The animal sanctuary called her Angel. She was abandoned by her owners as a pup and locked up in their overgrown lot for 8 months — a metaphor for 2020 if ever there was one.
She was alone. She had no shelter from the sun or rain, no socialisation. Neighbours and passersby fed her scraps.
During the one week trial I had so many doubts. She’s nothing like I imagined my first dog would be. I always thought I would have something like a Retriever or Labrador: sensible, sturdy, sage.
Her fur is coarse and I’m constantly sweeping up piles of it. She’s slobbery. Her poo is absolutely outrageous. How does a creature her size produce such enormous, inelegant shits? I call them “donkey dumps”.
Ears and tongue: ridiculous. Every night she rolls around on her back like a maniac, snorting and gnawing her own back leg like the Looney Tunes weasel finally got a chicken drumstick. She looks like a wolf and people move out of the way to avoid her, yet the first two weeks I couldn’t even coax her for a walk down the street, she was so scared.
The first two weeks were ruff. Taking a rescue has challenges. She is clearly a mix of Blue Heeler (Australian cattle dog) and channelled her need to herd and bite sheep ankles on me; my arms and legs are black and blue. Being a pack leader of such a smart, high energy dog requires big dick energy.
A dog/human trainer named Ángel has been a literal godsend. Two sessions with him and she’s improved dramatically; I have a clearer idea of what to do. She and I still have so much to learn, however, now I have hope.
They called her Angel, but as soon as I took her she became Lulu, aka Lou-Dog. And she’s mine.
(PS The cat is fucking furious)
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