by Pat Gray

Created on: November 19, 2008

I had just lost two dogs within two weeks - both to completely different causes, one expected, the other completely out of the blue. I was alone, without the pitter-patter of little paws for the first time in over 20 years - when dinner time came, I automatically when to the kitchen, only to realize there was no one to feed but me.

It was a difficult couple of days.

I knew about a rescue group that brought their adoptable dogs to a local Pet Smart on Saturday afternoon, and went, "just to ask". (The general advice is to wait until you've mourned sufficiently before getting another pet.) The main force of the group was at another adoption event, but the representative on duty said they had just taken in an older dog - the previous owner was going to have her put down because they didn't want her anymore - and although she was overweight and "not much to look at" she seemed a nice dog.

I made an appointment to see her, "Jangles", the next day. It was cold and wet, and the dog was being kept in an old, damp barn, in a stall without windows or access to the outside (just until a foster home could be found, I was told).

Jangles was an odd mix - maybe Lab, maybe Pit Bull, maybe Boxer. She had a HUGE chest, a very crooked tail and was obviously suffering from problems in her hips or back legs. She was overweight and she was old - her white muzzle stood out from the rest of her dirty black coat. However, she had a determined look in her eye that said, "Right, you're getting me out of this joint, aren't you? When's dinner?" I don't think we could have stuffed her back in that stall for anything, and despite the bad hips, she jumped in the van without any trouble.

Fortunately, she didn't try to get in the passenger seat (she also smelled a bit, and not just of barn), but sat between the seats, looking a bit like Queen Elizabeth in the back of her limo, gazing serenely out the window. She managed to hop out when we got home, and waddled into the house like she owned the place - later I learned that apparently, she did.

The first few weeks were tough - she wasn't house trained (as the rescue claimed) and she refused to do anything but lay down or waddle around if I was watching. She wouldn't eat, drink or do her "business". All the tricks I read about solving house training problems didn't work - I would walk her around the block several times with no results, and as soon as my head hit the pillow, I would hear the waterfall or smell that tell-tale odor. I didn't scold, just

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