This is a totally different type of post, however, since I have found myself straying away from the original theme of Small Towns and Communities more and more lately, I figured what the heck?
First, a little background. My wife grew up as an only child with a canine
sister, a dachshund named Tina. Although, we had dogs growing up, I was never really a ‘dog person’, a fact I now truly regret. Soon after my wife and I married, we welcomed our first dog, against my wishes of course, since I felt we had higher priorities. Silly me! She was a 6-week old Yellow Labrador we named Lilly or Lillian Beatrice after my wife’s Aunt. Although she had her moments, she was a special dog and add
ed so much to our life. Sadly, we lost her in February of last year at the age of 15. Soon after, a little over a month later to be precise, we got Jack, again against my wishes.I wasn’t ready to move on, or so I thought. Jack is male, black, a combination of I don’t know what, to include possibly Australian Shepard, Catahoula, Black Lab, Border Collie and you-name-it. In other words, everything that Lilly was not. He had been rescued from a kill shelter
by an organization called Friends of Rescue (FOR). Two days after he arrived, he misjudged a step on our deck and broke the bones in his paw. He was in and out of a cast for almost two months. Who said adopting pets was cheap? The lady who rescued him, his Angel Mom, as we call her, became a good friend and, through her, we became involved with FOR. In December of last year, a FOR volunteer called my wife with an urgent request. They needed a foster for a a young Basenji mix who would be put down at the shelter soon if not picked up. Virginia agreed and then asked me about it. Of course I consented, as if I ever really had a say in the matter. Dasher, as he was called, and very aptly named as you will see as you read on, was a sweet, hyper, loving dog who liked to dig holes and escape through the fence. I told you the name would begin to make sense.
We have an old wooden fence at our house and unknown to us, some of the slats had started to come away from the frame. Dasher found them and I ended up chasing him around the neighborhood a few times. He even found a place where the wire fence in the back had been bent by a falling limb and climbed over it into the neighbor’s yard. Even with all of that he is a great dog and was adopted within about a month. Unfortunately, the adopters couldn’t take him right away because of work being done on their house so we ended up keeping him until mid-February. When they came to pick him up at our house, they fell in love with him immediately and became friends of ours as well. True to form, as his new father was leading him out to the car, he escaped the leash. The two of us, followed in the car by his new mother, spent the next twenty minutes chasing him all over the neighborhood until finally cornering him under a parked pickup truck. Neither one of us being spring chickens, and that is all I will say about that, I was glad to see that there were no ill effects suffered by canine or human in the hand off. Finally they drove away with their new addition. But that was certainly not the end of the Dasher saga. The adopters had already planned a west-coast trip which would prohibit them from taking Dash so they asked if we would keep him for three weeks in March. Of course we agreed, and enjoyed seeing him again. I mean what are a few more holes and a few more chases down the street. It is what keeps you young. We still keep up with them and with Dash, mainly through social media and emails and, I am sure will see him again. That was our first adventure in fostering but, as I am sure you have guessed, certainly not our last. Next time I will fill you in on soulful Lola and how we ended up with a Black Lab, a Black Mouth Cur mix (and her 6-week old puppy) and of course poor Jack who always seems to get the short end of the stick.