Dianne’s Doghouse
Rejoice!
Ten years ago, on “Date Night,” Ken and I went to a movie in Wooster, on a cold, snowy evening. The movie ended late, and as we walked from the theater to the car, we noticed that the snow had turned to freezing rain.
Driving home on slippery, back country roads was quite a challenge. As we crested a steep hill, I saw two eyes staring at us in the middle of the road. Ken stopped the car and put on the flashers, so we could investigate what kind of animal this was and find out if it was hurt.
The animal didn’t move. Literally frozen to the yellow line, was an old beagle! We quickly wrapped a blanket around him to warm him up enough so we could scoop him off the icy pavement. All the way home, I cuddled him and spoke soft words, “What hurts old boy? How can we help you?”
We brought him home, gave him a bath, and found several lacerations and road burns on his battered little body. After his bath and a small dinner, he curled up on a blanket by the kitchen fireplace and slept all night.
The next day, I took him to our vet so she could check him for broken bones and help us try to find his owner. Even with a county dog tag, and all of her connections, the Veterinarian had no luck. I brought him home and named him George.
George had a good broad face, dark eyes, and a very black nose. He was a regal old boy, but his stateliness took second place to his personality. He was well-behaved, with a gentle and affectionate temperament.
George was a keen observer of my body language. He would spend hours studying my every movement, listening to the cadence of my breathing. I had the feeling that he had given his best years to a wonderful friend and that this elderly dog still had a few years left to give.
“Please, God, help me find his friend.” Dogs are exceptional creatures. They love you more than they love themselves, are unselfish, and remind you to do more for everybody around you.
The vet called—she found George’s owner! I called the number, and immediately a man picked up on the first ring. I met him halfway to Wooster with George riding shotgun in the front seat.
A truck pulled up beside me and a gentleman, with tears streaming down his face, jumped out of his vehicle and ran to us to retrieve his precious old boy. By now we were all crying—even George.
George howled, barked, whined, and howled some more. He tried to wag his tail, but every movement hurt. The noises coming from George were heart-rending. Huge tears rolled down his muzzle as he howled his gratitude to his master.
Blessings,
Dianne Hammontree, secretary of Homeward Bound Dog Shelter
Original source found here.
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