Homer was known as Gomer at the shelter. Changing his name was the right thing to do; everybody loves the name and it absolutely suits him. He was actually becoming quite famous up here as the nice dog that wasn't getting adopted. When Dana and I returned from our Charleston trip, we found a sweet little female Beagle mix at North Country SPCA, but then we stopped at Elmore SPCA and met Homer in person.
What a charmer he was. He is about one to one and a half years old and was housebroken within a day or two, which means that he had been previously housebroken. It was my good fortune to find another great dog at a shelter, but it could be your good fortune the next time you are looking for a pet. I have never purchased a dog and I never will. The fees at the shelters, SPCAs and rescues can get high, but there is a high cost to caring for the unwanted pets that people give up. And they are giving up more and more of them in these tough economic times. The amount that I get back in companionship, enjoyment of my dogs' funny and crazy antics, and the unconditional love will make me sacrifice whatever I have to in order to keep dogs in my life.
The thing that you get from a rescued dog is the sense that they know how lucky they are. I know it might not look like it when they are sitting there howling like a Beagle, or barking like the PIT that Bailey is (PIT is our code for Pain in the Tookus... no, Bailey is not a Pit Bull, but more on that in a second). But when Homer plays with so much gusto with his toys, or zooms around the back yard with his brother Fred, or tries to coax Bailey into playing with him (no success there just yet), or walks up to Miller and convinces the 16+ year old dog to play with him - for a short period of time because Mommy decides that Homer is playing too rough for the old boy - it's during these times when you really can see how lucky he knows that he is. Or when he dives ahead of his brothers to get the choice spot on the bed at bedtime.
Dana and I tried to adopt a Pit Bull once. The Animal Welfare Shelter in Voorhees, New Jersey is a place from which I have adopted a number of my guys over the years. What we found was that if the Pit Bull was over a certain age, and that age wasn't much beyond six months or so, that the damage that had already been done to these poor dogs from the bad situations they had been rescued from made them unfit dogs for having in a household with more than one dog. We found some wonderful, sweet animals; the shelter was doing a great job spending time with and acclimating them to being with people. But they all had that aggression thing that just broke my heart. I knew I could not adopt these dogs since I will always have several dogs at any given time. The thought of what these incredibly strong dogs could do to Fred, or Boo back then...
I couldn't do it. These Bull and Staffordshire Terriers are wonderful dogs. If I were to ever buy a dog I could see buying one of these. I have kissed these dogs, and they have returned the affection. It is so sad the image that they have in society because of the training, and sometimes miserably bad breeding, that has gone on.
So, I have Homer now, comfortably ensconced in my canine brood, and comfortably ensconced on what used to be just Fred's bed. But Fred and Homer are sharing nicely these days. It's just one more satisfying accomplishment in my world of dogs.
And don't anyone try to tell me that this dog doesn't look grateful for where he's landed:
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