We’ve spent a lot of time recently trying to get L to walk on his own. E and I have sat opposite each other and coaxed L to walk between us, which usually turned out to be a couple of hobbled steps following by a dive into our arms and lap.
This past Friday was his ten month birthday, and he decided it was time to walk without prompting. E calls him the “drunken sailor”.
For the record, those grey and orange spots on his outfit are decoration, not dirt or food. We don’t keep a dirty kiddo.
I posted awhile ago that we were getting serious about rehoming our last two found pups. After contacting several beagle rescues and striking out big time, I posted Bob on Craigslist.
Our first reply was a husband-wife team who swore that Bob was their recently lost dog (despite that we’ve had him two years, despite them living over 50 miles away). I pegged them immediately as typical craigslist freakshows/scammers, but after E called them to assure them Bob has been ours, I felt quite bad. Apparently they had a family friend take care of their beagle for a few days, and the friend dropped the beagle at the pound because their landlord complained. They never saw the pup again, and were hoping our Bob was their long lost buddy.
The next reply sounded promising, from a woman on the other side of the city who lived in a three story condo and had a cocker spaniel. We made plans to meet up at her place to see her digs and meet her son.
We should have turned around and driven away when we saw the broken window covered in cardboard with an air conditioner stuck in it. Instead, we went in. We were greeted by a slovenly woman whose boobs were hanging out of her inappropriate dress, the slovenly woman’s sister who was passed out on the couch and didn’t bother to acknowledge us after looking up, and the eighteen month old son who was dressed in apparently his Sunday best, a diaper with no clothes or shoes.
Bob sniffed around the place and met the cocker spaniel, who had bilateral conjunctivitis and an ear infection. She was confined to the yard round the clock because she “peed in the house a few times”. She had a dog crate to sleep in, covered from the elements by a piece of cardboard hanging off the side. Her food bowl was swimming with ants, and her water dish looked like one of those swimming pools that turns green from never being serviced.
The treatment a currently owned dog is receiving is obviously a great indicator of the treatment a new dog will receive, so we ran away screaming, and talked in the car about possibly calling the SPCA on her. The woman never once even pet Bob, he seemed like a potential new accessory for her eighteen month old, now that they are apparently bored of the cocker spaniel.
To top it off, we got in the car and had to pick fleas off Bob.
There are people who own dogs, and then there are “dog people”. This solidifies that Bob needs some dog people.
Our last rescue dog to be spayed has apparently gone into heat before we could get the procedure done. Though everyone else is neutered and spayed, one of our male dogs decided it would be prudent to mount this poor female and take her for a ride. The only problem? Not to be too graphic, but he got himself stuck up inside her.
As I was at work, E tried everything to get him unstuck, from hosing them down (a cool off period?) to trying to manually pry the poor guy’s manparts out of her. In between screams and cries by the male dog, E called the vet’s office and they recommended she just let them calm down and come unstuck naturally.
That seems to have worked, as you can see by the male licking his “wounds”.
