The Saga of a Rescued Dog: Chapter Five

22 May

 

Photo by Graham R. Marsden Used by permission

Photo by Graham R. Marsden
Used by permission

 

 

 

The Saga of a Rescued Dog

Chapter Five: Time sure flies . . .

by L. Stewart Marsden

 

Previously:

The two went through the door, and about an hour later, the mister emerged without our friend. The mister’s face was streaked with tears, and he turned and pinned Mangum’s picture and bio on the cork board, then quickly walked out of the compound and through the front door, letting it close by itself.

Hey, I said to the dog in the cage across the aisle from mine. What numbers are still left on my card that haven’t been crossed off?

He squinted and looked, then lowered his head and said something.

What? I can’t hear you, I said.

Six. Six days have not been marked off.

_________________

 

 

I’ve heard that for every human year on earth, a dog ages seven. I don’t know where that comes from. I’m four years old, as nearly as I can tell. But, am I really twenty-eight instead?

Time sure flies when you’re having fun. Or even when you’re not.

When the dog across the aisle said I had six days left — six days! — I called him a liar and said he was being cruel. After all, I can count on one paw how many days someone hasn’t been cruel to me.

I figured he wanted to get my goat for some reason.

Oh yeah? I barked back. You only got two days. Two freakin’ days! Do you hear me?

But I lied. He had about fifteen. He had come in after I did and knew better. But I didn’t like him. He had buggy eyes and no tail.

What dog has no tail?

Speaking of tail, mine had healed with the last two inches bent into an ell. What adopter is going to want a dog with a bent tail? Huh?

Next day Muffy got adopted. An old man and his wife saw her picture in the newspaper and came in.

Why, she’s just like my Cousin Gladys’s dog! Let’s get her, Henry, and the next time Gladys lords her dog over me, I’ll just say “Gladys, I have my own dog, and she’s every bit as good as yours.”

Muffy heard, and grinned at me. The irony wasn’t lost on me at all, and I wish I could have been there when those cousins got together again with their dogs. Or, maybe just one would have a dog. Life is truly stranger than fiction, I’ve heard.

Some human celebration was approaching — you know, the one where bad little misters tie firecrackers to dogs’ tails? Not my favorite.

But for some reason adopters started flowing into the animal shelter. I think the mister was so upset over Mangum that he went all out with the advertising. Guilt is a wondrous motivator.

And so dog after dog got adopted and left, their photos and bios going with them.

Even Damien. Yep. Damien was adopted, and the adopter was kind as kind can be and not into dog fighting.

It got to the point only me, the mutt across the aisle from me, the manx and that dodo head possum were the only animals left in the compound.

It was hot. Very hot.

And I was on my last day.

The mister strolled down the aisle in the compound several times, filling everyone’s water bowls — even dropping in pieces of ice, too.

He was a kind mister.

I kept thinking, Hey, why not take me home with you? I’ll be the best dog ever — promise!

And he would look me straight in the eyes, as though he heard my thoughts.

I’d take you home with me if I could. I really would. But the missus would move out. I’ve run through that hand, and we have six big dogs at home. I truly, truly wish I could.

I put on the saddest look I could muster. But he turned away and walked back out of the compound. I lay down on the concrete, trying to get cool. But I couldn’t help thinking about the next day.

So, I fell asleep and dreamed my regular dreams — Mister Master, punishment, the semi, Mangum walking down the aisle to the door, Muffy and Damien going out the other door. And that stupid possum and manx, staring at me from their little cages.

Man!

I awoke to the mister seeming to shout from the next room. It wasn’t an angry shout, but a YAHOO! cowboy kind of yelp.

It was late in the day, and I knew he was getting ready to close up and go home. But I could hear him, excited as all get out.

And when he came bursting through the door into the compound, he made a beeline for my cage.

This is him! This is definitely the one you want! Oh, his life before he came here was terrible — just awful! Mistreated like no animal should be!

I kept thinking — Wrong! We don’t want anyone to know about my past and about my hang-ups!

Walking into the compound, hand in hand, was a mister and his missus who grinned from ear to ear.

I think I heard the Alleluia chorus break forth from the heavens at that very moment!

They walked up to my cage, still grinning. She was crying slightly. I know I was. And probably grinning from ear to ear myself. I riveted my eyes on his, then hers, then his, then hers, remembering what Mangum had told me.

Oh — make eye contact. Be sure to do that. If you continually look away, they think you’ve got something to hide.

I had nothing to hide — that’s for sure! It was all I could do to restrain myself from jumping up on the door of my cage. Instead, my tail began to hurt it was wagging so fast!

Perhaps they would see the ell in it.

Let’s go fill out the adoption papers in the office and get everything in order.

God, I thought I’d never hear the mister say that about me!

And they walked back to the front, the misses looking back several times, smiling, and still tearing up as she went.

So there it was! This was it! Miracles of miracles — my luck was about to turn! Good-bye Mister Master! Good-bye BAD DOG! Good-bye hiding and getting hit or kicked or starved or a hundred other bad things my memory is full of.

What was that tune? Happy? Oh, yeah! HAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHAPPY ME!

Then I suddenly remembered when the mister first bent over to pick me up in the waiting room. And how Mister Master jumped into my head. And how I snapped at the mister for no reason at all.

Naw. That wouldn’t happen — couldn’t happen now, could it?

Could it?

 

Copyright © by Lawrence S. Marsden, 22 May, 2014

 

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