A Home for Thanksgiving

 

What happens now?

  A home in time for Thanksgiving. That’s what he was thinking about, wishing for. It was only a week away and still no family to share with. He was cold, homeless, flea-ridden, and mangey. But still, he had hope.  Because it’s his nature to be hopeful, and he had a plan.    

 The morning was cold. Traffic had slowed to a crawl outside DeBerry, Texas. Cars were honking as he ran circles on FM 79.  Confused, desperate, and determined, he ran his circles. Then a car stopped by the side of the road.  Outstretched hands, a kind face, a warm car. Gratefully he settled onto the warm floorboard.      

 G emailed this picture to me. What do I do? she wanted to know.  The SPCA, I said. Take him to the SPCA when you get to Shreveport. Just don’t bring him home, I was thinking. We already had one senior greyhound, a gentleman of a dog living with us. When he passed on to the Rainbow Bridge, we were going to take up the giant-sized dog beds from the floor of every room in the house and put away the elevated food bowls. We planned to enjoy our “childless” years: no nails to trim or 40 lb bags of dogfood to haul in, and no more expensive semiannual visits to the vet for teeth cleaning. And someday when the house felt too empty, we would bring another quiet greyhound from the race track to live with us at the Hasty Street Retirement Home for Greyhounds.  On one thing we agreed: no puppy.    

But the only shelter in Shreveport was full and wouldn’t take him. G could see fleas crawling through his hair, and he was one very stinky pup. So she took him to the nearest vet clinic. No, she told the vet, no vaccinations. I’m not keeping him.  Just give him a bath, get rid of the fleas and make him comfortable. She also had them treat his mange.  Because she was staying at a hotel, she had to leave him at the clinic overnight . They wanted a copy of her driver’s license…in case she didn’t come back to get him.   

But she did.  And there he was to greet me when I came home from work. I was so not prepared. Yes, all puppies are adorable. But I was floored. He’s 100 times cuter in person than he is in pictures! My heart didn’t stand a chance.  Then we discovered he was deaf. Not a problem, I said. We’ll use sign language. The greyhounds obeyed signs, as well as verbal commands. How hard can it be, right?  

While we looked for him a home, I was secretly pleased when every lead didn’t pan out. I wanted him to have the best family possible. He was a special-needs puppy after all. Not just anyone could be trusted to provide the kind of home a deaf catahoula could thrive in.         

Yep, Mister is a catahoula leopard hound. The vet in Louisiana thought he was a merle border collie. But extensive research online convinced us he is a catahoula.  The webbing between his toes sealed the deal. That and other catahoula owners’ instant recognition of his breed. So we loaded him in the car with Beau when we headed to Lake Livingston for the long Thanksgiving weekend. We stopped in Huntsville to buy a puppy bed and puppy food bowls. Over the holiday, Mister learned to sit and where to go potty.  He met family and friends. We began to get a clear and realistic picture of just how challenging a deaf catahoula would be to raise.      

Although we continued to look for someone who could provide him a good home, by Thanksgiving Day, Mister knew in his little, hopeful, puppy heart that he had found it.