My husband, the pit bull magnet

Many times I don't know what I'm going to blog about (blog on?) until I'm here on this page typing.

I've got so many things today. My husband, the pit bull magnet. I'll start on that one.

Am I just a typical woman, or an insensitive *itch? You decide. A few years ago, when I saw a large, scary looking dog in the backyard I told Ron. "There's a dog in the backyard, please get rid of it." Batting my eyelashes won't work 'cause he's blind but you get the idea.

So, being a red-blooded Texas man he got out his long white cane and hobbled out into the yard (did I mention he had a stroke? He has trouble with his balance and walking too.). "Here doggy, come on, you've got to go."

I think I'm going to go with I was a *itch, because at this point I shut the blinds and left Ron to the mercies of the stray animal. Fast forward 20 minutes. Ron's sitting in our plastic chair on the porch. He's scratching the dog - he knows all the "good spots" as he was raised with pet dogs.

Ron never had his own guide dog. He said it was just heartbreaking when the his live-in girlfreind's retired guide dog had to watch the "new" one take her to work instead. "I used to put the harness on him and take him around the block, even though I'm not supposed to. He just loved it when we got out the harness for him (to work)." It was even worse when they had to put the dog down ("Like losing a child."). So, he's always had his trusty long white cane.

To digress, I think one of the best things I did for Ron after the accident was buying him a new long white cane. I wish I'd done it sooner.

I left you back on the front porch with Ron and his new friend bonding. "Oh, Heather, he's so sweet. What a good boy!" He tried to bring the dog in the house, but Frosty the snow-cat would have nothing of it, and the dog went back outside. I fed the dog some sausage. Ron petted him some more (I ascertained it was an uneutered male). It appeared to be a "dump dog". We live close to a major freeway and unfortunately we get a fair amount of dump dogs.

The dog lies on the front porch, whining at the door periodically. I feed him more sausage. That night, I put out a polartec-type blanket ($2 at Ikea) and a pile of dry cat food. By now, I've named the damned thing "Happy".

We tried to find the owner. For about a week, Happy lived in the backyard, eating dog food and loving the large rawhide bones I bought him. He'd play tug with Ron, but was too dumb to fetch. Ron would spend about half an hour a day just petting him. He (Happy) was very polite every time I fed him.

Then we found out he was a pit bull. We couldn't keep him. I could maybe do an elderly lab - a dog for dummies, if you will, but not a pit bull. The insurance company said, "Hell no!". We kept him another week after that but Ron always got nervous when Happy licked his neck.

Eventually, we had to turn him in to animal control. 2 weeks of ads in the paper, calling all the vets, begging pit bull rescue to take him, and we had to do it. It broke my heart. I still miss him.

You can imagine my shock when Ron woke me up from a nap a few days ago. I opened the front door. Ron is petting a large pitbull-shepherd mix. "I heard him panting in the yard and I called him, he's so sweet, he loves to be petted and I gave him some treats. What is he? Does he have tags?"

My husband the pit bull magnet. Fortunately, it was a family pet that escaped. Next time she gets out I'm sure she'll come to our house for some petting and a treat.

But don't kid yourselves people. It's a lot more loving to call animal control, knowing the animal will be put down (like I did), than to leave a helpless animal to starve. They're dependent on you! GET THEM FIXED.

We got the cats "done" for $40 each at the clinic.