Tonight is one of those nights when it is completely clear to me why it is so great to take in strays. They are good for the soul. After an evening of getting my hair done, then hanging out with my friend Suzzette listening to music and chatting, I came home about a half an hour before midnight to find three very anxious dogs waiting to gleefully greet me at the door. Suddenly the headache that had been developing (totally my own fault for not eating anything since lunch), melted a bit in the face of all that excitement. It is good to be loved THAT much.
All three of our dogs have sad pre-Powellhurst stories. Toby was rescued from doggie death row at 3 months of age. His whole life had been spent in shelters and his time at animal control was running out, which would have mean euthanasia, if we hadn't taken him. And how could we not? He was adorable, with his puffy Art Garfunkel puppy hair. He has the sweetest, most laid back personality. His hobbies include singing and attempting to maneuver his 80 lb frame into people's laps without them noticing. Every morning he greets me by sticking his nose in my face and grumbling at me until the singing begins. He also spends a lot of time out back, where we think he may smoke pot. Seriously. It would explain a lot.
Ruby came from the Human Society. She is really Toby's dog, having been adopted so he would have a friend. The first time I saw her, she was in a pen with about six other dogs. She was shy, holding to the back of the pack, hopefully thumping her tail and staring up at me with her big brown eyes as the others pushed ahead of her. She was only 9 months old at the time, and I am fairly certain she was abused. For the first year a person could stretch or raise her arms around her without her cowering. Even now, I often wonder if her seizures weren't brought on by having been hit in the head. She certainly acted like she was used to being beaten, which is tragic.
Baxter is the youngest dog, having turned 4 on Boxing Day. The offspring of a stray, he spent his first months very sick battling all manner of parasites. There was a period where all he could eat was a bland diet of baby food (chicken and rice). I didn't realize it at the time, but he came very close to dying before he was even two months old. Now he is a healthy, but freakish little dog who loves Toby and Ruby, his cat Isis, my mother, my uncle, one of our former neighbors and me. He is not so wild about strangers, but is starting to come around a little now that he realizes they are not all out to cause him harm.
It is sad to think that all three of them could have easily ended up somewhere where they would not be as loved or well cared for as they are now. It is beyond me how anyone can abandon or abuse such sweet animals. But their loss is definitely my gain...
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