My friend Paul Christophel got adopted last week.
His benefactor is Buddy, a rat terrier-mix that last week walked into Meridian Fleet Service, Paul’s automotive repair shop south of Newton, and gave him a “So, what are we going to do together for the next 15 or so years,” kind of look.
Paul Christophel with Buddy, the terrier-mix, that adopted him last week.
Paul said they’re off to a very good start. Nothing torn-up, no endless barking, only a happy dog that worships the new person in his life.
Dogs saved from a shelter or the streets never forget they’ve been rescued. They seem to be forever grateful they’re no longer on their own.
I’ve seen it over and over.
When I was in kindergarten my dad brought home a shepard-mix that had been abadoned when a farmer moved away. The dog had faithfully stayed around the farmstead for a week or more and was skin and bones.
I named him King. He hung around me like we’d been friends for years.
In a time of no leash laws he made sure no other dogs got near our property or me. King did such a good job of keeping the kindergarten playground cleared of stray dogs my teacher gave him a graduation diploma. At home he just rested in the yard, never taking his eyes off of us.
You could read the “thank you” in his eyes every time we fed him.
Like I said, they never forget.
But as much as food taking in a stray feeds their soul. Dogs were pack animals long before the first one was domesticated. Their yearning to be part of a pack is as deep as their desire to eat and drink.
There must be others to be themselves.
And they want a job that gives them the assurance they’re part of the group. That’s why my Hank loves to retrieve the newspaper every morning and ducks when we hunt. That’s why my Grandpa’s border collies brought dairy cows to the barn day after day, decade after decade.
Buddy did well when he picked Paul, a man with a soft-heart for animals and children. When Buddy didn’t leave after a day of hanging around Paul gave him food and water – both of which the small dog obviously needed.
After a week Paul gave the dog a name which means they’re now “until death us do part.”
That’ll be good for both of them. Buddy’s off the streets and Paul has a pet that will never give him any problems. Though probably less than a year-old Buddy is unusually calm and resists the terrier urge to go shred something.
His job is to keep Paul company and be the official social chairman at the shop.
He greeted me quickly but calmly on Monday when I dropped off a car. He’s mastered the “you know you need to pet me” look very well.
As I scratched both sides of his face I could see the peace in his eyes.