White Trash at Flat Rock

So, what’s a white middle-aged woman doing with a pit bull anyway? The arrival of the dog was a long time coming. I had been dogless for years and was finally had come to a place in life where I could once take on the duties and responsibilities of dog-ownership. Once again, I was working for myself and had the flexibility to schedule for the time demands a well-behaved dog must have.

 Petfinder.com and the local shelters were bookmarked in my browser. I spent hours pouring over the photos and stories of all the little unwanted dogs. My requirements were many and I was determined not to loose my heart to a dog I shouldn’t have. Most importantly, the dog should be a female. Girl dogs rule. Next, the dog could not be anything like my last dog, a gentle retriever mutt. Then, there were all the other things. No dogs from far away locations, she had to be young, big enough to run outside but small enough to pick up in an emergency. Fortunately I lift weights, so anything smaller than a Newfie was in the running.

For months I wandered around in the homeless dog sites. I browsed a lovely little beagle mix in nearby Orange. Nope, too likely to run away. I lurked in the boxer rescue site. They had a 12 page application and wanted to do two home visits. Maybe they wanted my blood type also and planned to do a CORI check. I searched and searched. Too many puppies, too many males, too many older dogs. There was hope, after all look at all the dogs with people and people with dogs out there. They all got together somehow.

 I even had the name picked out. Dorothy. After all, Dorothy was one of my first female heroes, right up there with Nancy Drew. Dorothy organized the others and got the Wizard of Oz to try and fax her home. And while Dorothy had to wear ruby slippers to get home to Kansas, you couldn’t really picture her in heels. Nancy tended to be a little more concerned with appearances, but she did have that hot convertible. I already had a sports car of my very own. 

Then one day I made the trip to a shelter in Gardner to meet J***. (see footnote) The shelter women had told me wonderful things about this dog. She was just the right age, a little past a year old. She was good with cats and children and very affectionate. One lady wanted to keep her but couldn’t have dogs where she lived. The animal had been in the cage nearly six months.

Six months!! What’s wrong with that statement? Well, J*** was a pit bull. We all know they have a bad rap. They don’t shed much though. This dog was the perfect size too, just under 60 pounds. She needed a little slimming down, but then I usually do also.

I sat on an overturned food bucket while Laurie the dog officer went to get J*** from the cage out back. J*** bounced into the room and careened from one person to another, jumping up for licks and treats. She ran up to a woman holding a cat and scuttled away when the cat hissed. Laurie gave her a can of soft food – oh, boy, oh, boy – and then took it away a few times while J*** was busy gobbling it down. No problemo.

 Meantime, Laurie and her volunteers were elbowing each other. “Looks like we have a live one,” the receptionist murmured behind her hand.  They were all smiles as they gave me a form to fill out. Paperwork completed, I said I’d call in a few a days with my decision. 

 (Footnote- In an effort to help the dog adjust to her new name and her new way of life, I forbid the use of her birth-name.)