Monday, January 19, 2009

Someone Shoot the Crazy Out of Me.

I've seen this stray pitbull running through the neighborhood in which I work (calm down, haters. "Stray pitbull" does not necessarily equal danger). When I see him, it's usually about 7:28am and I have to be in at 7:30. I always weighed the choice of rescuing a dog and being late or keeping my job by being on time, although I promised myself that if I saw him in the afternoon I would surely stop and call animal control.

Well, today we were off work for MLK Day and I had to drive through the same neighborhood to get to a friend's house who had invited me and Tucker over for coffee. It was strange, because I started thinking about the dog as I drove past the school. And then, out of nowhere, he darted in front of my truck and booked it to an open field. I pulled my truck over and started to whistle. The funny thing is, he came. (I seriously had my doubts that he would.)

He was scared, hungry, and skinny as could be. He cowered over to me with his tail wagging between his legs and I noticed that he was still young - maybe less than a year old. Since I didn't have animal control's number, I stuck him in the truck and headed back to my house with him. Tucker squealed with excitement. The dog gave him a courteous sniff and wag of the tail.

He sat there in the passenger seat, a little scared but calm, and the mile-long drive back to my house went a little like this:

Me: What am I going to do with you, big boy? I can't take you to the no-kill shelter; there's never any space. And you'll surely be euthanized if I take you to the other-already-overcrowded-with-pitbulls shelter. Scout's gonna kill me; we can't keep you! But you're so good. And you need food. And what's one more dog when you already have five? Oh, man. What have I done? I guess we'll see what Scout says when he calls.

So Scout called. And the conversation went a little like this.

Me: Hey, babe. I got you something.
Scout: Oh yeah, what did you get me?
Me: Well, uhm. A pitbull?
Scout: What are you talking about?
Me: (launch into the story)
Scout: Aww. Well, what do you want to name him?
Me: What are you talking about? Really? You want to keep him?
Scout: Sure, why not?

My husband has become a big fat softy - just as crazy as I am. I will no longer shoulder all the blame!

So we present you with Diesel:

He looks a little intimidating in this picture, but I assure you that he prances around like a happy dog and leans up against me whenever he can. He's a sweetheart, really.