In the midst of our first winter storm in years, Meg and I did did what any sane adults would do: We rescued a 10-year-old basset hound.
OK, to say we “rescued” Lucky might be a bit of a stretch. He belonged to a neighbor a couple of blocks down the street. But the neighbor has apparently moved into an apartment, so Lucky has been patrolling his fenced backyard alone for … well, years, or so we’re told.
Someone would stop by to feed Lucky on occasion, but other than that he was on his own. When I walked past, I’d often hear him wailing, begging for attention.
I leaned over the fence and petted Lucky a time or two while on my strolls. He seemed sweet. And lonesome.
So with the storm approaching, I left a note on the down-the-street neighbor’s porch offering to take Lucky. Phone calls were exchanged this afternoon.
Meg bought Lucky a collar on her way home from work. We walked down the street in the snow to bring Lucky home.
We had to do a bit of coaxing to get him out of his house, which is understandable. It was cold. But once Lucky stepped out and saw we were taking him somewhere, he seemed excited.
Well, as excited as an overweight 10-year-old basset hound can appear.
Lucky peed on every telephone pole on the walk home. He apparently hadn’t been outside his fence or inside a house for years. Did I mention he’s not housebroken?
He was also filthy. One of the first things Meg and I did was put him in the bathtub and wash him. He whined, but that seems to be Lucky’s way. He hasn’t stopped whining since we brought him inside.
His nails are also in terrible need of being trimmed. If he’s not deaf, he’s not missing it by much. I’ve learned all this within the first couple of hours of Lucky being ours.
Remind me again what a wonderful thing we’re doing.