mardi 24 juillet 2012

Meet Roscoe

Roscoe is a pug found on our walk this morning.  No collar, no owner, ribs showing.  A neighbor took him in to feed him while I looked for the flyers I recalled having seen by someone who lost a pug.  I found the flyer and back home received a call.  I met the alleged owner only a few blocks away only to discover that this was not his dog and he didn't want it.

So we returned home and tied him up out front until we could check with the vet.  The vet found a chip, and a message was left at the last-known phone number.  Home again where I left Roscoe out front tied on a long leash with shade, food and water.  

I found a pug rescue site and left a message by phone and e-mail.  After a while, I went back outside to find the dog snorting and breathing like a heavy smoker.  So I left the hose on slowly spilling water on the sidewalk so he'd have yet another cool respite and went back in to check the internet about pugs.  Turns out he shouldn't have been outside in the over 100 degree heat regardless of the shade, the water and the hose.  Since I was afraid I'd be responsible for the demise of this innocent dog, I brought him inside and put him in the largest crate I could find.  No more heavy breathing, thank goodness. 

After an eternity, I received a call from someone in Concord who could be in contact with someone in Sacramento who might be able to take the dog tomorrow or the next day and would I send a photo (to prove that the dog is a pug).  I was hoping for instant rescue, not two-days-later rescue by someone who might be available sometime in the next several days.  But I sent the photos, and she called back in short order to say that a brand new rescuer might be available earlier than the next day. 

So we fed Roscoe, fed ourselves, and waited for the novice rescuer to call.  We agreed to meet in seven minutes near a pet store.  We quickly gathered up the dog and raced to the rendezvous where two thrilled girls and one enthusiastic pug rescuer gladly welcomed him into the back of her car.  And, I dare say, Roscoe trotted on over as if she was his new best friend.  

I like to think sweet Roscoe found his home--the right one.