I am a rescue dog

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I am a rescue dog. I had a family once when I was small and cute, but now I’m alone. I was allowed to romp and play, I ate three meals a day, and I had kids who adored me. As I grew up, play time became being put outside alone. My meals came only once a day and sometimes I ran out of fresh water. The kids said I jumped and nipped when they ran and yelled in the yard. I found myself put out or into my crate and left alone.

I often heard my family say they didn’t know what to do with me. I’d gotten too big, I played too rough, and they didn’t have time. Mom yelled for the kids to “walk the dog,” “feed the dog,” or “clean up after the dog”. The kids either didn’t answer or they said, “we’re busy,” “it’s not my turn.” Soon I found myself bundled off to the car for a ride to “someplace where you can find a home that has time for you.”
When we arrived, I didn’t want to get out of the car. It was loud, it smelled funny, and I could hear other dogs whining in the distance. We went in the front door where my family told them, “We just don’t have time for him anymore, and he has too much energy. You’ll find him a good home for him I know, because he’s a really good dog.” As I was being pulled into the back of this loud, scary place, my family simply turned and walked away.
First I was poked and prodded so they could decide if I was healthy. Then I went through a bunch of tests to see if I was friendly and adoptable. That was the easy part because at least I wasn’t alone. However, I soon found myself in a big empty cage with cement floors and walls, chainlink fence for a door and a hole that leads to an outside cage with more concrete where I’m supposed to potty. It smells bad. There’s the smell of cleaner and other dogs.
All around me dogs are barking, day and night. People walk by all day long. Some stop and look at me but most just walk by. I hear, “That one’s too big,” “We want a puppy,” and lots of other things. I jump up and wag my tail, paw at the fence, and bark to get their attention but then they say, “He’s just too much, too loud, or too crazy.” I wish I knew how to be what they are looking for because I don’t like it here and want to go home.
One day the people who work here come and tell me I’m being ‘rescued’. I don’t know what that means but they sound excited and I finally get to leave the loud, scary place and concrete walls. A nice lady slips on a collar and leash as she says, “You don’t have to worry now, and we’ll find you a fur-ever home. You’re a good boy and with a little training you’ll make a great family dog again.” Off we go for another car ride, a trip to the vet, then into a soft and safe foster home.
So now I’m in a foster home, which is almost like having my own home but the dogs here remind me I’m not really part of the pack. I go to what they call adoption events where I meet people who ask about me but so far no one wants to take me home. I’m safe and will stay with the rescue in either this foster home or another until I can find my fur-ever home. As nice as this is, I really want a home of my own–with my own people and my own bed. Are you looking for a big, good, slightly older dog that will give you loyalty and love for the rest of my life? Are you my fur-ever home?
Lou is an avid supporter of Pawzitive Petz Rescue.  
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