Except for the time she got arrested twice.That all started when Emery threw up on her. Nairobi was offended and began spinning in circles. To avoid the doggy-shake, which would have sprayed already used food all over the room, I lugged her into the bathtub for an immediate bath. I removed her collar, washed it, and laid it to dry on a heat vent. Mike took care of Emery while I scrubbed the dog.
That night the temperature plummeted to six degrees. Which is why I was shocked when my lazy, spoiled, pampered dog chose that time to run away. We called her name. We told her to "COME". We shouted out the names of food, but she didn't come back. We loaded up in our cars and drove the neighborhood. We called our neighbors, and they also drove the neighborhood. That fat dog had vanished.
Just at closing time, Mike went to the grocery store near our house to hang up the lost puppy posters we had printed off with her picture and our phone number. The manager noticed the picture and said, "That dog was in here earlier. She was running up and down the aisles, and we could barely catch her because she wasn't wearing a collar." Without explaining why the collar was not being worn, Mike obtained the phone number for the nice shopper who had apparently taken Nairobi home with her for the night.
The next morning we called the phone number.
"I think you have my dog," Mike said.
"I did have your dog," she answered, "but after I got home I called the Urbandale police and they came and got her."
"I think you have my dog," Mike said to the receptionist at the Urbandale police station.
"We did have your dog, but since she was found in West Des Moines and not in Urbandale, the West Des Moines police came and got her."
"I think you have my dog," Mike said to the receptionist at the West Des Moines police station.
"We did have your dog, but the rescue league came and got her."
So we hopped in the car and drove like lightening to the rescue league. We skidded to a stop next to the brick building where several large outdoor dog runs were fenced in.
"I think you have my dog," Mike said to the dog manager as we stood shivering in the cold.
"I did have your dog," he answered, "but she was sad and depressed and wouldn't play with the other dogs, so she spent the night with the cats."
When we finally acquired our wide-load, she howled for the entire fifteen minute drive home. Her mouth literally made an O shape, which I didn't know was possible. I believe she was telling me her woes of finally finding the mecca of all food, then being chased, then riding in two police cars, then encountering a whole mess of scary dogs, and then being treated like a cat. The insult. She never ran away again.
Even now that we live in the country and she has acres of land to frolic on, she mainly stays near the house.
But that went very bad for her earlier this week when a bulldog wandered into our yard and attacked her. She was mauled, frightened, and injured. She was so bloody she looked like a red dog. Patches of fur are missing, and even now, after four days and an intense trip to the vet, she is still bleeding so much we have to keep her in the garage. She has a cozy bed full of blankets we are continually washing. She hasn't eaten and will only walk outside with us long enough to do what must be done and then immediately return to her fluffy bed.
Two days after the bulldog attacked, he returned with another bulldog friend and they attacked Arrow. Luckily, Arrow's fur is so thick he only lost mouthfuls of fur. Which he needs to shed anyway. He was freaked out and bruised, but no skin was broken. He is such a scardy cat he managed to squeeze his body below our deck, which he has never been able to do before, and hide there until me and my broom convinced the bulldogs to, "GIT OUTTA HERE!" I already speak country.
The bulldog that attacked twice rode away with Sergeant Tim, and we don't know yet what will happen to him.
The other bulldog has been warned.
Me and my broom are waiting.
No comments:
Post a Comment