This is Ruby. She was brought into Manitoba Mutts Dog Rescue, an awesome rescue organization I was fostering for. She’d had four litters of puppies in four years, and had lived tied to a barn in rural (and freezing!) Manitoba. Her owners were sick of dealing with all of the litters, and rather than paying to spay her, they were going to “put her down” (re: shoot her).
Since I fostered-failed her a little over a year ago, she’s worked with my Autistic students, and been accepted into the St John Ambulance Therapy program.
She’s the best dog anyone could ask for, and my life is infinitely better for having her.
Love ya, Ruby Tuesday!
Oh god, she looks just like my first dog, Abbey.
Abbey was a stray who wandered into my mom’s work one day when I was about four. My parents were leery about having a strange dog in the house with a little kid, so she stayed at my mom’s work for a few days. Signs went up trying to find her owner, and a few people came to look at her, but no one ever took her away.
So she came home and was the best dog anyone could ask for. We’re pretty sure she was abused by her original owner, because you couldn’t raise a tissue without her cowering a little. But a happy family life seemed to fix that. She was always really gentle with me, and never bit. I used to go lay down on her and take naps. She’d lay still the whole time. Happiest dog you’ve ever met.
She was also the great Houndini. Both my parents worked, and rather than leave her cooped up in the house all day, they made a pen for her. It had a dog house and some space so she could be inside or out, and stretch her legs. Every day before we left for work/school, she’d get put in her pen with food and water. About 80% of the time, she was perfectly content to stay there.
Initially, the cage was open on top, with a latch that just swung up and down holding the door.
Until the day we saw her lift the latch and let herself out. So then we added a carabiner to the latch so she couldn’t open it. So she started jumping over the fence (we assume) to get out. Mind you, the fence was probably 5 feet high. So my parents put a roof on the cage and she started digging under.
So they staked the fencing down. And she would still get out. To this day, we still don’t know how she managed to get out of her pen. But that’s when they gave up. We mostly stopped using the carabiner, because why bother.
God I miss that dog.