I only had a few minutes at the computer–time that I could have spent on my manuscript–but instead I was Facebook, a place that I don’t even like and avoid except when my mother needs me to help her with Farmville missions. I wasn’t friends with the person at whose profile I was staring, however I could send them a message. I continued to stare as the clocked ticked down to you-have-to-get-the-fuck-out-of-here o’clock and finally pressed the damn button and sent my message.
“Hi, my friend send me a text that you are trying to find a home for your dog?”
Thus our story begins.
The woman was indeed looking for a home for her American Eskimo boy and while I had always wanted to adopt another dog, I wasn’t sure how Kira the Diva would handle it. She’s good with puppies, but it’s touch and go with adult dogs. The Eskie boy who needed a home was six years old so I was somewhat relieved when the woman messaged me a few days later that it looked like a friend of hers was going to take him.
About a week later, she messaged me again saying that she hadn’t been able to get a hold of the guy and that if I was still willing to give the boy a home that she would really appreciate it. She was giving the guy until Friday to get back to her and would message me if he didn’t. Part of me was hoping that the guy would message her, but the other, bigger part was already worried about how good of a parent this guy would be if he was already this blase about the adoption.
To make a long story, that Sunday I became a fur-mommy again.
His name was Snowy and while I wasn’t crazy about that name, I thought that we could call him “Jon-Snowy” because that’s the kind of “Game of Thrones” nerd I am. Instead we ended up calling him Seamus, short for “The Wee Eskie Seamus” because that’s the kind of Archer nerd I am.
The first thing I noticed when we picked up Seamus was that he was missing a large patch of fur on his back near his tail. His original parent told me that he lost it because of the change of season, but I recognize the effects of fleas and knew that this was more likely the case–particularly when I rubbed him and felt the bumps and scabs back there. Sure enough I actually saw the little fuckers crawling on him during the drive home. Even though I didn’t want to traumatize him more than he already was at being taken by two strangers from his home of six years, my mother and I knew that we had to stop and give him a bath and start him on flea treatment. We stopped at the pet supply store (that has these spa-like bath that I’m half tempted to jump in) and began washing him. As his fur became wet we saw just how scabbed and red he was not only on the entire lower half of his back but also parts of his belly and his man-junk. (It was seriously horrible and I’ll spare you the pictures.) The good news is that, while he trembled and whimpered a bit as we washed him, as soon as he was toweled off (and in a collar since they had only had a leash on him that acted like a choker), he hopped around with excitement and then rolled over for a belly rub. I think he knew that we were trying to help him.
I’m trying to keep this as short as possible and failing miserably so I’ll just let ya’all know that all of the feverent prayers that I had been saying that Kira and Seamus would get along were answered. It’s seriously a fucking miracle because I have never seen Kira so friendly a strange dog–particuarly when that dog is invading her house. I think she sensed that Seamus needed us.
It’ll be two week on Sunday that we’ve had him and he is such a sweet dog. He is a total belly rub fiend but gives lots of kisses as thanks. Also his back and man-junk are nearly completely healed and his fur is already starting to grow back where he had pulled it out. It’s been an adventure already so yes, prepare yourself for even more dog anecdeotes because, as with everyone in my family, he’s kinda mental.