Friday, September 4, 2009
Roadside Pet Rescue
New business name? Nope. Rather, it's what I now do. Yesterday I was scurrying along highway 169 towards Kansas City, about 5 miles outside of town, when I saw this dog repeatedly cross the road. It seemed unable to make a decision about which way to go and chose horrible times to cross, racing in front of semi trucks. Clearly it wasn't a country dog. They know traffic, pick a side, run for it and keep on running through fields of corn, forest, standing water, whatever. This dog was too little and dumb to make it.
I stopped my car, using my flashers like a grown-up, and the stupid dog raced across to my side in front of yet another semi and trotted over to me, tail wagging ridiculously. When it got close enough to see me, it slowed down. I crouched down and called to it, and luckily it kept running along the shoulder of the road. It reached me, sniffed me for a second, then crawled up into my lap. Poor thing was crawling with fleas and had this bump on its noggin.
Of course I drive it over to the closest house, about two miles back, and knock on the door. No one's home, or no one wants to answer the door anyway. I set the dog down in the yard to see if it runs off or something looks familiar. No such luck. It sits down and howls at me, then climbs back into my lap when I crouch down in horror to shush it.
We don't have an animal shelter in the country. The nearest one is 30 miles north and I'm headed to meet Rachel for lunch in KC. I call her. She's sympathic, being a beagle owner already. I decide to take this pup to the vet, hoping they'll recognize it. The dog refuses to have a seat on the passenger side. It's scared. It climbs into my lap instead, head out the window at first, then curls up and falls asleep for the three mile drive.
At the vet, they don't recognize it. It's a purebred beagle adult, unspayed, 15-20 lbs in good health. She's a little skinny, but her nails are clipped and she's clean, if now flea infested. I lie about where I found her, since they don't have to keep dogs outside of city limits and then it just goes back along the road. They'll keep her three business days and then put her down. During the interview, she keeps tucking her head into my armpit to sleep. So now I feel horrible on top of everything. George and I are trying to find someone to take her by Wednesday. Else we might be getting another dog. I can't handle that kind of guilt.