Sunday evening is always quiet time in our home… though last Sunday was the exception. G-Man and I were relaxing, watching The Secret of Kells on DVD. The day had been hot (welcome June!) so we had rigged up a screen curtain over the open front door to let in the refreshing breeze from the bay (gotta love it!). Our former neighbor stopped by to convince us to let him use his former studio “just one more time” (seems he had hired a model and she was en route from San Francisco…), and one of my street friends stopped by the gate to chat…(okay, some Sundays are a little less than quiet). We agreed to the studio situation, chatted with my friend (and gave her a sandwich and a soda for the road), then settled in to watch the rest of the movie.
In strolled an unexpected visitor. A dirty, grungy dog. Pitbull, by the look of her wide-jawed grin. She sat down on the rug in front of the television…looked up at us…wagged her tail… and promptly lay down and fell asleep. She didn’t belong to any of the neighbors…we know all the dogs who live in the complex. No collar, no tags, nothing to identify her or her owner.
After some discussion, G-Man decided he’d take her to the vet on Monday to see if she was microchipped…though he expressed serious doubts. East Oakland isn’t exactly the kind of neighborhood where people microchip their dogs. And there are a lot of pitbulls.
We gave her a bath and a bite to eat, and prayed that she wouldn’t create too much destruction before morning.
Monday morning, bright and early, G-Man took her to the vet. The verdict: no microchip (no surprise), no heartworms… a healthy 7-month old female. (Seven months? She’s gonna be a monster!) We had already (tentatively) decided to keep her, so she got her rabies and kennel cough shots, and enough flea treatments to last her six months.
We’ve missed having a dog around the place. Bear died in November of last year, after 16 years of rambunctious living. He was a good dog. G-Man was a shadow of his former self without Bear, but he wasn’t in a hurry to “replace” him, either. For a boy (even a full-grown one), there’s no real replacement for his dog. Best buddies, they were.
Sadie from the Streets.
We bought her all the essentials for her new life in our family… chew toys, puppy chow, rope for tug-o-war, ball, pretty collar & matching leash… she tried to convince us that she’s a good bed-warmer, to no avail. She’ll have to settle for a cozy corner next to the bed… at least until we can buy her a
room of her own …uh…kennel. (Just call her DestrudoDog…)
In the past few days, we’ve discovered that she’s housebroken (yessss!), that she loves to chew (incessantly!), and that she’s about the most sweet-tempered dog we’ve ever met. Well, she’s had “words” with another female pitbull in the complex, but we’re still getting acquainted. (Amelia is the neighborhood diva. She just wants Sadie to know this.)
Sadie is teaching us how we need to baby-proof our place. Our little Fairy-Princess Granddaughter is nearly at the Age of Exploration, and it’s been a good many years since I’ve had little ones running around the house, looking for mischief. Sadie is an excellent (if ruthless) teacher.
Of course, Sadie’s final exam will come this weekend… the Fairy-Princess will be visiting for a few days. I’m sure they will love each other endlessly… at least, that is my fondest wish.
After all, in Victorian times, pitbulls were nanny-dogs who watched over the children and kept them safe…
Sadie’s got great potential.