So I got up and drove down there, just to see what they had. They had quite a few dogs and puppies, and some kittens. Walking down the line, lots of cute puppies. A basset hound. A pit bull. A yellow lab.
As soon as I saw him, I knew he was meant to be mine.
I have no notion of his breeding. He's practically skin and bones. But he's mine.
He had a collar on, with a bit of a broken chain or leash still attached to it.
Apparently, he'd been at the shelter long enough that they don't feel like someone will claim him. And apparently he'd been running loose long enough to have lost significant weight. The volunteers at the shelter were guessing that he's between one and two years old.
He's a good dog, though. Very sweet, though very shy. He's obedient and willing. He walks well on the leash, so had been somebody's dog, but at sometime in the past he had not been treated well. James said he looks like he's been rode hard and put up wet. But we'll get him fattened up and healthy.
Rylea snarled a bit at him when she first met him, but now they seem to be getting along just fine. Jake snarled at him when he first met him, but by the end of our walk, they were getting along just fine, too.
Now, if only I could think of a name for him.
2 comments:
Troy, Tony, Miles (cause who knows how many miles he walked before being found), Emmitt...oh, I could go on and on--I think you get the idea. He's so cute....good luck with his name.
Escaping death like that I'm thinking "Lucky," but that's not a human name ;)
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