A couple days ago, this little dude showed up on our doorstep:
The picture isn’t great, because the crazy bugger just won’t sit still for even a second, but he was absolutely covered in prickles, and smelled pretty darn rank. He had no collar, and didn’t seem anxious to get home, so we gave him some water and tied him under a tree for a bit. When the day cooled off, we took him for a wander, knocking on doors and following any leads we could get to find his owner. No luck, and the day over, we left a note at the local store and set him up a bed for the night.
A trip to the vet the next morning was less than successful—he wasn’t micro-chipped, so tracking his owner that way wouldn’t work. We decided to try the old-fashioned way, plastering posters around the neighbourhood, and placing notices on a couple of local lost and found noticeboards.
Meanwhile, I was starting to feel really sorry for the poor little guy. Covered in so many prickles, and with a coat that had seen better days, I decided it was time he had a haircut.Two hours later, and with the help of my cousin, Chica, a pair of scissors, dog clippers, and lots of puppy treats, he had been bathed and given a very bad haircut. But at least there was no more prickles.
While I was cutting, I realised just how matted and shabby his coat was, and by the end it was clear he was also a lot skinnier than we’d first assumed. He also has a habit of flinching when we reach to pat him. I started to think either he’d been homeless for a while and got in some strife, or maybe he’d hit the road on purpose, searching for a better life. I don’t want to doubt his owner’s love, so I’m still hoping someone claims him. I also don’t want to have to take him to the pounds, as I know even the cutest dogs have a ticking clock next to their name.
He’s been temporarily christened Prickle, although I did put in a bid for Captain Humpalot, because he’s right at that age where everything is sexy, especially my poor Bonnie dog. She’s certainly not his biggest fan, but they are working out their issues…slowly. My dad, on the other hand, has taken a strange liking to him, and has decreed if his owner isn’t found, he’ll stay here. I’m not sure what I’m rooting for (no pun intended), but I do think he’s mighty cute, and I’d hate to see him on death row.
To be continued…