Читать книгу A Tail of Two Cities - Debbie (Mommy) Stump - Страница 8

Chapter 2

The Arrival

With construction progressing, it was time to put Heather’s present home on the market. There was much interest, and one couple decided to return for a second tour. It was my job to look after our two-year-old granddaughter and her nine-month-old brother. The young family also consisted of a sweet little cocker spaniel, Brewster, who Heather had owned since college. He was placed outside in the fenced yard while the prospective buyers went through the house. Upon leaving, we went to retrieve the dog and bring him back in for his dinner. Tragically, he had suffered a heart attack, and even after rushing to the vet, he was unable to be saved. Again, our hearts were all broken as we took another “fur baby” to be buried on the new property.

In mid-January, back at the jobsite and meeting with Jim, the builder, the subject of dogs arose. Mention was made of Brewster’s loss, and Heather commented that she would like to get a Lab or a retriever at some point because they are so good with children. Jim shuffled his feet and casually mentioned, “Well, I have a yellow lab that I need to find a home for!” We proceeded to inquire why he had to get rid of the dog. “My wife and I both work and just can’t give him enough attention. We have to tie him outside during the day, and it’s just not fair to him.” I could see the wheels turning in my daughter’s brain, and then the dreaded words escaped from his mouth: the pound! “He originally came from the pound, and the first owner took him back there. That’s where we got him, but he’ll have to go back again if we don’t find a home for him.”

Without even taking a breath, she said “We’ll take him!”

I looked at her in shock. “You have no room for a dog like that!”

“It’s okay! You and Dad can look after him here until we move!” Other objections fell on deaf ears, and I knew the deal was sealed.

Jim promised that if we didn’t like the dog, he would take him back. We knew that, as he had previously stated, they would return him to the pound. He was approximately two years old, and having heard similar stories of such circumstances, we felt sure that at his age and with a track record like his, he would most certainly be euthanized. This was not a thought any of us wanted to entertain, so we agreed to give him a chance. The time was arranged for him to come to “the farm.”

One winter afternoon, George, my dad, Heather, and I were standing at the barn discussing the building project with Jim. A shiny red pickup pulled in with the logo “Homes Plus” painted on the door. It was driven by Jim’s wife, Terri, who quickly jumped out, ran around to the other side, and threw open the passenger door. Out rolled this demonic-looking creature with a crazed look in his eyes, drool hanging to the ground from both sides of his mouth, and ears laid back. His feet had no sooner hit the ground than he took off like we had shot the starting pistol for a race. He slid under one section of interior fencing and headed into the outer horse pastures. Upon recovering from the momentary shock, I looked at George and said, “If that’s a Lab, I’ll eat him right here and now!”

“I don’t know what got into him” Terri defended the animal and continued, “He’s such a sweet boy! He’s so good with Jim’s eleven-year-old son. He named him Scooby!” About that time, we heard a shrill “Aaarrrrr! Aaarrrrr!” Looking out at the field, we saw the dog coming back toward us, slightly limping, with a puzzled expression on his face and wounded pride. George had installed an electric wire at ground level around the perimeter of the property to keep out predators of rural Florida. We certainly didn’t want wild boar, bobcats, and other residents of a nearby wildlife preserve invading while we were on the premises. The fence had been activated and apparently Scoobie had reached the “outer limits” and the charged wire. It was not programmed with enough “juice” to harm any creature, but just the right amount to get their attention and turn them away. This had proven the effectiveness of the newest security measures.

His return enabled us to finally get a better look at the orphaned dog. He was ginger in color. Yes, the same as the Scooby-Doo character, but with fur that was wiry and coarse, as black skin showed through on stomach and legs. He was on the verge of being too thin but had a broad chest similar to that of a Pitbull. The dog was panting heavily from the afternoon heat and his recent workout. That’s when we noticed the black mouth! We were familiar with dogs from our past that were considered good hunters if the roof of their mouth was black, but this one was that shade of black purple from gums to tongue! I associated that characteristic with the chows or, again, perhaps the dreaded pit bull!

We immediately put him on a leash so as not to have a replay of the last episode. Petting and calming him with water and some treats, we reluctantly told the couple that he could stay a couple days for a trial period. They went on their way, happy to have relieved themselves of this four-legged responsibility. Heather had to go home to allow her babysitter to leave for the day. My dad departed for his hour-long drive back across the bay. This left George and I to wonder what we would now do with our newfound friend.

Neither of us were strangers to animals. George grew up on a farm with a variety of critters. I had owned two dogs, picked up strays wherever we lived, was a frequent visitor to my grandmother’s farm, and great lover of everything from cattle to chickens! The question was not how to care for the canine. He seemed nice enough so far and was just interested in exploring his new surroundings. We continued to console him while we discussed his living arrangements.

“There is no way we are going to confine him in the motor home. He’ll go crazy in there!” I firmly stated.

It was beginning to get dark, so after giving him some food, George and I decided that the only solution was to close the doors at both ends of the barn breezeway and quarantine him in there for the night with provisions and an old rug on which to sleep.

All this accomplished, we retreated to the coach for the night, enjoyed a quiet meal, and had just sat down to relax and watch some TV. It was a warm evening, so we had opened the windows to soak in the lovely cross breeze that flowed through our living room.

Suddenly loud and constant barking, intermingled with soulful howls, tore through the peaceful silence. George made the short trek to the barn to console the new tenant and returned feeling very successful. About the time we settled ourselves again, the ruckus restarted. As the saying goes, the third time is a charm! It did include leaving all the barn lights turned on, but by this time, we were ready to take any measures possible short of bringing him inside!