My girlfriend, Meredith, and I went to Homeward Bound Animal Shelter last Thursday just to take a look.
We adopted Rudy hours later and brought him home the next day.
It’s nearly impossible to walk through the shelter and not want to take all the pups home with you.
For instance, it was very difficult to pry the little fella away from his three sisters without bringing them along.
We almost did -- unintentionally.
The four 16-week old pooches all shared the same cinder block pen with a swinging chain-link fence door. Of course, while Meredith and I tried getting Rudy out to play before committing to adoption, all four dogs escaped.
We frantically ran around scooping them up and trying to get them back in the pen. The problem was that one would always manage to slip out when we put one in.
It made me question my future as the Paterfamilias of Puppy Land. Even though there’d only be one little guy, would I be cut out for it? If I can barely keep my own nails clipped, stomach filled and hair washed, how can I take care of a dog?
I didn’t have much time to ponder the big questions while chasing down the puppies at Homeward Bound. We finally got Rudy’s sisters into the pen and spent some quality time with him.
We fell in love.
He’s a little dog right now, white with a few black patches on his face and one spot at the base of his tail. He’s easily mistaken for a full-grown Jack Russell terrier, which happened twice at the Farmer’s Market Saturday morning, where we went to parade him around.
He doesn’t sound like a terrier, though.
His mother, Tip Toes, is a 2-year-old Lab mix (and still available for adoption), but Rudy’s definitely got some hound blood.
This little 14-pound squirt of a dog has a voice on him.
I know this for a fact.
We got started with crate training Friday night. From 1 until 4 a.m., Rudy paced the crate, cried and tried chewing through the bars.
During the most intense moments of his first-night blues, he reached a high-pitched hound dog wail that rattled the glasses in the cupboards.
Sorry, neighbors. I truly do apologize.
Every dog owner knows you have to let him cry it out or else he’ll always yowl in the crate. Start letting the dog boss you around and he’ll soon become the Paterfamilias of People Land.
As much as it broke our hearts, we left him in the crate that entire first night, ignoring all the yelps intended for his sisters back at the shelter to help him.
He didn’t yet know that he was part of a new pack.
Our pack.
I think he knows now. The next night went much smoother. He’s more settled in and sleeping through the night in the crate. He only howled once.
Life is good.
These experiences are to be treasured. This experience is also something that’s being threatened in Manistee County.
Homeward Bound is again in dire financial straits. Unlike tax-funded agencies, which always receive their funds no matter how bad they bungle things, the “no-kill” non-profit shelter relies solely on donations and fundraisers.
Please, be a friend to this wonderful organization so other people can benefit like we have.
Maybe you’ll need a friend too someday.
There are always plenty waiting at the shelter.
For now.
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