Hope you enjoy this story. It started with the single prompt word:
"Damaged"
“Torino’s,” came the almost-barked answer.
I could hear the bustle of the kitchen crew working around
him and the murmur of customers’ voices chatting, laughing, blending
with the pulse of Bob Marley’s music.
“We just got a call from the Humane Society. Someone’s
turned in a golden, and we’re first on the request list," I jumped right in. "He’s an owner
surrender, so there’s no four-day hold before he can be adopted. I have him reserved
and can be there at 4:30. Can you meet me?”
“Won’t be able to make it ‘til 5, but yes!” There was a
pause. “Call me if he’s not the right one, okay?”
“Will do.”
“Gotta run. Crazy lunch rush today. See you soon!”
Walking between the cages at the pound was always heart wrenching. The Green Mile flitted through my mind. Some of these dogs, I
knew, would be euthanized within days of my visit, their time having run out.
It was the only reason I would never volunteer there. I would probably exceed the
city's pet limit before the end of my first shift.
Stopping in front of the second to last pen, the
shelter assistant turned to me. “He’s pretty scared, so you'll want to take it
slowly.”
Peering into the narrow cell, I saw a cowering, thin,
gold dog tucked into the far corner. He sat up as we stood at the door,
continuing to press his back into the wall, keeping his gaze down, only
glancing briefly at us and then quickly away. I read the paper clipped to the
metal board that was attached to the wire wall:
Max.
Male Golden Retriever. Neutered. Approx. 1.5 years. Owner surrender. There
was a sad-looking polaroid stapled to the corner and a huge white expanse beneath the
section titled “Notes:”
I dropped to my knees, shifted my gaze
away from him, and softly called, “Hey, Max. Come on, pup." There was a slight shift as he heard his name. "Promise I won’t
hurt you.”
I looked up
at the woman beside me. “Do you know his story? Why is he here?”
“Sounds like this guy’s been passed around a lot already in his short life. The girl who brought him in was his third owner, as far
as she knew. She got him from her little brother. Kept him secret from her
landlord for the past couple weeks, but a neighbour ratted her out. Landlord
told her it was either the dog went or she did. Kinda tough hiding an 80-pound
dog.”
We chuckled together.
“Anyway, it seems her brother stole the dog from some guy who had a junkyard, selling parts from crashed cars. He’d
somehow gotten ahold of Max here… and was trying to turn him into a guard dog.
Throwin’ rocks at him. Tryin’ to make him mean. Imagine… a golden. The kid couldn’t stand seeing that jerk damaging this
beautiful dog and one night borrowed his dad’s wire snips and broke him out. When his dad heard the story the following morning, he didn’t make his son take
Max back, but also wouldn’t let him keep him. So, the boy reached out to his
sister.”
“What a story,” I said, gazing back into the
pen. He hadn't moved. “It’s okay, Max. Come on, bud.”
The assistant reached into her pocket and handed me a small
Milk Bone.
“Here you go, Max. Want a treat?” I’d never known a golden
who could resist food, and true to his breed, he lifted his twitching nose
and slowly began to follow it forward. Just before reaching the door, he slunk to his belly. Stretching his neck as far toward the cookie as he could, he
eventually pulled himself within reach of the treat that I held through the
wire.
There was no snapping. He looked up at me with those big brown eyes that
seemed to be overflowing with gratitude, as he gently took it and stepped back to
crunch it down.
In the greeting room, it took a good ten minutes before
he eased out from behind my legs to meet Wayne. Once he did though, the bond
was instant. He was safe. An hour later, we signed the paperwork, wrote a
check, and the healing began.
2 comments:
That was the beginning! He would cower EVERY TIME I came home in my motorcycle gear for the first 6 months or so, then relax when the helmet came off and he saw me.
I remember meeting him in the Play Yard of the Humane Society, and how skittish he was. I fell in love with him the first time he let me scritch his neck. He still looks down upon the Elston Farm from the hill.
He was a good Boy.
Thanks for reminding me of this Patrice, masterfully written.
Max's Dad ( he typed tearfully )
Appreciating the hard work you put into your website and detailed information you provide.
It's great to come across a blog every once in a while that
isn't the same unwanted rehashed material. Great read!
I've bookmarked your site and I'm including your RSS
feeds to my Google account.
Post a Comment