*Disclaimer: This post is not quite as sentimental as the title would have you believe.
On Thanksgiving morning I woke up and headed out for a run.
*Note: We had our Thanksgiving dinner together on Wednesday, since Garrett had to work on Thursday.
I only went a few blocks before I saw a medium sized black dog slowly wandering along the sidewalk, listing back and forth a little. Having just finished reading To Kill a Mockingbird, I was a little wary about a "mad" dog. I typically run on the streets, so I passed the dog, keeping an eye on it. The dog just looked tired. And old. I stopped running and turned around. He looked at me, whuffed a sigh, and sat down.
And then I melted.
And walked over. He was either old, cold, or both, and was trembling. Tail wagging though. relatively shiny coat. No collar. So. I picked him up and limped the several blocks back to my apartment, taking small breaks in between. I laid a sheet and towel down on our carpet (praying he didn't have fleas that had hidden during my inspection of him). He obediently sat, then laid, then slept. I brought out a bowl of water mixed with a little leftover turkey broth, which he downed.
Fortunately the animal control has a back-up officer, and he came within two hours. I'm optimistic that the dog's owners contacted the control center (I'm optimist that he had owners... well trained, no barking, obedient, shiny coat...). And if not.... I'm optimist that dying in a warm environment with food is better than dying cold and hungry on the streets.
Basically I'm writing this because I don't want to forget it. Our landlord was out of town for several months, and the temptation to bathe "Oscar", feed him, and keep for a few days was an awful temptation.
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