For the Love of a Mutt

It became obvious the first time we brought her into our home. My partner, talking excitedly to the boys about our new pup, lifted their arm to illustrate a point. The dog’s eyes grew wide as she quickly cowered away, whimpering and nosing the ground in fear. We soon realized that someone had probably hit her multiple times. We had decided a few weeks before that our family of two parents, two boys, and one elderly cat needed a dog to complete it. We wanted an adult dog that was already housebroken since we were still in the process of housebreaking, I mean potty training, our youngest son.

The humane society was fully stocked with adult “lab mixes,” which, in layman’s terms, means “pit bull.” I truly don’t believe there are any bad breeds, but taking in a pitt with an unknown background with two young kids didn’t seem wise. When I saw the ad on Craigslist for a heeler-corgi mix female, 1-year-old, for free, I jumped on it. The woman met us at a nearby park. There, we learned that the woman’s young son was severely allergic to Lacy, so the woman wanted to find a good home for her. There were red flags I didn’t see. The way the woman kept darting her eyes around nervously, as though she would be caught doing something wrong. The dark circles under her eyes, the mottled bruises up one leg.

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