The dog rescue

The other afternoon, my dog Sydney started barking like crazy. Interested in what was causing the fuss, my other dog, Jake visited the window and started barking. Well, that got up my curiousity and I went to the window. Out in the rain, a hound mix hobbled on three legs through the yard. He hobbled to the neighbor's yard. I was concerned for his well-being so, I put on my shoes and ventured out into the rain to see if I could help.

He scampered to the far side of the neighbor's house. I followed. He gave up and hunkered down. I could readily see that his back leg was hurt. I cautiously approached expecting him to maybe growl or even snap at me. Nothing. He was ready to be caught. Although I looped a leash around his collar, he didn't want to walk anymore. I carefully picked him up and carried him home.

I brought him into my house where he was enthusiactically greeted by my dogs. This pup didn't protest in the least. I wrapped a warm towel around him and he snuggled next to me. There was a name and a telephone number on his collar and I called. I got an answering machine and left a message that I had found the dog and was taking it to the vet. I didn't mention that his leg had big sores on it and that he favored it.

I put the dog in my truck. He still did not resist.

At the vet's, I was immediately taken into an exam room. Initially, it was suspect that he might have been hit by a car. The dog was very thin and the sores were old. The vet agreed to treat the dog and attempt to contact the owner.

I left the vet's office. I decided that if the owner was unable to be contacted, I would take care of the vet bill and adopt the dog. Of course, I made this decision without consulting my husband.

Once home, I called the number on the collar again. I repeated calling all evening. Finally, at 10:30 that night, someone answered. He hadn't gotten my message and was pleased that the dog had been found. Turns out, the dog had been missing for well over a month and had traveled over 30 miles from home.

The next morning, I stopped by the vet's to let them know that the owner had been located. Fortunately, the owner had already been by and took the dog home. Yea!

Later that evening, the dog's "real" owner, a 12-year old boy, called to thank me for taking care of his dog. The boy told me he had missed his dog and was very happy to have him home. I told the boy that I, too, had been worried about the dog and was thrilled that he was able to return home.

Turns out, the name on the dog's collar was not the dog's name, but the boy's name. The dog, who I had been calling Shane, was actually Dipstick.

I'm such a sucker for animals.