Bobby Had Three Legs

One evening coming home from school, a creature stopped me from crossing the threshold into my drive. I was frozen in place till grandpa came out and called the beast to heel. Bobby moved away and sat next to him. With grandpa’s hand on his head, he looked safe and quiet.

“He is ours now,” grandpa said,” I brought him over. He needed shelter.” He told me that his home had burned down, and the people had just left locked in while going shopping. I saw how Bobby could have been burned alive. Here he was marking his new territory. He made me smile.

I was careful around matches at that age. The children managed to light a fire in their bedroom and were too shy to tell mum when she decided to drag them to the shops and leave their dog behind.

We took him to the vet to get him checked over to be on the safe side. The doc noticed old, healed scars on his back and hind legs. On the way home, I shared a chocolate bar with him.

We became great friends very quickly, and he would walk me to school some days or pick me up. He did not have a watch, but he knew the time, somehow. Alas, Bobby’s weakness was the ladies. He was a right Casanova. Walking down the road with him was always stop and start as he had to greet his many conquests and show off.

Half the pups looked like him. The village was in uproar. Get the pest out or do something about him. My grandpa just laughed it off as he did at most things. Bobby and Grandpa were alike, lots of ladies to greet on outings with either of them and always sweets or chocolates for me.

One day, Bobby entered a kennel and got a prize animal in the family way. Of course, the offspring looked like Bobby. The owners threatened to sue. Their prize dog was now worthless. A few days after another shouting match over the dog’s over generosity with his sperm, Bobby hobbled in on three legs and bleeding profusely from two wounds and one broken leg.

The vet came over and took one look. Amputation, no way around it, broken in three places was his first impression. The other wounds were superficial but would heal quickly. The amount of blood was not to worry us. The doc saw the tears running down my cheeks. I could see the tears in his eyes.

The vet promised he would look after the dog. We had to leave Bobby behind in the surgery. I walked down with the men when they carried him to the hospital room set up for animals kept under observation. Bobby was not alone.

We did not have a date for the op yet as Bobby had to recover from the vicious attack first. He healed fast. A few hours after the operation, we took him home, driving gently through the streets. He was allowed home early if we agreed to sit with him through the night and the next day.

He woke up on Tuesday, got up and dared a few steps. When he fell over, exhausted, we carried him back to his bed. The vet encouraged us to help him find his balance and hold him like a child learning to walk. Later in the week, he was off again all by himself, greeting the ladies, as he walked down the street.

A few months later, the next batch of puppies was born. Even on three legs, Bobby was fine. He had a future to look forward to and to live. For years to come, he was part of our family. The dog was more than a companion a family member. With age came pain, and at times he seemed to miss his leg as he would sometimes sit and look at the empty space and start howling quietly, a form of dementia in the early stages, was the diagnostic One day, the vet recommended we do what was best for Bobby as the pain and the trauma following that beating and other abuse before were taking their toll. His body could not take much more.

That summer was a sad time my friend was dead. All I could do was flower his grave. But he had taught me a thirst for life and a positivity few humans ever could. Sometimes he is still running along with me in a spring breeze.

Get up and go, make the most in any circumstances, live your life to the full and make your days sweet. That is a motto fit for our Bobby.