Chapter 2 - What's in a Name or Knuckleballers Do it With Class

Wakefield getting fat and hogging the sports page. "3-4 after the first week!? C'mon Sox!"

I’m no doctor, but…

…I know progress when I see it. Wakefield and I are starting our third week together, and I’m happy to say the little guy continues to show signs of improvement. After two weeks of non-stop eating and sleeping, a puppy is finally starting to emerge. We’ve recently had our first bouts of tennis ball romping, and he fusses loudly at me with a wagging tail when I have the audacity to make myself dinner without sharing. It appears that the doctor’s initial guess of ‘pit bull mix’ was a good one: Wakefield is starting to fill out in the shoulder and chest area, and his ribs and hip bones are slowly retreating under the pounds he’s packing on. He has lost quite a bit more hair though, so most of that hair you could see on his head, neck, and shoulders in his early picture is gone. It’s kind of funny actually…he looks a lot like a small, friendly version of the giant dog that chased Rick Moranis in the first Ghostbusters (“Nice doggy…cute little pooch…maybe I got a Milk-Bone…”). Unfortunately, he hasn’t taken Boston’s first week performance very well, but neither have I. At least we can commiserate together.

And of course, thanks to everyone who has helped raise awareness of the sad state of strays in this country by reading, reposting, or commenting on Wakefield’s story up to this point. Feel free to keep up with him on my facebook page or at www.secondchanceforwakefield.blogspot.com.

What’s in a Name or Knuckleballers Do it With Class

After I left Wakefield at the vet that first day, I wasn’t sure if I would name him at all. I assumed the folks at Till Newel Animal Hospital would have bad news about the poor creature’s condition, and naming a dog that was going be put down just seemed like too sad a venture. To my great (and happy) surprise though, I was informed the dog had a shot if we gave him doxycycline (twice a day), vertimec (once a day), and took him in for a weekly mitaban dip for the next 6 weeks.

Now I’m not 100% sure what all the meds do, and to be honest I had to look them up just to make sure I spelled them correctly (and they might still be spelled wrong). What I do know is that any medical regimen for an animal in his condition wasn’t going to be easy, and that his recovery in general was going to be arduous. This meant I was now given the task of picking out a name that would fit a dog in that situation.

Meet Tim Wakefield: He’s a knuckleball pitcher for the Sox who is 18 wins away from becoming their winningest pitcher of all time and is (if you ask any Boston fan) a shoe in for the Hall of Fame. His career numbers aren’t staggering…his lifetime win-loss percentage is .538 with an ERA of 4.33. He doesn’t have a scorching fastball or a change-up that makes hitters look like amateurs. ‘Then what makes him so great’ you ask? He’s resilient. He’s tough. The guy has been relevant and dependable for 18 seasons without steroids or HGH. Also, in my humble opinion, he’s the reason above all others the Sox were able to come back from a three game deficit and win the 2004 ALCS and eventually take their first World Series title in almost a century. There were many ‘heroic’ outings that would follow over the next 4 games against the rightfully vilified Yankees, but his act stands alone in my mind. Curse of the Bambino? Over. Gone. Finished. All because Tim Wakefield gave up his game 4 start in order to relieve the team’s ailing bullpen in game 3. God I love that story…

Wakefield (the dog) has proven himself to be as resilient as his namesake. His improvement can be measured in the added inches around his chest and the tail that never stops wagging. I promised the story of our first weeks together in this chapter, but I’ll save it for next week in the interest of keeping this round from going on forever and getting dull. That many ticks and that much ooze, hair, and crud definitely warrant their own chapter anyway.

Soapbox:

Thousands of dogs are euthanized every year in this country for lack of home and care. Thousands more of these domesticated but neglected animals suffer the crueler fate of dying of starvation. Want to help one of the many Wakefields out there? Want to add a loving and loyal member to your family without being saddled by the costs of unlimited text-messaging plans or college tuition? You can do both by going down to your local shelter and picking up a homeless animal. It’s way cheaper than buying a purebred, and your mutt will be less likely to develop the genetically inherited problems purebred animals deal with later in life. Best of all, by saving that animal, you’ll be freeing up a spot in the crowded shelters for another stray that needs a roof over its head and a chance for adoption. Already got a pet? Consider getting another one… I can say from experience that raising two dogs is easier than raising one (they seriously entertain each other). Google your local Humane Society or animal shelter for more info on how you can help out one of the many animals that can’t help themselves. If you live in the south and want to lend a hand, check out East Mississippi Animal Rescue (www.eastmsanimalrescue.com). It’s an organization full of good people doing good things, and a whole cast of critters that could use a hand.

P.S. Shelter dogs can be easily trained to sit, fetch, roll over, and wash cars. With a little more training, they can do married (filing jointly) taxes as well as simple copy-editing. Don’t believe me? Try adopting one and find out for yourself.

Next time on “A Second Chance for Wakefield”:

-Our first two weeks (seriously this time)
-Born to Run...the greatest album of all time, or just the greatest Springsteen album of all time?
-Why Charles Frasier’s ’13 Moons’ is just as great as his first novel, ‘Cold Mountain’

Chapter 1 - Ticks are Tough, but the Gag Reflex is Tougher

Wakefield is PSYCHED about Boston's opening day win over the Yanks, but is seriously concerned about Josh Beckett's performance in the first 5 innings..,

Thanks!

Hello everyone. Thanks to all the folks that read, commented, or reposted the ‘intro’ to Wakefield’s story. We’re currently on day one of ‘crate’ training, and as I write this he’s downstairs complaining loudly about the ill treatment.

Wakefield is fairing pretty well after a week spent sleeping (90% of the time), eating (5% of the time), going to the bathroom (3% of the time), and pulling for the Sox in that Opening Night classic (2% of the time). The ugly, mangy dog that was days away from dying of starvation is now an ugly, mangy dog that follows me around with a wagging tail, begging for Milk Bones. He’s still losing his hair to the mange, but his battered and beaten face is healing pretty well. The previously dull eyes that were nearly swollen-shut are now large and full of life.

Once again, the intent of this story is to increase awareness of the serious problems of animal neglect and cruelty we have in this country. If you like what you read and want to help spread the word, please repost this story or tell a friend to check it out (my 'notes' section is open to everyone). For non facebook types, it can also be found at www.secondchanceforwakefield.blogspot.com. Also, feel free to drop me a line for comments/questions/concerns.
Now, as promised, the beginning of our story:

We are All God’s Creatures or Ticks are Tough, but the Gag Reflex is Tougher

Okay, I started this one off with the good news about Wakefield’s improvements because the story of how i found him is pretty sad. So, stick with me and remember that he’s in a lot better shape today than he was a week ago. Cool? Cool…

I came across the bag of bones on my way home from Naval Air Station Meridian, where Uncle Sam currently has me gainfully employed. During the drive, as I was digging ‘Left and Right in the Dark’ by Julian Casablancas, I noticed a brown shape among some trash along the side of the road. Because the shape was so slight, I first assumed it was a buzzard. As I got closer though, I realized it was a dog; a dog that was all hips and ribs. I went to the store and grabbed a bag of dog food, hoping if nothing else I could get the poor thing a decent meal. Fortunately he was still at the all-you-can-eat trash buffet when I returned. I hopped out of the car, and slowly approached him with the food. It was truly a wretched sight: the dog’s face was covered with lines of broken skin and his eyes were nearly swollen shut. He was largely hairless, covered in open sores, and had a couple marble sized ticks hanging on for the ride and free meal.

He ate there for a while as I watched. Around his neck was a mud covered collar, and he gave me a couple tail wags while he ate, both of which I took as signs that he might not be aggressive. After some time (all of which I was seriously wondering if I could even pick him up without worrying about vermin myself) he got up, slowly dragged himself under a barbed wire fence that paralleled the road, and parked himself just out of arm's reach. After some conferring with my wife Lisa, and some serious time spent thinking of the consequences of jumping a barbed wire fence in my flight suit, I decided to use some bungee cord as a leash and hop the fence to get him. The process took some time: I had to follow the fence back into the woods a ways to find a not-so-precarious place to get through, and once I got to him he wasn’t really all that receptive of going anywhere with me. The thought of putting the tick covered dog in the back of my car wasn’t especially pleasing either, so I opted to use a few sticks to pull off the especially large/gross ones. Post tick removal and much cajoling/dragging/pushing/pulling/prodding/pleading, I got him under the fence and in the back of my car.

The employees at Till-Newell Animal Hospital were (and are) excellent. I dropped the pup off and went to the bathroom to wash every possible exposed piece of skin while they gave the dog soon to be known as Wakefield the initial once-over. From his stay at the vet that afternoon, I learned about how he had the red mange (bummer), he would be visiting the vet once a week for 6 weeks (cha-ching) and that his recovery was far from guaranteed (serious bummer). The doc said “Yep, he’s going to take some work, but we’re not going to give up on this dog yet.” Now here we are a week later: Wakefield is slowly recovering, and I’m rapidly becoming a pro at cleaning up after a very sick dog.

Soapbox

Got a dog? Get it spayed. Got a cat? Get it spayed. Got a crazy exotic pet? Donate it to a zoo, get a dog, and then get the dog spayed. Owning an animal is a serious responsibility, and you owe it to the pet and to your community to make sure your animal won’t be contributing to the problem of stray/homeless animals when (not if) it gets loose one day. Oh yeah, and if you live in Mississippi or Arkansas and just let your dog run around free 24/7, this goes doubly for you. Seriously.

Next time on ‘A Second Chance for Wakefield’
-What's in a name? (His namesake's heroic 2004 ALCS game 3 performance)
-Our first week together (I think we'll get all the bodily fluids covered)
-Is Kurt Vonnegut the greatest satirical author of all time? (Wakefield thinks so...)