This is the story of our dog Hunter, the most annoying dog in the world. This is him now.
His hind legs are paralyzed, but not his spirit. That’s why I want to tell you his story.
It started when he was just a puppy.
His mother was the most annoying dog in the neighborhood. She spent most of her time chained in her backyard barking. The rest of the time she spent roaming the neighborhood barking. At least until her owners got her a present. Or maybe it was one of the neighbors. One can never be too sure about these things.
That ended her barking. But not her wandering. Every six months or so there was another sign about free puppies as you drove into town and every six months or so the remainder were taken to the pound. How we ended up with one is a whole ‘nuther story. Maybe I’ll tell it to you in the comments if anyone wants to know.
Anyway, he apparently took careful notes from his mother because when he came to live at our house, he displayed one great talent.
If I put him in the backyard, he barked.
If I had him in the front room, he barked.
When I had enough and put him in the kennel in my room, he screamed.
When the kids went out the back door, he would knock them over to get out.
Then I had to go out and chase him. Not that I could catch him. He would run in little circles around me, always just out of reach, always barking like his life depended on it.
And I thought all sorts of horrible things.
I knew he wasn’t getting enough walks. He was a big dog and a high energy dog. I resolved multiple times to take him for more walks and longer walks to just try to wear him out.
But it was either still not enough or that wasn’t really the problem.
So I resolved to take him to the pound. Over and over and over. Sometimes, I fantasized about it. While chasing him across the field behind our house, I’d imagine myself driving around with the minivan and opening the door, the one trick that almost always worked. Then I’d drive to the pound and leave him, the barking and the three leashes he’d eat on the way behind me. Sometimes I even told him all about it.
I might have even carried through if it weren’t for one thing.
He wasn’t my dog. I mean, he lived in my house and ate my dog food and got on my nerves, but he had chosen my son as His Boy. And my quirkly little boy had a lot of trouble fitting in and needed all the unconditional love he could get. Even if it came in the form of the most annoying dog in the world.
To be continued . . .with Part II.