My Mom's Favorite Dog

My wife recently posted about her dog that became our dog who passed away awhile back. Snickers was a sweet dog who adopted me when Priscilla and I started dating. She and I would go on early morning walks when we moved to Florida and we would chase rabbits in the afternoon. You have not had fun until you have chased rabbits with a dog that is on a leash - you better know where the palm trees are is all I'll say about that.

That first picture is of Snickers while we were in Florida. The picture does not do her justice.

After reading Priscilla's post about Snickers, I was sitting here and thinking of all the pets my family had when I was a kid. We never bought a pet or even picked one out. We lived on the edge of town and we wound up with every animal that no one else in the county wanted any more. Big dogs, little dogs, furry cats, short hair cats, and all of them at various stages of neglect. And my mom would take them all in and take them to a vet and get them all fixed up. My dad would complain about the cost and yet he would wind up being the favorite human of most of the strays once it was all said and done - funny how that happens right?

My favorite story is about this little furry dog that came to the house and it was in sad shape. Dad was convinced that the pooch was just too far gone and would have to be put down. This thing had the mange and what fur it did have had every kind of detritus caught up in it. There was this really disgusting goop (technical term) in its eyes. It was skin and bones and had no energy at all.

Mom went to work. She fed it really soft dog food (used a fork to mush it up to even smaller, softer bits), kept the goop wiped out of its eyes, took scissors to the fur that was left and got medication for the exposed skin. It took months but the hair grew back, the eyes cleared, and the dog got to a healthy weight. And it turned out to be a really cute dog. We have no pictures of the pooch, but I found this picture online and it looks close to Mom's finished project.

Here is the part of the story that I love telling the most. My mom would carry that dog around with her. We lived in a small south GA town and even if the sign said "No Dogs" they knew my mom and it really wasn't a big deal. One day while in one of the local convenience stores, a lady came up to my Mom and said, "Oh, you found my dog!"

My mom looked the woman up and down then replied," Your dog was half starved and had the mange and was abandoned on the edge of town. YOUR dog DIED. This is not your dog." and then my Mom did not walk away. She stood there looking the other woman in the eye for a few very uncomfortable heartbeats until the woman wordlessly turned around and walked away.

My mom spent the rest of the day mumbling about that incident angrily. You know what I am talking about. Just loud enough to be barely heard she would be cleaning the house and mumbling, "Have the gall to come up to me and say 'you found my dog' like I was gonna just hand her back to the person who did her so bad. 'My dog' my butt. Where was she when the poor thing was starving to death? Wait for somebody to care for the poor thing and all of a sudden its 'her dog' again? Of all the gall!"

With Mother's Day approaching, that is one of my favorite stories about my Mom.