By Ted Escobar
I was disappointed in my dog Sheba. Right when I needed her to be her normal self, she wimped out on me.
Now before any of you PETA types get all worked up and write nasty letters, let me assure you that Sheba and I had a loving relationship. Problem is she loved me too much sometimes.
I had to skirt around her to feed her because the first thing she wanted to do was wrestle. If I didn’t wrestle, she stood on her hind feet and tried to knock me down.
And if she couldn’t get me that way, she wrapped her front paws around my ankles and tried to trip me. As a last resort, she clamped onto my shoe with her mouth and went for the takedown.
So now you're probably wondering what's wrong with me. Everybody wants that kind of dog.
Well what's wrong with me was that I've aged, illnesses had limited my strength and mobility. On top of all that, I'd shrunk to about 5-2, while Sheba was nearing 5-0 and growing.
It was best to find her a new home while she was still about one year old and I was still alive. She'd be great with a young family, maybe a farm family.
But, I learned that finding a home for a dog is not easy. I took her to the humane society in Yakima.
“Oh how pretty, oh how sweet,” about five people said.
She didn't jump on anybody. She didn't push anybody. She didn't clamp down on anyone's shoe. The perfect lady. Surely they'd take her.
Then the door slammed. There was no space for her while staff arranged an adoption.
So I put Sheba in the car and drove 90 miles in the opposite direction to the Benton-Franklin Humane Society.
About a dozen people fell in love with her. It was easy to do. She had the countenance of Chow and the beautiful face of a Husky. She was tan, practically blonde, with white accents in all the right places.
You should have heard the comments. For a moment, she was the Westminster Dog Show winner.
Then she was too nice. Right when I needed her to be spry and spirited, she crapped out. A wimp, a coward, a lot like General George Patton's dog.
A handler took her into the pound to check her teeth and general health. She came back five minutes later, handed me the leash and said: “Sorry, she's too anxious to be with the other dogs. She was nervous and fearful.”
What? The dog that knocks the snot out of me and knows the single leg and double leg takedowns was a psycho.
I looked down at Sheba, but she wouldn't look up at me. Until we got into the car.
I looked in the mirror, and I swear she smiled.
I should have given her to the fellow in Kennewick who asked if he could walk her. He really wanted her.
But the Humane Society bureaucrat said: “No you can't do that. We have to take her in first and place her on a three-day hold.”
The man walked away disappointed. Then the handler came back and slammed the door on the three-day hold.
We went home. I got out of the car and opened her door. She sprinted out and knocked me down.
Surrendering a dog is a "last resort" choice. That's how I got my present English Springer. Her master was on the way to the hospital for life-threatening surgery (I don't know if he survived). Anyway losing their master is pretty traumatic for them. Mine developed separation anxiety and when I'm not with her she wants to find me to the point of becoming an amazing escape artist. She can unlock & open: sliding glass doors chain link fence gates, chain link driveway gates. She can open French doors in either direction and exploit almost any weakness say nothing of her climbing ability (I have seen her on top of my F-150 just to look around). Anyway the best thing I found was adult training at Petco. We are currently working on "Good Citizenship" certificate on her way to being a certified therapy dog.
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