02/04/2023
I once adopted a two-year-old German Shepherd which came from a family who had rescued her from their own neighbors because the dog was kept outside and ignored.
The woman who asked her neighbor if she could take the skinny, forgotten dog didn’t want a dog, herself, but she felt sorry for the dog. She took her with the sole intention of re-homing the dog.
That’s how “Ruby” came into my life. I was the “re-home.”
Ruby’s rescuer was a kind woman and though she allowed Ruby to sleep indoors, she was confined to the laundry room while she searched for the right people to give this Shepherd to.
For two days, Ruby had a joyful dog party in my home. She absolutely loved being allowed to have the run of the house (house breaking was accomplished in one day), and, especially, to be allowed to sleep in bed with my husband and me. But, after those two days, she spent the next two days lying at the front door waiting for the kind woman to come back for her.
Then, the grieving was over and she fully bonded to me. Life was good for Ruby… I took her everywhere I could. She went with me daily to the farm where I boarded my mare. Ruby truly loved her new life, and I truly loved having her in my life.
I had, for the next ten years, a stunningly devoted dog. Ruby lived only for me. She only cared about pleasing, protecting, and guarding me, and she did. Ruby could not be distracted from her self-appointed job by anything, or anyone, at all. Nary a squirrel, a scent, other dogs, a cat, etc., could take her attention away from what she decided her purpose in life was… and, that was me.
She saved me from a god-knows-what-kind-of-horrible attack one midnight at the barn.
Ruby never had to miss me, that job fell to me. She’s been gone for more than ten years, and I miss her, I miss her, and I miss her.
Wow, but what a dog was my dear Ruby