So we have this dog, whom we rescued from the Humane Society. He’s a hound dog named Rusty and he has been nothing but a challenge for me.
He runs away. A lot. I have a huge issue with this. It’s not easy for me to drop what we are doing and get the kids in the SUV, then drive all over the neighborhood in search of our beloved dog. On the other hand I hate to think of where he’s been, what he is bringing back with him whether it’s fleas or adventure wounds. For us, it means we need to check his fur and bathe him and doctor up his wounds and pray he won’t need an emergency veterinarian visit.
Just recently, he ran away. Again. For the billionth time. I did not go looking for him, as usual. It was at 8 in the morning and only 2 of 3 kids were awake. From previous experience, he usually would come home after 20-30 minutes. Not this time. He was gone for 4 HOURS. We didn’t go to church, since it was hot and I was afraid we might miss his attempt to come crawling back for something to drink and a place to rest. The girls were upset. Poor Sydney was crying. And there was me. I looked at my plate and saw that this dog added to the pile of things already about to topple over.
Anyway, he came back and in poor shape might I add. He was barely moving and when he did he limped. We got him into the house and found that he had run so much that the padding of his two front paws was torn and peeling off. Ugh! ‘This damn dog,’ was all I could think to myself.