I have a dog...another dog, a second dog. I have TWO DOGS.
Sometimes, I still can't believe he is a dog, but it's been three weeks and so much has happened since that very dark, cold night on December 6th. If you haven't heard, while out walking Zephyr, I found this animal scurrying down a leafy gutter.
I took this photo (above) the day after I found "the lost dog" states the .jpg title on this photo. He was headed for the pound--says me. Uh-huh, sure.
This is "the little guy" (above) one week later...
I was just "fostering him" and (below) keeping up with Zephyr through the leaves. Zephyr's been a great sport about this fostering business, because it's not forever, right?
And two weeks later...coming back from mom's in the foothills, stopping to get apple pie and take a walk in the orchard at Machados, my favorite road stop.
Going for broke in the orchard. The little guy was getting healthier and a lot faster. Now, dad calls him Zippy, but I still haven't found a name.
And by week two and a half, I was the only one who wasn't clear where little guy was living for good. Below, showing off his "night-walking jacket". Seriously, I wish it glowed and had blinkers.
This is the dog the vet dubbed "aggressive and unadoptable" making quick friends with a big shepherd at the dog park. We later learn little guy is completely deaf.
Zephyr, bless his patient heart, has put up with little guy even when he wants to run and hide from him.
Eventually, I gave in.
Zephyr is giving in.
Even my parents, friends and neighbors have given in. ;-)
And what an adventure one turn of the night has taken us: Little guy has been to FOUR vets, has been medicated, diagnosed, poked, prodded, washed more times in three weeks than Zephyr has in the last year. He's visited two pet stores, has two coats, rides in the jeep, in the basket, out of the basket, in my arms. He's been in Starbucks--and kicked out of Starbucks (nicely) and has been warmly welcomed in by family at Christmas, even when he peed on the floor, a few times.
Week three...23 days later, this is our family.
And, although we have tried out dozens of names--Possum, Scout, Rusty, RuDolpho, Ugg--what my step-father calls him, Zippy--what my dad calls him, Gutter--what the guy at the SPCA named him, Butterscotch, Domino, my nieces great finds, I have FINALLY come up with a name that is sticky: Trooper.
Trooper is what my dad called me when I was a kid, if I helped stack the wood, shovel the deck, kept up on a hike. It's what little guy does every day to keep up with Zephyr.
I will continue to call him little guy, but now, instead of "lost dog" on the vet papers, it will state clearly, Trooper.
d, xo
