
Beth's not writing a blog entry today. She's too entranced with everyone's pet stories in the comments section of yesterday's post regarding my trouble-making adopted sister, Cheyenne. I'm impressed too. Please add more tales!
Bless pet lovers everywhere! ~Billie
My parents kept saying we couldn't take a dog back home with us that far. The cousins kept insisting we could. The day we got up to leave, Pinky's food bowl, food, and leash were waiting at the door. LOL! Needless to say, she went home with us. She was the best dog ever. But the funniest thing about her? When we got her, she didn't know how to bark! As we drove through New Mexico, she saw horses for the first time and this funny sound came out of her mouth. Took us awhile to realize she was trying to bark. ROFL! She eventually did get the hang of it, though.
I love reading and sharing pet stories. Instead of talking about Moe this time, let me talk about Bailey -- the dog I had before Moe. Bailey came into my life one September evening in 1984, outside of the famous Stone Pony rock club in Asbury Park. Friends had found him rummaging through the garbage cans outside their apartment building. He obviously needed help. He was so starved you could count his ribs. He'd scratched so much from stress and fleas that he was bald in patches on his hips. The poor dog cowered at every loud noise. Their apartment building super wouldn't permit them to keep him even overnight, so they came looking for someone to take him in. I took one look at this poor, starved Irish Setter and lost my heart. First I said I'd take him for the night and then find a shelter. (At the time, I lived in an apartment building and didn't think it was fair for a dog to be left all day long.) The next day, the shelters told me that if nobody adopted him in a week, he'd be euthanized. So then, I resolved to keep him until I could get him healthy. I should have known right away that we were meant to be. A sweeter dog never lived than my Bailey. For the first year, he followed me from room to room, afraid, I think, that he would be abandoned again. Beth, like you with Cheyenne, Bailey showed all the signs of having been abused by previous owners. I feel like some sort of universe force brought us together. We were meant to be family. He lived a good ten years before succumbing to illness on NY Eve, 1994.
How funny that she didn't know how to bark. When we first Cheyenne home, Steve had to teach her how to climb the stairs!