My Five-Hour Dog

Friday morning I went downstairs to drink my coffee on the porch, have devotions, and journal, according to my usual summer custom. The new neighbor's kitten had left a couple of kitten droppings on the porch, so I stuck my head in the door to grab the broom, and when I turned around, a large, powerfully built dog was coming up the steps to greet me, ropy tail wagging madly, tongue lolling in joy.

"Well, hi there!" I said as I bent down to her. She immediately covered my face in kisses and panted eagerly and anxiously. I looked her over. She had a collar, but no tags, and the collar had the remnants of a broken chain snapped off at one end. She waggled all over while I ran my hands over her short, shiny coat to see if she were too skinny; she wasn't, but looked a little hungry, and more than a little thirsty, so I went back upstairs to grab a loaf of moldy bread I hadn't gotten around to throwing out, a plate of cottage cheese, and a bowl of water.

She followed me up the stairs like she belonged there. She whined and scratched at the door when I shut it on her. She followed me back downstairs and ate some of the cottage cheese and drank a lot of the water, and when I sat back down to continue my morning routine, she sacked herself out at my feet and went to sleep.

I petted her while I read, watched her breathing slow down and even out, and thought. Occasionally her paws would flex as she stretched and sighed. She slept with her hind legs crossed in an adorably dainty manner that contrasted with the sprawling abandon of her front paws.

She was a pit bull.

When the next-door neighbor took his dog out to the car for a vet appointment, my new friend shot off the porch and was on the street meeting Shannon before you could blink. I ran over to pull her away, but she wasn't being vicious, just sniffy. Dan, the neighbor, confirmed my pit bull suspicions. The dog (I called her Bella -- she really was a beautiful animal) and I returned to the porch. She went back to sleep. A squirrel came up to the remnants of the bread not six feet from her nose and she just watched it idly. I looked at the sores on her side and didn't know what to do.

The temptation to keep her was overwhelming. Never mind the landlord's objection to dogs. Never mind that my apartment is too small, let alone my income. Never mind any of it. When I went inside to shower, I let her follow me up and into the apartment. Simon was not happy. I never heard a louder hiss come out of that cat in my life. Bella just wanted to play; he just wanted to hide. I pulled her away from him and shut her out of the bedroom where he was holed up under the bed. I showered. I got ready for work. She followed me all over the house, happy to be doing whatever I was doing. I thought. I called Animal Control and reported her found, and learned that if I kept her for a week and nobody claimed her, she was mine. I also found out that pit bulls can't be adopted out once an officer comes to pick them up.

I took Simon to work and left her at home in the apartment all morning. (Yes, I know. I am insane. I allowed a strange pit bull the run of my apartment. Even my crazy neighbor thinks I'm crazy.) I did some pit bull research online, and learned to my regret that pit bulls are highly energetic and require (as the fake Professor Moody from HP4 would say) CONSTANT VIGILANCE with other animals, as they can't be trusted not to fight, even though they are sweet and even-tempered with people. And I could never do that to Simon. Kitty comes first.

So I called Animal Control again and asked them to meet me at my apartment at half-past noon. They said it was highly unlikely they'd be able to, in case they had to respond to an emergency; but when I pulled into the driveway, they were just arriving.

So they took Bella away. I would have named her Lyddie, if I'd kept her. But she was someone's pet -- probably not ill-treated, if she was so sweet. And she didn't destroy any of my stuff. Not any of it. It looks like the only thing she did all morning was take a long nap on my couch.

Oh yes, and pee on my floor. Four times. Evidently not a housebroken dog. So I spent my Friday night glamorously scrubbing baking soda and vinegar into the hallway carpets, and handwashing all my rugs in the tub (and understanding anew how much washing machines have revolutionized modern life). But that was a small price to pay, I think, for inviting a stray into my house, and for having gotten to meet such a lovely dog.

Simon has settled down. I was afraid he'd begin to abandon his litterbox in favor of remarking his territory, but I underestimated his good kitty manners, and all is well.

I hope that the good girl gets her owners back, if they deserve her. I hope she doesn't get put to sleep. It was wonderful to have her, if only for five hours, and even if my carpet is still drying out from all the stain and odor treatment. She was fantastic.

Ciao, Bella.