The advocate working at the rescue center wasn’t completely honest.
We were looking for a boxer. We left with a shepherd-mix.
“Look! See the way she uses her front paws? I’m sure she’s part boxer! She has to be!”
It really didn’t matter. She had already spoken to me through limpid brown eyes that said, “I’ve seen a lot of things I’d rather I hadn’t.” We had much in common.
She was thin. Despite the “impeccable care” provided by her previous owner, heartworms had invaded her body, dictating she ingest large amounts of poison over several weeks which the veterinarian hoped would kill the worms before killing the host.
Lucky did what she’d always done. She survived.
She rode, stoically, in the back seat on the way to her new home, and upon arriving, acted as any dog would when introduced to new environs. Loping from room to room, she encountered my six-year-old son, who felt the exuberance of his new pet down to the ends of his fingers which he attempted to wrap around Lucky’s head in pursuit of a sloppy dog-kiss. What he got instead, was a nip to the nose, and as I attempted to calm him I looked into sad, brown pools of regret and wondered who felt worse, the biter or the bitten. The large scar over Lucky’s left eye assured me she knew the humiliation of attack.
She barks a lot, sounding off anytime a walked dog parades in front of the house. And, it isn’t necessary to look out the window to know that the pot-bellied pig is grazing in the grass across the street. Lucky is always on guard.
Our other two dogs give Lucky a wide berth as she has, on separate occasions, let each of them know she is boss. And, if their play gets out of hand, it is Lucky who steps in to referee a peaceful conclusion. Lucky’s maternal instincts survived the surgery evidenced by the tattoo burned into her lower abdomen.
The office is quiet as I read what I have just written. A scraping sound grabs my attention, and I turn to see Lucky standing at the door to the puppy’s metal-fenced crate. She lifts her paw, resting it against the wire until I reach out to open the door.
The eyes she turns on me tell me all I need to know as she lowers her head and slowly enters the space. She lies down, looking at me once more, before placing her snout on her fawn-colored paws.
Strange dogs parade by our house unannounced. Revelry ensues in another room, unabated. Lucky curls up inside a small, secure space, and rests.
© Copyright 2007-2009 Stacye Carroll All Rights Reserved
Are We There Yet? 
Lucky indeed! I look forward to reading more of the adventures of Lucky and his new family, Stacye. 🙂