That's not quite right. He didn't come to us. We plucked him out of Boxer Rescue and took him home. He had no say in the matter. He was scared, maybe even terrified. He didn't know who we were or what our house was or what we wanted him to do, but at least we were nice and the house was bigger than the cage and we gave him a soft bed. The food was also pretty good. He could have done without the bath, but that was a deal-breaker.
From the beginning he took the attitude of "Please don't kill me. Whatever you require, I will attempt to obey." He was and still is easy to train. We've never had to do anything but ask. (I've said this before: you can teach an old dog new tricks.) He walks off leash, stays on the front porch unsupervised, and has recently learned to "show me" when I need him to communicate what he wants. He never barks, though I wish he would. He has, or had, a beautiful bark. He might have lost that part of his voice in an illness a few years back. We haven't heard it since then. Like people, dogs go through stuff that changes them.
I'll stop here. We all love our pets and, like parents, we can go on and on about them. I love him more than I can say.
Boz is about fourteen now. I hope he will stay with us long enough to enrich our lives at least another year.
Another dog needs a home. I've posted about Coco on my Facebook page. If Coco's not for you, a variety of pooches await at your nearby animal shelter, wanting only to be your love bucket.
No comments:
Post a Comment