He followed my husband home one steamy hot July morning. There were plenty of other people out walking or jogging, but for some reason, this dog wanted to come home with my hubs. I was still lounging in bed about 7am, when I heard the front door open and my husband say, “Boys! Look what I have!” And then, I heard the dreaded phrase every Mother fears . . . “Oh Daddy! Can we keep him?”
That was my cue to scream, “NO!” before I even knew what it was they were wanting to keep, I jumped from bed I tore down the hallway to discover the skinniest, long legged Dachshund I had ever seen.
He was pitiful. Ribs sticking out through his rough fur. The pads of his feet were torn and raw, and the worst thing, there was duct tape stuck around his bony belly where someone had tried to tape him to something.
Our Beagle Lois Lane sniffed the commoner hello, then left him alone, not interested in becoming friends. The long legged dog ate a full bowl of food, drank a full bowl of water, then collapsed on the family room rug. He stayed in that spot for over 24 hours and slept. We woke him and had to carry him outside, but when we brought him back, he collapsed again in the same spot.
That first night, I awoke and thought, “What are we doing letting a strange animal inside the house? He could wake up and eat the faces off my children!” I got up and tip-toed into the family room, where the dog slowly lifted his head. He looked at me with the saddest, sweetest face, almost as if he’d been crying. I knew then, we had an understanding between us. I would let him stay, and he would never eat my children.
Doug was the fastest, happiest dog at the Fairhope Dog park. He grew strong and healthy and loved Lois the Beagle and she tolerated him. The boys insisted on naming him Doug (Dug) after the talking dog in the movie, “UP,” which is a great movie if you haven’t seen it. The name choice caused all sorts of problems with the friends and family we have named Doug and Douglas. We always tell them our dog is extremely handsome, and that makes them feel better.
Over the years, Doug has let us know how much he appreciates us adopting him. Whoever hurt him when he was a pup left scars and bad memories. He’s still scared of thunder, wind, guitars, sizzling bacon, out of control screaming children (but they bug the stew out of me too) and candles, but who knows what horrors he experienced before he moved in with us? Poor guy!
And although this photo looks like Doug really is eating my son who fell asleep on the floor, he’s only snuggling and guarding his little boy. Through DNA testing my husband insisted on getting (YOU DID WHAT? IT COST HOW MUCH?) we discovered Doug’s father was a Vizsla and his mother was (get this . . .) half Dachshund and half Lab. Yikes. So, I was correct in saying he looked like a long-legged dachshund.
And that’s the story of Doug.