Very long ago, in times long past, I wrote a post about Bailey, our rescue Great Dane mix (I think he may be mixed with Pit Bull). He is a rescue dog who came to us from a shelter. My youngest has a friend who works at a animal shelter in town, and so knowing that we had a love of Great Danes, she called to let us know that Bailey had been found, and needed a good home promptly.
Bailey was discarded in a field outside a town near us. He had been thrown into a cardboard box, with a handful of dried Pinto beans chucked into the box, and left to swelter in the Central Valley heat. Thankfully, it was only May, and so the daily temperatures were still below 100 degrees. The top of the box had been closed, and so there was no way for him to escape.
I am not sure how they even found him, way out in the middle of that field. When they extricated him from the box, he was just skin and bones. We brought him home, and he could barely walk, he was so weak. But over the last year or so, he has flourished, his body has filled out, his coat has become shiny and soft, and he is the sweetest puppy ever.
Bailey is the first shelter dog I have ever owned. And although he seems very happy and full of life, I see that traumatic experience has left scars, not physical scars but emotional scars. For one, he is very territorial about his food, or really anyone’s food. I have seen him square off with Gingy (our Husky) over the remains of a roasted chicken, I put in the garbage can. He will stand at the garbage can, and this deep guttural growl will arise from the very depths of his bowls, his hackles will stand on end, and he will bear his teeth. Gingy and he have gotten into full on battles, which I have to break up with the threat of the evil broom.
And dinner time can be quite an issue too. I have to put his food bowl by my chair on the patio, away from Gingy. It is only around Gingy that he behaves this way, he has never done this to Maxie (our Golden Retriever) or Mikey (our enormous Great Dane). It is only Gingy, which is curious, because they are the best of friends normally (when food isn’t involved).
And one other interesting thing about Bailey, is his self-designated role as my alarm clock. On weekdays, when my alarm goes off at 5:30 AM, if I do not immediately pop right out of bed, he will come stand at the head of the bed and make a rather annoying, little whiny noise. He does this every single morning. And so when I have a day off, and it happens to be during the week, there is no laying about for me, because my little four-legged alarm clock is there, whimpering and whining, until I clamber out of bed. Most of the time, I find this rather endearing, but sometimes on the weekend I would love to stay in bed until 6:30, and so I will tell Bailey to be quiet, it is the weekend, and he will creep away, and lay down. But the peace doesn’t last long, because he starts the whole process over again at 6:00AM. I am hoping someday, he will decide this a pointless activity and give it up.
But, I love our little Bailey (also known as Tornabean, Ellemure and Bailess), with all his quirks, especially when he lets me sleep until 6:30AM.
Photo Credit: es.pinterest.com