Well, well, well…
My computer came alive this evening and I started a buttondown on it, but got called away and when I returned, the computer was dead again. So….now that I am back to typing with one finger you’ll get only the highlights of my day.
About 3:30, I checked in at the Town Center to see what I could help with. A woman I don’t know overheard me talking with my friend Kate, who works with PATH, about helping with stranded or lost dogs. She’d gotten a call from a woman about rescuing her dog, chained out at a friend’s house. The caller had 6 dogs and was evacuated with 5 of them- but her hosts, who live in Asheville, could not accommodate the 6th, which was described as a pitbull/husky mix. Pitties - unless their owners are real jerks - are laid-back and affectionate. If I had to choose, I would take an unspoiled pitbull over a husky any day.
The dog’s location was on Wyatt Town Road.
Wyatt Town Road runs alongside a creek. It was obvious the creek was about 15 feet or more higher during the flood-as evidenced by the flattened grasses and height that debris had lodged in what trees were still standing. I didn’t know that the address I’d been given was wrong, and I wasn’t given a phone number. I have only been a short way up Wyatt Town to a friend’s wedding on a high white rock. Everyone dressed nicely. The bride wore an elegant white dress sans train, and boots. I think that was about 20 years ago.
The only other thing I know about Wyatt Town is that a couple of months ago, a man who lived at the end of it shot and killed his brother there.
The slip of paper I was given had the dog’s name on it. To protect the innocent, I am going to tell you her name is Lana.
I drove all the way up and got out of my car in front of a very rundown house as close to the address as I figured it would be. There was a scrappy looking man there with lots of chickens and cats and an equally scrappy looking dog. I told him I’d been sent to collect the dog, who happily jumped into my back seat. I gave the guy my business card just so whoever owned the dog could contact me if they wanted Lana back when this crisis is over. He said he would see to that. That’s when I noticed his tattoos. These were not done at a tattoo parlor, if you get my drift. His right arm said “F**K THE WORLD” and his left arm said “SUCK MY D••K” Then he said that this dog wasn’t Lana. He didn’t know where Lana was and this dog’s name was Kira. And despite that, he was okay with me taking her, so I left. I’d just gotten back to Summit Street when Lana’s owner (not sure how she got my number) called to give me a description of Lana - a brindle with white paws and chest. This dog was scruffy with a shaggy off-white coat. And when “Lana” jumped out of the car, I noticed “she” had been neutered. Not spayed. Neutered.
So, back I went to Wyatt Town with “Lana” who happily rejoined her tattooed friend. Fortunately, I reached the owner who said I’d been to the wrong house. She directed me to the correct address where I found two dogs chained to dog houses, and heard dogs barking in the house. No people around.
Lana was hesitant to get into the car, but I lured her into the backseat with the kibble Mr. Tattoo had provided.
When I got home, I took her in to the big yard, where all my dogs were. She raced around the yard multiple times. Fang and Other gave up trying to catch her. She was reluctant to come into the house but she got close enough that I could grab her harness. I left the front and back doors open until all the butt-sniffing was over.
We’re in for the night.
I’m going cross-eyed and it’s time for me to get some sleep. Lana is curled up on a rug, Mabel is on the bed, and Fang is on a bag of folded bedding in the closet.
I’m not sure if this day actually had any highlights, but I will go with seeing those home-made tattoos.
Lucy