The Somewhat Indomitable Hound
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| Hershey, lover of skittles |
It's no secret that I adore my hound. He was a rescue. The first adoptive family dumped him back to the foster/adoption org. They were an older couple that screamed at him because he gulped water and wet the floor. It wasn't his fault. It's likely that his kidneys had been a bit damaged in the fire - the same fire that killed his entire doggy family when his ignorant owners decided to heat a crate with a bare light bulb. We suspect he survived by burrowing himself under his mother and litter mates.
All that aside, Hershey is a fantastic dog. He's stubborn, because hound. He barks his head off, because hound. He can track a rabbit on a rainy day, because hound. And he's waterproof, because hound. He curls up between us at night, because fear of being alone when sleeping.
Hershey barks and bays. He sighs in pleasure if I gently rub the inside of his hears. He seldom growls unless playing so, when he growls at nothing, I know something is up.
My ear picked up that soft sound this afternoon. Hershey stood in the hallway upstairs, growling and with his tail straight out. There was nothing there, to my eyes. He continued, a perfect point towards the stairs. I squatted a bit to trace his line of sight until...
"Hershey, is the dishtowel?" I placed it on the banner to bring downstairs about an hour prior. It was new. It was not supposed to be there.
I picked it up and slowly lowered it for him. "It's okay, baby. It's just a towel. It won't hurt you."
He flinched as I brought it closer but then worked up the courage to step forward and sniff it.
Awesome, Momma! You killed that foe! Wag-wag-wag-wag!
I returned it to the banister and Hershey, knowing all was right in the world, hopped onto our bed to cuddle with Daddy.