The Effing Dog

Lucy continues to perform acts that would astound Houdini on a regular basis. Last Saturday I thought it was all over - she'd run away on Friday, and my sister realized that her name tag had fallen off her collar. I thought, darn, even though she had the worst behavioral issues ever, she was a sweet dog. And I figured she'd find her way back.

Sunday passes, no Lucy. I call the pound. She's not there.

Monday I don't call the pound because it's the worst day of my life (ok, not the WORST, I have fantastic friends who made it bearable - thanks Molly and Tina), so I don't feel like playing "Where's Lucy?". Yes, bad pet owner. That night I have a terrible nightmare about her dragging herself back to the house from 295, hind legs mutilated from being hit by a car. I wake up and throw up. My dreams have been insane lately.

Needless to say, I called the pound the minute they opened on Tuesday. They say they don't have her. Again I describe her in explicit detail. The receptionist doesn't care. I explain she's microchipped and ask if they check that. Oh, sure they do, but she doesn't take my microchip number when I ask if she wants it. I say she's got a bright pink, sparkly collar. She puts me on hold five seconds then picks back up - nope, she doesn't think she's there.

On a whim I call again Tuesday afternoon, and this time actually get an animal control officer. She goes back, says she doesn't see the dog I describe. I ask if I can submit a picture and report, because no one has asked me to do that when I've called. She's shocked, takes more info, and then mentions... (drumroll...) there's a part of the website hidden in there that shows photos of all the strays. I follow the 30 links to get there and, first dog on the page? Yep, Lucy. In a pink collar. With her microchip number beside her name. Seriously.

So I drive out to far Hanover to pick her up. She reaks and the conditions are appalling. Concrete floors, no beds, no food and water bowls in the cages. I know they get fed and the county does the best it can - but they view it, quite obviously, as a short stop between return to the owner, release to a rescue group or euthanisation. I walk in holding back tears and identify Lucy. Forty dollars and an hour later she's on her way home with me, once again cowering and submissive peeing all over my car. She was terrified, and I felt HORRIBLE for her.

When I got her home she started to pee everywhere again. The dog pees on my floor about 5 times a day on average. She's also eaten the edge of my remaining untouched couch. (Carly ate the other one). And she wouldn't come to me. I'd call, she'd go the opposite direction. Just like when I got her. I spent extra time yesterday with her all day, trying to re-establish trust and retrain what I'd taught her. Her response? Pee, cower, run against her leash so hard she escaped my grip twice in the back yard. I finally caught her 20 minutes after the first escape attempt and 10 minutes after the second (she hadn't gotten out of the yard yet).

This morning I'm exhausted. Total insomnia all night, for the third night in a row. I just can't sleep at night, but that's another story entirely. Sadie gets up at 5:10 and I give her breakfast, set her on the couch in front of the TV and go back to bed with the alarm set for 20 minutes. Bad parent.

Twenty minutes later I wake up, and Lucy is gone from her crate. A quick search and I ask Sadie where she is. Sadie has let her outside. And she's nowhere to be found. And guess what's on the porch? Her name tag. WTF. How does the dog manage to get it's name tag off? This time I used pliers to make sure the new ring holding it on was tighter than the last.

I. Officially. Give. Up. On. The. Dog.