Author’s Note: Welcome back to your regularly scheduled Shelter Stories Wednesday! If you are interested in having your rescue pet featured on Shelter Stories Wednesday (use of pet noted, it doesn’t have to be a dog) please send me some information on your pet’s background (or guessed background) as well as two photos (before and afters are great, but I will take whatever). Please note you must OWN the photos or have express written permission from whoever took them for me to use them on my page. Also, you have to be willing to let me use them on my blog I will create a story around your rescue with some information from you. For more details or to submit your pet, please email me at email@example.com.
Max was a good dog. His family told him so, every day. He would wiggle his butt and wag his tail while they told him, reaching out to lick them and put his head under their hands for a pet.
Max’s family consisted of a man and a woman and that was just fine for him. He liked dogs and the kids who came over to play with him, but his family was enough for him with or without the visitors. Max’s days consisted of lying on the couch waiting for his people to get home from work, chasing the ball in the yard with his man person and hoping his woman person would drop him a table scrap (which she almost always did). On the weekends, his people would take him to the park to swim in the pond and chase the ducks and then they would go hiking, or when it was raining, the people would drink drinks that tasted bitter and fuzzy when he tried them and sit on the couch with their arms wrapped around him.
Max was a sleep on the bed dog. When he was just an eight week old puppy he whined to get out of the cold, hard crate his people put him in, and he was immediately taken out, just like he’d asked and put in the bed, never to return to the crate again.
Max never went hungry a day in his life, and he never bothered himself over when his people would return, because they always did eventually. Until the day that they didn’t.
It was one of the rare occasions that his woman person put on her fancy clothes and stiff, good smelling leather shoes that made her taller and his man person smelled like a funny strong scent that came out of a little bottle on his dresser. The woman person bent down and stretched her neck to give Max his kiss goodbye (Max knew not to expect a hug from the woman person when she was wearing her fancy clothes). His man person gave him a bone and told him to be a good dog, which set him to wiggling. Then the people left, and Max grabbed his bone and hopped on the couch to chew and wait for their return.
Long hours passed and his people did not come home. Max laid on the couch and tried to hold his bladder, but when he couldn’t anymore, he had to release right in front of the door, something he hadn’t done since he was a puppy. He wondered and worried and began to whine and paw at the doors and the windows. Where were his people?
Darkness came and went and the sun rose over the neighborhood but still his people did not return. His stomach roared. He’d never missed a meal in his life and now he’d missed two. He continued to wait and worry.
After he’d relieved himself another time in front of the door and his stomach told him it was time for yet another meal and his people had still not returned, the door opened. He jumped up, expecting his people, but instead he saw a friend of his people. He smiled and wiggled and walked up to her to say hello, but stopped short. Something was not right. Her face smelled like salt, reminding him of the time his people had taken him to the beach, and he’d caught Frisbees among the waves. He edged up to her, then licked her face and cocked his head. Where are my people?
She threw her arms around him and held him tight, despite his attempts to break free, “Oh Max, there’s been an accident!” she cried, to which he wiggled his tail and whined. He didn’t know what the person was saying, but he could sense the sadness in her voice. Where were his people? He looked around the shoulder of the person, hoping to see them, but they never came.
Max found new people quickly, for which he was grateful. He didn’t like the big scary building with the cement floors and the cacophony of barking dogs. He had no room to run, and the bed they gave him to sleep on was not his bed with his people.
His new people are not so unlike his old people, except they have children who provide him with endless hours of entertainment, although he misses being the center of attention. His new man person is a bit stricter than his old but his new woman person is just the same, giving him lots of table scraps when the man person isn’t looking. His new man person loves to run though, which Max enjoys, because he gets to go as well, so he has lots of time to stretch his legs and take in the scents of the outdoors.
Max is still a sleep on the bed dog, but now he sleeps with the children, picking a new bed every night. He has learned to sleep through their kicking. Every time his new people pick up their keys to leave and reach down to give him kisses though, he begins to spin in circles and bark wildly, “Don’t go, don’t go!” he cries, “You may not return!” But each time they laugh and give him a bone and a pet on the head and tell him, “You’re a good dog, Max,” to which he has to wiggle, and every time, they do come back. But about his old people he still wonders – where did they go?