Far From Folsom Prison, That’s Where I Want to Stay.

I believe that every relationship has a series of defining moments – occurrences that either determine or reinforce the roles we each play in each others’ lives. Yesterday, I had two such moments.

The first began when Zach called from Sacramento. He had been driving through a sketchy part of town after seeing one his accounts, and while stopped for gas and maybe a car wash he spotted a dog running through streets, dodging cars. Being the good samaritan that he is he called the dog over, scooped him up and put him in his car. There was much discussion with the gas station attendants and some knocking on neighborhood doors before he determined that the owner was not to be found (even if he had found them, the local scene didn’t look like a good prospect for a dog) and called me. I found a nearby vet online and he took the dog to have them scan for a chip. The vet told him there was no chip and that what Zach had found was a three-month old Blue Tip Bull Terrier. He’s not neutered, but he appears healthy (puppy belly and breath and all) with one exception – his ears had been docked at home probably with a pair of scissors. Without a chip the vet would not keep him and they said the local SPCA would not accept strays. With dog fighting and pit bull breading rampant in Sacramento they also said that the county shelter would probably destroy the dog immediately. So, what to do?

Despite already having a neurotic dog at home, Zach’s very busy travel schedule for the first three months of the year, my move next weekend and soon starting a new job, we decided to bring the dog home. We’ll introduce him to Gibson and then determine whether to keep him or to take him to a bull terrier rescue that we found in the Portland area. This could be a lot of work, but I love the fact that Zach stopped to pick up this dog and I love the fact that I have become much more relaxed and I especially love the fact that we’re both weird about animals. Whether this dog finds a safe and happy home with us or through the rescue agency, we have ensured that he will find one. I feel very good about this.

Zach went yesterday and bought the dog a collar and a harness and a crate so that he can cart him around California and Oregon on his way back home this week. He gave him a bath and we’ve named him – Zach found the puppy on Folsom Blvd so, in honor of Johnny, we’ve named the puppy Cash. (Yes, I know… once we named him the odds of us keeping him shot up to about 95%, but it was such a perfect fit that we couldn’t help ourselves!)

My second defining moment came much later in the day when I called Kristen to relay my drama-ridden story and to have her marvel at Zach’s an my good deed and our maturing relationship. She listened very patiently and laughed at all the right places. Then she told me about her day – someone from the Department of Defense had contacted her early in the morning after reading one of her presentations online. They’d like her to come speak to the team. Yes, that’s right, while I’m “saving the world, one dog at a time”, Kristen is actually helping to save the world by enlightening the US Department of Defense with her extensive emergency management knowledge. This has been the epitome of my relationship with Kristen since probably the day we met. She is my Information Specialist, my personal Google… and I am the princess of drama.

Zach says he’s “becoming quite fond of” Cash. I haven’t met Cash yet, but here are some pictures so you can begin to be fond of him too. Sorry they’re so small… they came through text messages on my phone.

Cash 2 Cash 3 Cash 5

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1 Comment

Filed under animal planet

One response to “Far From Folsom Prison, That’s Where I Want to Stay.

  1. I hate to say this, but you are just going to looove that puppy. Cash is Beeyoooteeful. I thought you were going to say that you named him Folsom. LOL

    My daughter has a Staffordshire Terrier (short for pit bull) and that dog is the most sweetest, smartest dog you could ever imagine. Her name is Mama. Come by my blog and read, “HOW CAN I STOP MAMA FROM JUMPING ON ME.”

    By the way, she doesn’t jump on me anymore.

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