How did we save an animal from danjuh? I’ll tell you. This story takes us back to the year 2010.
It was a era like no other. The world was still reeling from the loss of Patrick Swayze. Miley Cyrus had not yet come in like a wrecking ball. People still listened to Kanye West. The economy was at it’s low point and my husband (boyfriend at the time) was out of work after being laid off.
One hot, summer morning about 6 AM, we heard a knock at the door. This seriously pissed me off because I had at least 45 more minutes of sleep to be had. I made boyfriend answer the door.
I laid in bed and tried to go back to sleep, but I found myself trying to eavesdrop. I heard a woman’s voice….interesting. So it’s not a polite rapist at the door after all.
Figuring that any chance I had of recovering sleep was now dashed, I got out of bed and walked to the front door. It was one of bf’s old ass hermit neighbors that I rarely see outside. I stifled a laugh. Figures it would be a 70 year old at the door. Some of them forget that most people don’t get up at 4:30 AM. I bet she didn’t expect a dude in his underwear answering the door. I hope he gauged himself up down there before opening the door…
Anyways, she knocked on our door because she was taking out her garbage and this bulldog (English) came out of nowhere and trotted up to her. Knowing we have bulldogs (Olde English – NOT THE SAME) she figured it was those dang lazy Gen X’ers down the street, letting their dog run free in the neighborhood. Hippies.
The bulldog was standing behind her. He did not look unfamiliar. We told her that was not our dog. Our dogs were still asleep inside (some watchdogs we have). Where did it come from? She didn’t know, didn’t care, wanted to be rid of it and told her it was not her problem and walked away. Must of had to get home right away. Only 3 more hours until Matlock is on, you know.
The bulldog was panting. It was only 6 AM but it was already over 80 degrees and humid. He was fawn colored with white spots. He wasn’t a puppy, but he wasn’t an old dog, either. He had a collar, but no tags. He didn’t seem mean, but was very frightened. My BF, a sucker for any bully breed, decided to let him inside. We locked up our other dogs as a precaution. We didn’t know how they would get along or if this dog had any diseases.
We filled a bowl of water, of which he drank only a little. What he really wanted was more of that cool linoleum floor. He stretched out and tried to cool himself down. At first, any time we’d get up or move, he’d jump but eventually he calmed down and started following me around the house wherever I went. This poor guy. His collar told me that he had a home once but someone, somewhere decided they couldn’t live with him anymore. Why someone would just drop him off in the middle of the night and drive off rather than trying to find this guy a home is beyond me. Assholes. So many people in this world too lazy for due diligence.
We named him Tank.
I had to get to work so I left my bf and Tank at home. The rest of the story was told to me by my husband:
BF drove around the neighborhood posting Lost Dog signs, even posted an ad on Craigslist. Nothing happened.
He then drove Tank up to a local vet to see if the dog was chipped. He was, but unfortuantely, the scan yielded nothing useful. It traced him back to his breed in Missouri. Crap.
He called the local Human Society, but they couldn’t guarentee they wouldn’t put him down. With a noticeable hobble, BF feared relinquishing him to the Human Society would be his demise. Tank, who by now clearly bonded with BF, would not leave BF’s side. BF packed Tank up and took him back home.
BF then Googled around and found a Bulldog Rescue Organization. He called them and got their voicemail a few times. In the meantime, he tried offering Tank food. Tank was not interested. BF made a space in our garage from him to hang out by himself. He took advantage of the solace and napped on an off. Poor exhausted, Tank.
He tried the rescue organization a few more times and finally reached a woman.
The woman didn’t believe my boyfriend when he said he had a lost, purebreed English bulldog. They argued back and forth throughout the afternoon. She didn’t’ believe my BF when he said he knew what a English Bulldog looked like. She figured he probably had some random pitbull mix dog and he was another ill-informed yahoo. He finally texted her a photo.
She called up within minutes offering profuse apologies.
Within 2 hours, she found a temporary foster home for Tank.
BF dropped Tank off at a woman’s house not to far away around 4 PM. She carefully looked Tank over and mentioned he had cysts on his paws and possible joint problems. She seemed to know the breed very well – in fact – she started popping his paw cysts instantly. That’s dedication.
She assured my BF that Tank would be well taken care of and went to bring Tank inside. A tornado watch had been issued for our area and storms were rolling in. BF went to leave, but Tank followed. He had bonded with BF through the day’s adventure. Tank loved my boyfriend, and my boyfriend did a little bit as well. It was hard, but he left Tank with that woman. Had we been in a better situation financially, we probably would have kept him.
BF got home right as I was pulling in and he told me the story. Our hearts bled together for that sweet, little bulldog.
Within an hour, a bad storm hit. Straight line winds made every single house on our block, including ours, lose at least one tree. Our mulberry tree laid across the front lawn. If Tank had managed to survive the 90 degree heat with humidity during the day, he probably would not have lasted through that evening’s storm.
A few weeks later, the woman we spoke with at the rescue emailed us and update and said they had pooled their resources together to provide surgery to Tank’s paws and right eye. He was in recovery and doing fine.
Another month went and we received another email. Tank had been adopted by a woman a few towns away. She re-named him George. The picture included showed George, happily playing with the other small dogs the woman also owned. The email also went into detail about how George wouldn’t have to brave the intense summer heat again. His days were now spent indoors, in air conditioning on a cushy dog bed. A little 10 year old neighborhood girl walked him every day, which he really seemed to enjoy.
George, found a home and was doing just fine. All thanks to the effort of my boyfriend, now husband, who went above and beyond the call of duty.
Tank, we will never forget you! We love you!