirk. He’s a runaway. I suspect that’s how we ended up with him. Given the slightest chance, he flees. He likes for us to follow him till he gets his run out, staying a couple of hundred yards ahead. When he’s journeyed far enough, he welcomes a ride home.
He’s a great lap-sitter and kisser. He’s fascinated with my glasses. One evening I took them off, laying them on my table. In a flash, he’d grabbed them, prepared to munch them up. Fortunately, I caught him in time. A few nights later, I knocked them off my nightstand. They bounced under my bed. I left them, thinking I’d retrieve in the morning when they were nowhere to be found. Then I discovered them where he’d hidden them in the bed, the earpieces chewed to a fare-thee-well. My new ones should be in Wednesday.
Watson on my son John’s lap. Watson has no idea he’s too big to be a lap dogWatson sleeping in the cool of the bathtub. When he snores it echoes down the drain and sounds like ghosts wailing.Watson found a football and carried it everywhere till it got stuck in his food dish. Now he has a real conundrum.Watson cooling off in his wading pool.Watson with his precious Christmas Bone. He wouldn’t turn loose of it even to sleep.
Nutsrok 