Rescuing flea-bitten mutts: a messy delight

Last week a small male dog came round my house acting all macho but I saw he was filthy & lost. He wanted to play with my beloved mutts so I lured him with food & snapped the gate shut. After he ate, he inched his way into my lap like a baby. How endearing can a little flea-infested mutt be!

I named him Max because he has a face like my irascible German grandfather who never reconciled to human society even though Max the dog loves to be loved.

He can’t be trusted & takes off every chance he gets so I end up carrying him a lot & threatening to kick his little butt. My mantra to all my dogs is, “don’t make my life a living hell; we’ll get along better that way.”

This morning, as I was smugly telling myself no dog was smarter than me, the little rascal escaped my hold & took off. I chased him for blocks but lost him so went back to get the car to search. Then I began to wonder if he perhaps had a family he returned to–the kind that lets their dogs roam free like was common in the 1950s & is rife here now. After driving several blocks, I couldn’t find him so returned to feed the menagerie. Max probably didn’t want to miss breakfast since he was hanging at the gate when I returned.

To anyone willing to do the work–which means dealing with unseemly body fluids & allowing your car to smell like a livestock carrier–there is nothing in life more delightful than a dog. They’re little scoundrels & sneaks devoted to being loved.