“What’s going on in here?” I asked. Several of them happily wagged their tails as if to answer, “Oh, we were just fooling around.” As I looked a little more closely, I noticed red coloring on some of them and immediately concluded somebody drew blood.
She was so skinny that she seemed to be nothing but legs . . . long and thin. Her demeanor was quiet and pensive as she was trying to assess what was happening. Her coat was in such poor shape that she could have passed for a “hairless” breed.
He was always the first I’d tend to every morning. Despite his age and eyesight loss, he could hear me well. Often when I’d get to the sunroom, the cats were asleep on either side of him in his bed. All the dogs loved Banjo. He would get smothered with doggie kisses as all the pups were on their way out.
He was so little, stood bravely by the gate and looked straight into my eyes each time I walked by. I already had taken two “code red” dogs and my facility/home was rapidly filling up, so I thought to myself that as cute as he is, somebody will either tag or adopt him, and headed to the truck.
Sure enough, Jack had apparently found a “weak spot” and had taken off in hot pursuit. He was nowhere in sight, and neither were the deer. As soon as I called him, he appeared on the other side of the fence and was trying to find a way back in. He jumped the fence “on the way out,” but couldn’t remember how to get back in.
She was rescued from some ranch where she had been tied up the first six months of her life and abused because she was “incorrigible.”