Such a fragile link...and Rufus

Last night I was all set to blog about Rufus--he's our thirteen (or so) year old dog, a little mixed breed terrier we rescued quite literally over ten years ago--but when I turned on my laptop after a day in town, the Internet was down. Such a fragile link between my messy upstairs office and the rest of the world, that Internet cable that keeps me tied to all of you.

I sat here staring at the "server not found" notice and, knowing how things are in this rural part of the world and that if it's not working at night, it probably won't be until morning, said a few choice words, shut the computer off and went downstairs to read. So, other than the fact I'm a day late, it wasn't all bad! (Fwiw, I read the first story in the new anthology Inked, the one by Karen Chance. I've never read her before and she's GOOD!)

Rufus thought it was great that I joined him on the couch. You may have heard me talk about him. Back in April 1999, I was on my way to the post office when a car ahead of me slowed up, I saw a flash of creamy fur and the car sped up. A tiny little dog was left rolling and tumbling along Canyon Road, but it righted itself and took off, running frantically after the speeding car.

Of course, the car got away and the little dog kept running. I followed behind, as did other cars. A few people--me included--got out and tried to catch him. It's surprising how many people travel these rural country roads, but he ran up a driveway to an empty house and disappeared. It took me three days, coming back to that empty house where he was hiding under the porch, before I finally enticed him out with some smoked turkey from a local deli. When he got close enough and I grabbed him, he fainted.

He came to immediately, so I knew he was merely weak and hungry and frightened. I put him in the cat carrier I'd kept in the car for just this purpose, and took him home. The first thing I did was bathe him--he'd rolled in cow poop and stunk to high heaven and I wanted him presentable before my husband got home. You see, our twelve year old Spike, a Yorkie mix, had just died a few weeks earlier and we'd both had a horrible time over his death. We'd also promised each other that since the kids were gone and the dog was dead, no more dogs.

Bad thing, to tempt fate. Doug knew I'd been trying to catch the abandoned dog so he wasn't too surprised when he came home and this furry blond dynamo refused to let him in the door. We discovered immediately that the little guy had serious issues with men. I told my husband I didn't intend to keep him, but that I couldn't just leave him to starve, and my husband, wonderful man that he is, just laughed and said there was no way we were taking him to the shelter, not after he'd survived in the wild with coyotes and mountain lions for three days.

So, agreeing we were not going to look for an owner who would throw a dog out of a moving car, (though I did call around to all the local shelters to make sure no one was actively looking for him) we told him he had a new home. But what to name him? I sat there with him in my lap, this little furry dog with his ribs sticking out and the sparkle that hadn't left his big, brown eyes, and said, "Okay. We've got you. Now what are we going to call you?"

He looked straight at me and said, very clearly, "Rufus." I kid you not. So we named him Rufus and he has always come to that name, right from the start. We took him to the vet and had him checked over, got his vaccinations, had him neutered (yes, he did forgive me) and he's slept in our bed and owned our hearts ever since.

He had a vet appointment yesterday to have his teeth cleaned and his health checked. He's got a bad back and we have to bar him from the stairs he used to love to race up and down, and some days he's grumbly and curmudgeonly. Now that my husband has grown his hair out and has a beard, the two of them are actually beginning to look alike. I think it's cute--my spouse isn't so sure, but he and Rufus are the best of buddies, now that Rufus has decided men aren't going to hurt him after all. We say he might have been thrown away, but he landed well, and it saddens me, knowing he's growing old and more fragile each year, but I can't imagine all these years without him.

Anyway, my fragile link with the world is strong once again, Rufus is wondering when he's getting his morning walk, and all's right with the world--at least, this little sliver of it. I love hearing pet stories--tell me about a special four legged or two winged critter in your life. I think all of us have or have had at least one. They make such a wonderful difference in our lives. I know Rufus has certainly added to ours.