It's been such a long time since I've curled up with my laptop and talked about everything going on here at the Merriam residence. Perhaps that's because there has been SO MUCH going on that there's never any time left over to write about it. Let's catch up!
Every dog that my family has ever had has been one that we've picked out. There's been Jack and Leroy, Samantha, Duke and Charlie, Luka and Rascal, and of course, our little Tanner. We fell in love with their tiny puppy features but then decided that they weren't the right dogs for us by the time they had stopped growing. (All with the exception of Tanner, the chihuahua. He's not the best dog, but he won my Momma's heart early on with his tiny stature and big attitude.)It's not something I'm eager to admit, and memories of leaving so many dogs behind at animal shelters or with new families now stirs up guilt within me. The difference with Tatum, however, was that SHE picked US.
Tatum used to belong to a guy that lived just down the road from us. We suspect that he didn't treat her very well because she was consistently escaping from his yard and hanging out in ours. She was always especially thin, and when we set out food and water she would lick both bowls clean within only a couple of minutes. Her owner would walk down the street calling her name, "Red," and when he finally found her and reached down to scoop her up, she would first cower, and then growl baring her sharp teeth. It was the only "violent" act we ever saw from her... she was usually just a playful puppy, eager to coat you in kisses.
My family soon began calling her "Big T" because she looked so much like our Tanner. Same markings, same body frame (just much larger), and the same characteristic ears. Dad loved to bring her inside and slip her treats. I snuck her inside more than a few times when I was home alone. She took rides across town with me to run errands. Mom fed her almost every day. And she really won all of our hearts over.
About two months ago, a cold snap came through and Tatum came down to sleep in our garage for a few nights rather than her cold, damp backyard at home. On the third night of the cold snap, my parents went to one of their weekly bible studies and my brother and I were both at work. Coming and going and seeing Big T inbetween was routine for us and we learned never to be expecting her presence when we returned home. I don't think we ever prepared ourselves to find her frantic, soaked in blood and convulsing, however.
Mom took a towel from in the house and wrapped her in it, holding her close to calm her down. Dad assessed the situation... blood splattered across our driveway, dripping from the garage door, in puddles on the garage floor. And then realizing they had no idea where to find her real owner, and not even 100% sure that he hadn't been the one to do this to her, they made the decision to call Animal Control. That night a man came and got her. She cried at having to leave us, and barked, growled, even tried to bite the man that dared take her away from the only love she'd ever known. Her aggressive behavior landed her with a large, bold notice on her 'solitary confinement' cage back at the shelter. Her owners had one week to claim her before she underwent a behavioral examination and ultimately went for adoption. Either that, or be put to sleep if she failed her behavioral examination. A week went by and as my family dropped by the shelter to check up on her, she had made little progress. Her owners had not called, either. My mom advised that the professionals there address her by "Big T" rather than "Red" and it was only a matter of hours before they called our house to tell us of the change they had seen in her. Two days later, she passed her behavioral examination, was put up for adoption, and then came home to a family that very much adores her :)
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