Runaway Rusty

We decided to add just a couple of stories to my book Always a Next One.

We replaced the preview chapter of Coastal Empire at the back of the book with a little more content while we were adding pictures of the dogs to the e-book version.

These two additional stories are dedicated to Jennie Attaway, for inspiring me to write them.

This one is called Runaway Rusty…

Usually, we humans decide to adopt a dog. But sometimes, it works the other way around.

Rusty had experienced a rough life before he came to our house for rescue and rehabilitation. After spending several weeks camped at my wife’s feet, he picked up on what life was like for the rest of our pack. When it came time for his adoption, Rusty had obviously developed his own ideas about where his perfect forever home might be.

“Rusty was returned again,” Lisa said.

“What did he do this time?” I asked, not terribly surprised.

“The woman who adopted him complained that he kept running away,” Lisa said. “She said every time she walked out the front door, he’d make a run for it. She’s tired of chasing him all over her neighborhood.”

“Rusty?” I asked incredulously. That didn’t sound like him at all. “When will you bring him back here?”

“When I go to the shelter on Thursday.” And so it was settled.

It wasn’t Rusty’s first time through our revolving door. The older but beautiful black-and-tan collie had fostered with us more than once since his original owner surrendered him back the shelter.

The woman who had adopted Rusty from the shelter as a puppy returned him after six years with her, claiming he had grown too large for her house and that he was digging up her backyard. As the shelter manager deftly pulled the rest of the story from her, she admitted that once Rusty grew beyond the adorable puppy size, she’d bought a smaller dog and banished Rusty to the backyard for the next five years. All that time, Rusty had watched through the sliding glass doors as the little dog stayed warm and dry, while he was forced to brave the elements.

When the woman brought Rusty back to the shelter after years spent in her yard, his coat was a filthy, matted mess. He was also infected with heartworms. Heartworms are a particularly dangerous condition for collies because of their tendency to have adverse reactions to ivermectin, the drug commonly used for both prevention and treatment. Back in the Humane Society’s care, Rusty was cleaned up, groomed, and then began the long course heartworm treatment recommended for collie breeds.

Rusty couldn’t be allowed any strenuous exercise because of the controlled poisons used to kill the heartworms, so the bustling excitement of the shelter was not an ideal place for him to recuperate. Lisa brought him to the comparative quiet of our house, where he spent six weeks camped beneath her desk during the day, getting pampered and slipped extra little tidbits of food.

The handsome dog appeared perfectly content just lying around the house, most of the time at Lisa’s feet, only needing one or two visits outside per day to pee. The most energy he expended came at dinner or snack time. Rusty had a voracious appetite, one that bordered on food aggression. I soon learned it was best to feed him just outside the back door so he didn’t squabble with the rest of our pack while they ate.

His history of neglect explained his craving for human attention, as well as his extreme fear of thunderstorms. Life at our house must have seemed like heaven, compared to the neglect he left behind. Once he fully recovered and we posted him for adoption on Petfinder.com, the beautiful and highly adoptable Rusty drew plenty of interest from potential adopters.

In fact, he was adopted three times in rapid succession. We were all surprised that each time, the mellow collie was returned for a different offense. One woman said Rusty threatened her cat, chasing it under the bed. Strangely enough, we also had fostered a cat with kittens at our house, and Rusty didn’t bother them. In fact, no matter what the complaint when Rusty was returned to the shelter, it was invariably behavior we never saw from the dog.

After he’d been returned for the third time, the shelter manager announced that adoption fees had been collected for Rusty three times, and in each case the adopter refused the refund. The bottom line was that Rusty had paid for himself with his antics, so if Lisa wanted to keep him, she could. We talked it over and agreed our revolving door would swing open once again for Rusty.

“You might as well bring him back and get used to the idea he’s your dog,” I laughed. I knew Lisa had developed a soft spot for the collie she saw transformed with simple, basic care. “It’s what he’s wanted all along. Don’t you see? Rusty recognized a good deal when he saw it. He decided he wants to live here. That’s why he acts up when he goes to a different house. This time, he barely lasted the weekend there. We’re the softhearted suckers who cook twice the meat on the grill. One piece is for us and one is for the dogs. And that boy likes to eat too much to leave here without pulling out all the stops.”

“You think he’s misbehaving on purpose?” Lisa frowned, considering the possibility. “I don’t know, but it does sort of seem that way. You might be right.”

“You know I’m right, and I’ll prove it when you bring him back to the house.”

On Thursday, Lisa brought Rusty home as planned. I put our other dogs in the back yard and met them in the foyer, as soon as they walked in the house. “How’re ya doing, Rusty?” I said.

He stood there wagging his tail, pleased to receive the attention.

I walked past Lisa and opened the front door. “He kept running away, every time the front door opened, huh?”

Lisa nodded, “That’s what the lady said.”

“Okay, Rusty, this is your big chance. Go ahead and make your break for it! I won’t try to stop you, if you don’t want to be here. The door is wide open. Go on, boy! Run for it!”

Rusty looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. His response was to lie down. The matter was settled. With his unmistakable answer, we added Rusty the wayward collie to our pack, the first dog to adopt us instead of the other way around.

“See!” I crowed triumphantly. “I told you, that dog’s not going anywhere. This is where he wants to be.”

“It’s your fault,” Lisa said. “You’re the one who feeds them.”