Monday, February 27, 2017

The Hoots

Last Wednesday I was driving home when I saw this little white furball shoot out from the side of the road into four lanes of traffic, running straight under the car in front of me. I was pretty sure he'd been hit and kept running but the person in front of me didn't stop. So, I pulled over into the parking lot I'd seen furball run into and looked for him. I found him cowering behind a car. I looked around to see if anyone was coming after him, like maybe he had just gotten away from someone? But no. No one was there. So, I scooped him up, put him in my car and drove home. And immediately regretted it because this dog smelled like Goat Sphincter.
I looked over at him and he was stressed out and panting and he was just so furry and matted, you couldn't even really see his face.  Here:  I took this right as we pulled into my driveway. Can you smell it?

The fur was pretty disgusting. You can't really tell in photos, but there really wasn't a part of his body that wasn't matted, not even his butt, which is where I'm guessing the goat sphincter smell came from..And of course, no face to speak of. 

Unsurprisingly, Goat Sphincter didn't have a collar or ID on him anywhere, so I took him to the nearest vet's office to see if he had a microchip.  He did. Sigh. 
What that means is that this ball of stink BELONGED to someone. (someone who did shit-all to take care of him, but someone nonetheless). So that means, that I really needed to take him to the shelter to see if the owner would reclaim. But it was very close to the time that the shelter was going to close, so I decided to keep him overnight and take him in the morning. And give him a bath....and then try to get rid of some of the horrific smelly mass of mats this poor guy had on him. Which is how we discovered that the little dude did in fact have a face and that face belongs to George Carlin. 

And the next morning I took him to the shelter. I didn't want to do it, but it's what's legal. After all, what if he had belonged to some really sweet little old woman who wanted to leave him all the money in her will and her devious butler drugged him and drove him all the way to South Austin in the middle of the night and dumped him so he would never see his loving benefactress again unless he got help from an alley cat who lives in France, but suspiciously sounds American? I might be losing the plot here, but MY POINT IS:  you never know what could have happened. So I took him to the pokey where he was booked and tagged and chips were scanned and folks who might be looking would have a chance to come get him.

But. They didn't. 

And now, he's back. And Unfortunately, due to naming restrictions for my fosters, I am unable to name him George. I would have named him Carlin, but someone suggested Hootie and it really does fit him. (Dodger was also suggested, but alas, I fostered a Dodger in 2003 who caused havoc and total destruction and I have bad memories). 
So. Hootie is in the house. Hopefully  not for long. I don't mean to be mean, but he's kind of a squirrel.

He has a mean case of crate guarding  which means he only growls when he's absolutely safe from harm. Also, he humps rugs. 

But still, he's sweet. In his own Hootish way. Don't worry, I'm taking him in tomorrow for a professional haircut. So this may be the last time you get to see this face: 

I'm pretty sure he won't let it go to his head. 

No comments: