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My beautiful "outside" dog, Nelson, has been missing for almost a week. I had given him up for dead until I got a call this evening from a neighbor who has been out of town and only just saw my flier today. She saw him, on the day I think he disappeared, running through the fields with 3 other dogs. So maybe he's alive and running gaily amuck through Walland, having forgotten his way home? Or, knowing that there is no longer any facility for sheltering animals in Blount County, some kind soul thought he was lost and has him safely penned up somewhere, waiting for an ad or sign that gives clue to his ownership? This is a better scenario than to picture him torn asunder by a pack of coyotes like those who killed the neighbor's mother cow recently, or falling victim to the farmer's efforts to poison said coyotes. He has recently recovered from a serious skin problem, which required me to remove his collar. When he improved, I replaced his old one with a differently styled collar that wouldn't rub his neck so much. I didn't think he was ready for the aggravation of the tags (his skin on the neck had been raw and bloody), so, you guessed it, he has no identification on his "person". We've had Nelson for almost as long as we've had Middle Son. He wandered into our lives 7 years ago last summer, covered in mange and homely as he could be. We just couldn't take him to the pound, as we knew noone would adopt a mangy mutt like him. So, we took him to the vet instead, bathed him in medicine the forty-eleven times prescribed, and he rewarded us by becoming beautiful, healthy, and very, very grateful. He's named after the beautiful town that the King was born in and where his extended family still lives. When we moved here 2.5 years ago, we improved his quality of life one hundred-fold, as the ample supply of open land/woods allowed him to run free. I might have been able to keep him longer if I'd kept him tied up, but it wouldn't have been much of a life for him. He's the strong, silent type with a broad streak of independence. His favorite activity, aside from his daily visitation rounds (favorite neighbors with dogs), is/was to chase my van to the mailboxes a mile away. When he knew I didn't like it, he started sneaking to do it. He would cut through the woods and pop out after I'd passed a certain point along the road. I thought this was very clever. I learned this by accident when I stopped once to correct the children. I'm sure I saw him giggle at my feeble attempt to correct HIM through my laughter. Since he always ran straight home if I continued past the mailbox toward town, I ceased even trying to stop him. What I wouldn't do to hear the pitter patter of his little feet on my front porch, or catch a glimpse of him doing his periodic rounds across the back deck like a sentry on his tour of duty. How I long to have him dive out in front of my van in greeting as I pull into the drive, or to hear him bark at the cat for invading his porch. Come home, Nelson! Your beloved bed and your feed bowl await. |
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