The other day, Fluffy Bear was driving home and saw a Pointer on the street a few blocks from our house. There was no one near the dog and it had no leash or collar.
He stopped his car and managed to get the dog over to him. He got it to agree to get into the back of the car, but had to lift it in.
He asked people who were around, but no one knew the dog or where it lived. He went to a vet nearby, and they scanned the dog for a microchip. Nothing. The vet didn't know the dog - it wasn't one of their patients.
He tried another vet in our area, but they didn't know the dog either.
The first vet told Fluffy Bear that the dog was at least in his teens, and looked in bad shape. His teeth were rotting, his belly was distended and his nails were very long.
There is no difference in the value (companionship, love, etc.) for a purebred vs. a rescue or a mutt, but it did seem strange that what looked like a purebred - an expensive puppy to buy - would be in this condition.
The vet and Fluffy Bear assumed that the Pointer may have been on the street for some time.
Because the dog moved slowly, Fluffy Bear didn't want to take it into our house with our dogs. Our manic chocolate nutjobs would possibly cause the dog injury by trying to play with him. So he left him in the car with food, water and open windows.
Fluffy Bear contacted me and we agreed that, if we hadn't heard from anyone by 5pm, he would have to take the lab to the Animal Shelter.
In the meantime, I got to work:
- I put ads on Craigslist, Petfinder and a local blog using a photo that Fluffy Bear had emailed me
- I emailed two specialized rescue groups in our State that deal with purebred Pointers
- I emailed friends and colleagues
- I put messages on my Twitter and Facebook
Because the vet believed the dog may have been on the street a while, I wanted to make sure that the dog got a new home. But, at the same time, I wanted to be sure to set expectations. The dog needed some care, and that would take money. So I wrote a second post on the blog explaining the dog's condition, but I also said that he had been very placid, friendly and patient. He would make a good pet, I said, for someone who could give him some TLC.
Sadly, by 5pm we hadn't got any replies, so Fluffy Bear took the dog to pound.
It was very, very hard for him to do that. I want to make that crystal clear. It was awful for him, and it was upsetting to me when he picked me up from work and we discussed it.
The next day, I got a voicemail from a local family who had seen my blog post. They had been to the Animal Shelter and got their dog back, and the lady wanted to say thank you. I gave her number to Fluffy Bear, because he was the one who really went through this, and I wanted him to get the thanks from the family.
When I got home later, the dog's owner came to our door with her two kids.
She was gracious, and gave us a gift, which was very considerate.
It was all a very happy ending until the kids started to do that precocious thing where they are obviously repeating what they had overheard their parents say.
"You took our dog to the pound!" the little girl whined at Fluffy Bear.
"Noooooo, Hoooooney," her mother whined back at her, "we're here to say Thaaaank yoooou."
"You took our dog to the pooooooooound!" she whined again.
Her mother shushed her away and she finally got that she should shut up.
Then it was the boy's turn.
"What do you want to say?" his mother prodded him.
He wriggled that way little boys do when they are being naughty, and launched his little volley at us.
"Thank you but no thank you for taking our dog to the pound!" he snapped, impishly.
If you know me at all, you know I don't much care for children, so I considered the combination of the smile plastered on my face and the fact that I didn't reply as proof that I am capable, when duty calls, of being utterly heroic.
I don't blame the children. Children, like puppies, are innocents. It's the parents that are the problem.
And there was proof of my theory later on.
First I checked my email, and there it was. A thank you message from the mother, which included not one, not two, but THREE photographs. The first was of the dog, pictured in it's bed, presumably once it had got back home again. The second and third were Christmas pictures of the whole family, including the dog, as proof that he was an integral, and beloved part of the family.
Not enough to clean his teeth and have his nails clipped, though, I thought, wryly.
The final straw was when I went to delete the various ads and online posts.
Once I got to the local blog, it became clear to me that the father had taken offence to my description of the dog's condition in my second post, where I was trying to make sure any potential family knew what they were getting into.
His reply to my post went on and on about how much the family loved the dog, and that, when they had been to the Shelter to pick him up, they had "felt like felons." I guess the shelter questioned them about the dog's condition and lack of identification. And rightly so.
Also, because Fluffy Bear had found the dog two blocks from their house, I guess he thought that we shouldn't have picked his dog up in the first place.
He had titled his reply:
Loving family's dog "rescued" from front yard is now home.
I'm starting to wish we had kept the dog.
This whole thing is proof - as if I needed any more of it - that hell is other people.
To see more in the series Hell is Other People, click here.
Friday, May 2, 2014 at 8:40AM 
