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...)
No comments:
Post a Comment