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The Story of Alf, the Patchwork Pup
My name is Alf . About three years ago I
was homeless and living on the mean streets of Los Angeles. I
had to
spend just about all of my time looking for food and when I would
find
something that might be edible, I had to fight the other dogs
for it. I was a scrappy fighter for a few months until I started growing big lumps
on my neck and shoulders. They were as big as baseballs and they threw me
off balance so that I couldn't fight as hard for my food.
Without enough to eat, and sleeping outside (yes, it can even
get cold
here in Los Angeles) I got very sick. I was coughing and shaking
and it was hard to breathe. Then to top this off, one day a guy in a
uniform tossed a rope around my neck and threw me into a cage in the back of a
truck. Later he took me out of the truck and put me into another cage in a
big building. I wasn't scared because I am street tough and don't
let on that I'm scared, but I could smell the fear in the other dogs.
A guy in a white coat said, "Put him down, he'll never
last the
night." A wonderful lady volunteer said, "O.K."
then sneaked off to a
telephone and called this person, TBO. She told him there were
two sick Bassets that were going to be euthanized that evening. Euthanize ~ Now
there's a great word, huh? It sounds so much nicer than, "Let's kill the
animals that we have let breed irresponsibly." (A short pitch for spay and
neuter!)
Anyhow, this TBO guy showed up later and sat in a chair in
the
visiting room. The volunteer brought in another sick Basset and
me. The other Hound was coughing very bad too, but wasn't as sick as me. He was red
and white and TBO said, "I'll take the red one but the little brown
one (me) is too sick to even walk. Besides, he must be older than dirt. You
might as well keep him here and do what must be done."
By then, I was starting to get the picture. Too weak to stand
up, I
dragged myself over to the man and put my head on his leg, looked
up and gave what I thought might be my last, "Harooo." It worked!
TBO said, "We might as well take that one too. He can die at our vet as well
as he can die here." A few minutes later I was in a car with the other
Hound and off to a veterinarian.
Two days later TBO picked up the other dog and me. We were
both still very sick. We were told that my name was Alf and the other guy
was Angus. I sat in the lap of a nice lady and we drove to the place that
would turn out to be my new home (but I didn't know that then). I still couldn't
walk so the people I now call Grandma and Grandpa made me a bed in their
garage.
Later Grandma came outside and fed me ice cream and yogurt. Things
were beginning to look up.
Angus was all well in a few weeks and adopted. I took longer
to get
well and had to go back to the vet several times. Nevertheless,
I sure did hit the jackpot when Grandma and Grandpa decided to keep me, "Just
until he gets well."
I now have my own dog door, I sleep in Grandma's room and
I even get to sneak up on the sofa and look out the windows. When I walk
with Grandma, I go very slow because she uses a walker and I don't want to tip
her over.
Grandpa lets me piddle on all the trees so it takes us a very
long time to go around the block. I go to Breakfast with Bassets every month and
last year I even marched in the Doo Dah Parade in Pasadena. What is best,
though, is the unconditional love that I both give and receive.
Memories of my months on the streets are fading now. Memories
of
years in my first home when I was little are completely gone.
Once I mourned the
loss of these memories, but they have been replaced with such
a wonderful
"now" that "other" no longer matters.
If it hadn't been for that nice volunteer at the shelter,
Basset Hound
Rescue of Southern California and my wonderful new Grandma and
Grandpa, all
that love would never have happened. It is naptime now, for we
Bassets who
are truly "older than dirt" do need our naps.
Alf still lives with Mr. and Mrs. William James, parents of
Bill James.
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