A ruff start

When the pandemic hit, I got really REALLY sick of being stuck in my house. I work from home, my college kids moved home, I couldn't travel, I couldn't do any of the things I love to do -- eat out, visit my mom, act in community theater, sign up for fun runs -- nothing. I was in a rut, and feeling sorry for myself.

I invented reasons to go out: "I need to make sure the car's battery doesn't die," "Donating blood and platelets is time well spent," "The dog needs to be walked." The dog needs to be walked...my least favorite thing to do.

Our little Welsh Terrier is as smart as a third-grader, but she has a boatload of energy and can't sit still at night without a daily run to wear her down. Still, Texas summers are about as pleasant as living in a bathroom hand-dryer, so I wasn't looking forward to being dragged down the street for a mile while my make-up bleeds down my face and my hair turns into a bird's nest.

So I decided to take the easy way out, and started walking the dog to the corner dog park with a cold beverage in my hands. She could run to her heart's content, and I could keep myself semi-comfortable with a battery operated fan.

Little did I know how hard this would be on my heart. Not because I was suffering from heat stroke, but because I met so many dog owners who adopted rescue dogs.

Some of the dogs were incredibly shy and sheepish, having been abused in their past lives. Some were overly aggressive. Some were skinny, or had scars, or smelled funky. But every single dog just wanted to be loved. And they had found their earth angels.

My little Welshie made lots of friends. And so did I. These dog owners had every reason under the sun to adopt their dogs. Some had older relatives who had passed away, leaving a pet without a home. Others found their dogs on the side of the road or roaming around the neighborhood, broken chains still around their necks. One dog owner had at least six rescues, taking them in when the previous owners didn't have the energy to accommodate high-energy, large breeds. My next-door neighbor felt sorry for a pitbull who was about to be put down for being dangerous around children.

I've encountered numerous strays on my daily runs and bike rides. A few followed me home, and one couple on my street is always quick to put out bowls of food & water and give them a rug to sleep on for a few nights. But like so many others - including me - they can't afford to take care of every dog. And eventually they have to take them to a shelter, if none of the neighborhood websites or vets turn up an owner. Breaks my heart every time.

I don't understand how people can give up on a dog. I think they're like kids, and if you raise them right, they'll behave well and love you forever. But I know it's not that simple. I'd rather see the dog surrendered so that someone else can give them a second chance. The people who adopt them? Saints in my book. Special place in heaven. Stars in their crowns.

It takes a person with a gigantic heart to commit to being a dog's buddy for life. And every time I can give those dogs a pat on the back or slip them a rawhide stick, I'll do it. Throw the ball, toss the frisbee, squirt the hose -- whatever it takes. It takes a village. Everyone pitching in to make their lives a little better.

Because if you can't be nice to a dog, you're probably not much fun to be around in the first place.

Dog rescuers -- you have my respect. You're good people. It's just a few years of our lives, but it's a lifetime to these dogs. If you can, you should.