"Lost dogs" I type, popping the name of surrounding towns into the box one after the other. Each one comes up blank. "Missing dog", "stolen dog". I don't want to believe that someone didn't want him. I want to believe that he was taken by some do-gooder and tied to the fence at the rescue centre. Or that he got lost and someone with the best intention took him and tied him to the gate. The common denominator is that in all of my visions he was not unwanted.
Although it might sound pathetic, it hurts me to think that someone made a conscious decision to leave him. To tie him to that fence, to listen to him screeching so loud that he was heard at the nearby farmhouse and to turn their back and walk away. And, although this worked in my favour in the end, I hope beyond hope that whoever they are, they realise the mistake that they made.
"I don't know how you kept him," people will say, "after all he did to your house..." Other's will imply I'm some sort of saint, "I couldn't have done it..." they will tell me. My answer is always the same, "I couldn't have taken him back and you wouldn't have either." But I'm not a saint. Not even close. You see, there's no denying that no matter how badly behaved he has been; Caesar gets under your skin. I don't understand how anyone could let him go.
Caesar and I built an unbreakable bond in our first few weeks of being together.
Although it might sound pathetic, it hurts me to think that someone made a conscious decision to leave him. To tie him to that fence, to listen to him screeching so loud that he was heard at the nearby farmhouse and to turn their back and walk away. And, although this worked in my favour in the end, I hope beyond hope that whoever they are, they realise the mistake that they made.
Could you look into those eyes and walk away?
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