Stray Dog Saga Part III

Yup.

I'm still in the park with the Dog.

He's eaten all of the lemon-pepper chicken (except the bones which I picked out because I read somewhere chicken bones are bad for dogs), and shown no signs of willingly clambering into the Jeep anytime this decade.

Who's the suckah now, huh?

Good news is he seems to be developing a much more trusting attitude towards me. No tail-wagging yet and he's still pretty twitchy. He demonstrates this when I go to chuck the ice cream cup/ water dish in the garbage. As I threw it basketball-style into the trash can, he crouched down, ears flat, and scampered off with his tail tucked. It took me ten minutes to coax him back over.

Where is the freaking Dog Whisperer when you need him?

I will say this for Dog, he is excruciatingly polite. Even though he's obviously starving (noted previously), he waits patiently for me to debone the chicken, gently taking each morsel from my fingers without accidentally biting off any of my digits with his giant fangs.

By now it's been a couple of hours. The sun is lowering in the west and the temperature has dropped to a cool 102degrees. I have resorted to prayer. If there is no divine intervention, both of us are going to die from dehydration. That's if we don't succumb to heat stroke first.

If there is a god/goddess/patron saint of dogs out there, give us a hand would you?

A truck with a mom and three boisterous young children pulls up.

Crap.

Thanks for nothing, Patron Saint of Sucks Ass. This is exactly the opposite of what I need right now.

Not wanting to risk someone shooting first and asking questions later, I approach the young mother and explain the situation. She is so sympathetic I want to cry. While the kids wait in the air-conditioned truck, she grabs a length of rope from the back. I loop it loosely around the dog's neck, and with me tugging the rope from my position in the the driver's seat and her giving him a gentle boost from the rear, we get him into the vehicle.

Where he promptly devourers all the chicken bones I'd picked out AND the napkin they were wrapped in. Oh well. Chicken bones are the least of our problems.

I'm going to need to offer serious reparation to some divinities later for that sucks ass comment.

Pretty sure there's a lesson in there someplace.

I thank our rescuer profusely (and thank the Patron Saint of Canines silently), and then slowly and carefully drive away. The last thing I need is a big, freaked-out dog in my lap as I'm driving down the highway. The ride to Holly House is interesting, but suffice it to say we both arrive whole and profoundly relieved to get out of the car once we reach our destination.

Now Dog is stuck like glue. Where I go, he goes. I am not to be let out of his sight for any reason.

Such is the bond created by lemon-pepper chicken.

I feed him some kibble topped with a little of the meat and gravy product. That finally gets a meager tail wag. He drinks and drinks and drinks from a bowl of cold water while I envision puddles of pee-pee all over the place in the morning. I don't even know if dog is housebroken, but I can't leave him outside because #1.) I don't have a fenced yard (it is on my July to do list ), and #2.) my next door neighbor is not an animal lover and has been seen weeding his garden with a .45 strapped to his hip.

Just in case he encounters a rogue turnip.

I make Dog a bed in the laundry room using the door mat and a couple of old towels. Meanwhile the Cat, shut in the house on the other side of the laundry room door, is making his "Hello? Hello? Is someone in there?" meow. Dog shows an unwholesome interest in the cat sounds. I wonder about some of the scratches around his nose... perhaps made by a cat that wasn't willing snackage? I make a note to keep them separated for now.

He catches on to the whole dogbed concept quickly. Even though he still won't lay down, with a little encouragement he does finally sit. His legs are trembling. It's either a result of exhaustion or he's coming down off the adrenaline rush caused from the ride in the Jeep. Probably a little bit of both. I know I'm experiencing both.

I turn off the laundry room lights and back out the door closing it firmly. Watching me retreat, Dog make nary a peep. I sit on the couch and watch a few minutes of the 10 o'clock news and wake up a few hours later. Tip-toeing to the laundry room door, I crack it open. Dog is stretched out on his makeshift bed fast asleep.

Amazing recuperative powers, dogs.