On Saturday, June 20, 2026 at 9 a.m. I was awake, reading in bed when I glanced out my window and saw a small deer running across my yard. It’s not uncommon these days. They will even come in the yard now when I’m out on the porch. They are no longer scared like they were a couple years ago. Last week, I even saw a doe and her still spotted little fawn that were hanging out together in my yard.
But immediately after my mind registered “Deer!” I noticed that it was followed by a whole pack of large dogs. Several of them solid black, compared to the huge lead dog’s deer-colored tan coat. I immediately ran downstairs, gun in hand to rescue my two indoor-outdoor cats from possible catastrophe. In this area, wild dogs are dangerous dogs.
When I came out, shooed the cats in from the porch and walked into the yard seven or eight of them took off into the woods without incident, but the smallest one had caught a whiff of the scraps I had dumped in my compost container by the garden last night. And when it saw me, it froze. It looked at me eye to eye for a couple minutes and then turned to follow the pack, but the pack was gone.
The little solid black dog was weak, wobbly even, and during the course of the next few minutes, I inched my way over to it. Slowly, one step at a time. When I got close it backed up. Then it got too tired and weak to back up so it sat. I squatted down a good 10 feet away and talked to it.
We stayed in that position for a good while. When I approached, it got up with much effort and backed up. It was so very thin, terribly thin, and obviously very weak.
I went into the cabin and got a bowl of cat food – it was all I had on hand. I put a handful on the ground where I had been squatting and then backed up 10 feet, bowl still in hand. It came over and gobbled the food down and then looked up at me. I shook the bowl, put down another handful on the ground and backed up 5 feet. It came forward and gobbled that down. I shook the metal bowl of food again and put down another few morsels and then went and sat on the edge of the porch while it ate that and looked up again.
I shook the bowl again and put a handful right at my feet in the grass by the porch. It took longer for the little dog to risk getting that close to me, but it did come up and eat. Once it was that close, I could see what horrible shape it was really in. Ribs sticking out sharply with its back and legs covered in fat ticks.
Over the course of the next hour or so, she started to be less scared of me. She got a little food, and she drank water like she’d been in the desert. She was exhausted and when she laid down in the grass near me I could see that her front paws were swollen double the size of her back paws – and both sets were huge. She was a puppy. She hadn’t yet grown into those feet, swollen though they were.
How I Spent My Saturday
Once she let me touch her, I just patted her little tick-covered head. I talked in soft tones. I offered her more food and water – but not too much. She was far too emaciated to get a big meal, it would wreck her already taxed system. After she had rested a little while, she got up and limped over to the edge of the woods, where her pack had gone, and I thought she was leaving. But she did the most amazing thing… she howled. Three bursts and a pause, then four bursts and a pause and then one final three howl burst.
The interesting thing was the SOUND. She sounded just like a hoot owl. I’ve never heard a dog make that sound before. I grabbed my phone and hit the record button and caught part of that last cadence. She called then listened, called then listened, called one last time, listened… and then slowly limped back to me, where I was sitting on the porch.
Here's the little clip I captured on my phone's recorder app
I had never seen so many ticks on a single animal. They were literally sucking the life – what little she had left – out of her. With tweezers and a bottle filled with fingernail polish remover to kill the little blood suckers, we began. For the next five hours, I pulled ticks. Every part of me was itching. I mean that’s one of my things. You even TALK about ticks or fleas or lice or any body-crawling parasite and I start itching like crazy. Yeah, I know – totally psychosomatic, but the feeling is real.
Once her ears were clear, inside and out, I gave her a break. I went inside and scrubbed my hands – a couple times. When I came out, she was still there. I pulled off the most obvious ones on her back next. Then she rolled on her side and I lifted one of her little arms. Her armpits were infested too. Not just with fresh ticks, but with so many that were burrowed deep into her soft flesh.
I didn't take this photo until after I'd already removed quite a few.
The little buggers were buried so deep into her young flesh
She didn’t object, even though I know it hurt her. There was only one time, with a very deeply embedded one that she gave me a weak whine-yelp – but she didn’t snap or even try to make me stop. I knew that additional pain and fear was not what she needed right now, but I also knew that those ticks, along with the dehydration and starvation were literally killing her. And I had this unshakable feeling that this – of all things – was what I was supposed to be doing with my first Saturday off in weeks. So I did it.
The big ticks were the easy part, even the brown ones, and the multitude of spotted rocky mountain carrying ones (hence the fingernail polish remover in a bottle)… but what shocked me was when I started noticing the tiny ones. Literally hundreds of them! They were smaller than a pin-head and so close to the color of her flesh – just a little more grey. I got as many as I could and we both took breaks, her resting and me scrubbing my hands and wrists and arms and checking my clothing for creepy-crawlies. She also had fleas. A LOT of fleas!
I called a vet neighbor to ask about the swollen front paws. The ticks I knew had to come off, but she was walking so gingerly, I knew every step hurt. There was no break to the skin on the pads of her feet, but each pad was almost shiny it was pulled so taunt. The vet asked me to send a photo. I asked if it might be that she’s young and just has been running so much that her feet are sore. He said that was quite possible. I asked if I could bring her in the next morning when he went into his office to check on his patients. He said yes, that he would be in a 5:30 a.m. and that I could come then. I told him I’d be there – not even thinking about it being a Sunday.
I looked closer at her paws, then spread out the webbing between each toe. She tolerated it. I saw a couple large ticks on the first web… and then I looked closer. There were 27 teeny tiny ticks between those first two toes. Every one of her other webs were similarly covered. I didn’t count the others, there were dozens and dozens. No wonder her little paws were swollen! There were so many and they were so hard to get. And as soon as I thought I had a web clear, I’d see another patch of them. My reading glasses got a workout and what I really needed was a high-powered magnifying glass and a couple extra sets of hands!
Hours into this adventure, we were both exhausted, even with the rest periods. Tweezers were no match for the fleas, so I found a can of flea spray that still had a little in it. Probably out of date, but it was supposed to act quickly and she was being eaten alive. I did an internet search on my phone to make sure the active ingredient was safe and donned a pair of gloves and got a coat of it on her back. It was supposed to start working immediately, so we waited about an hour, me on the porch and her crawling under my truck where she felt safe enough to close her eyes and nap. When she woke up, I laid down on the gravel beside the truck and talked to her. She weakly wagged her little tail. So, she knew I was trying to help. Good. I was afraid that she just thought I was another in a long line of tortures in her little life.
After a respite for her (not for me, I’m too old to rest on gravel!), I took her into my newly built walk in shower (the only place in my construction zone house that IS pristine!) and I washed all the poison off her. She had so many bites, so many scabs, so many thorns that I pulled out, that I didn’t want it on her any longer than absolutely necessary to give her a little relief from the bites. I soaped her up and washed her and she melted. She didn’t fight, she didn’t try to run. I made sure the water was warm enough and I talked to her the whole time. She laid down on the shower floor and just let me scrub her down, mud and blood and dead fleas circling my drain.
I had box with a couple of flea medicine vials for a small dog (with the same active ingredient) that is applied at the shoulder blade that was tucked in the “pet meds” drawer I keep, but to use that I had to have her weight. I was guessing 20-25 pounds. She weighed 33 – even as skeletal as she was! So we went back outside and I used a vial and a half of the meds I had to get the dosage right. I got an old blanket and laid it down on the porch for her and then I went into the shower and scrubbed myself even more enthusiastically than I had scrubbed the puppy. I scanned my body – front and back – in a full length mirror. A horrifying proposition – but no ticks – so, a blessing. I brushed my wet hair and ran my fingers over every inch of my scalp (several times) and found nothing. Another blessing!
The puppy was back under the truck when I came out. I was back down on the gravel again, talking to her and encouraging her to come out – I needed the truck to go to the barn and haul back anything I had that was big enough for her to feel secure sleeping in it, and soft because she didn’t have enough padding on her body. She needed the security of a cave, and all she had was my truck and rocks underneath. I finally managed to pull her from under the truck – slowly and carefully – she went ragdoll limp, making it harder, but finally she was out.
I put her on the porch and got in my truck and headed down the drive to the barn. All I could find was an extra large – and clear – tote, but it would have to do. When I looked back toward the cabin, the puppy was out in the yard, watching me. She never took her eyes off me. When I started driving across the yard, she came toward the truck and ran beside it. When I parked and got out, she whined and acted like I’d been gone forever and was FINALLY back. Her little tail wagged. It wagged a little stronger than before. Then she crawled back under my truck. I’m not sure if it was me or the truck she was most concerned about losing.
I created a make-shift cave for her, putting the tote on its side, putting down soft blankets and then draping more blankets over the top to darken it inside. I coaxed/pulled her from under the truck again and brought her to the porch and her new cave. I had water in a shallow bowl and had found some canned chicken in the pantry and offered her that in a bowl – just about a half a cup. She ate a couple bites, drank two bowls of water, and then let me nudge her into the cave. She laid down and was asleep immediately. I sighed relief. At one point she woke up and moved her muzzle over to the shallow bowl of water and took a few more drinks, without ever even raising her head all the way up, then went back to sleep.
At this point it was after 6 p.m. and I’d not yet had breakfast. I still had the half a cup of coffee beside my bed that I was sipping when I saw the “deer” out my window, and although the events of the day had understandably stripped me of my appetite for hours, now I was hungry.
I fetched my cup of cold coffee and glanced outside on my way to the kitchen to find something to eat. No puppy. I went outside and looked under the truck. Puppy.
“Ok,” I thought, “I’ve done my best.” I went in and fixed myself an egg, cheese and asparagus omelet, then came outside on the porch swing to eat. I made my daily call to my mother when the puppy had retreated to the truck the first time. I called her again now to give her an update. I sent photos I’d taken of the pup. My daughter called and I told her the story. I sent her photos too. I sent them the recording of her “hoot-owl” howl. I expected my mother, who has always disliked big dogs, and particularly dislikes me taking on responsibilities at this point in my life (let’s just say my plate stays full of challenges these days), to give me dire warnings about letting “that dog” stick around. I expected lectures, I expected a big “cons” list with no “pros” at all.
What I got was her describing what I was feeling, “God brought this dog to you, and brought you to it. You need the company and the security of a big dog living that far out. I think this is meant to be.”
I expected naysaying, I got validation.
WHAT?!?! I was tempted to say, “Who ARE you and WHAT have you done with my mother?!” Instead, I listened. She told me that she was proud of me, that most people would never have even tried to tackle a tick problem like that (she saw the photos), and that this dog would be a faithful companion.
My daughter said, “Oh mama, I love that for you!” when I told her what had happened.
So I reviewed the day’s events. Wild dogs. Ran off. One little one left behind – little, but not so little. I wasn’t scared of her (and it was a her) and by all rights I should have been worried that she would bite, would have rabies, etc. etc. That didn’t even occur to me until after I’d had my breakfast. I just felt an overwhelming need to help. I felt so bad for the little thing. So I didn’t use my head… and I’m glad.
Saturday night I stayed up late, lying next to the crate, petting her and talking to her. I named her Luna – because of her jet black (like the night sky) coat, and her hoot-owl howl. She seemed like a little moon creature. It fit. And she was starting to open an eye – at least part way – when I used the word “Luna” and when I said “gooooood girl” but mostly I was just there. She was feeling abandoned. She HAD been abandoned. She was weak and sick and her eyes were gooey. She had bites literally all over her body and scratches and puncture wounds from many thorn bushes, scrapes and scratches.
A friend told me that she was lucky -- that a pack will either abandon or attack the weakest. Mom said they “brought” her to me. Someone else told me the howl wasn’t calling TO her pack, but was telling them goodbye, that she’d found a home and was staying. All of these comments lifted my heart. I stayed beside Luna until well past midnight, despite my early morning appointment, and hoped that she would still be there in the morning.
I wanted to take her inside, keep her safe. To keep her. But, with the house under construction and two cats, the LAST thing I needed was a flea infestation.
I had to hope that if it really was “meant to be” as my daughter said, that she would be there in the morning. And even if she left or the pack came back for her, I knew that she was in much better shape than she had been at 9 a.m. that morning. I had done all I could do for her that day.
Alone in my bed, reason took over – briefly – I had not wanted a dog. I was in no shape at this point in my life to take on the responsibility of another animal. I’d ended up with two cats because others couldn’t have them, I’d even joked that I’d accidentally become an old cat lady – through no fault or real choice of my own, and they were just starting to tolerate each other after four months together. They seldom fought now and only occasionally hissed at each other. The black cat, Bobo (not my naming – I’d never name an animal after a clown) is a bully. Short haired, lean, and territorial and wants to be in my lap CONSTANLY, or on the book I’m reading, or on the computer I’m using. She’s like a Velcro rag draping herself across me when I sit, work, and especially when I sleep – mostly across my face. She’s sweet too, but oh so annoying! Then there’s Tallulah – a long haired white Persian. A princess. Prissy. Skiddish. And the hair! Oh my! (Did I mention that I dress in solid black most days?) it’s a fiasco. But she’s warmed up to me and ALSO wants in my lap all the time. So there have been literal catfights in my lap on several occasions – one of which left me covered in the 22 oz of hot coffee I was trying to sip. Fun times!
But all that aside, I knew this little dog was already growing on me – and FAST. I reasoned that if I was supposed to have her, she would be there in the morning and if God had just intended me to help her on her journey, I’d done my best.
I slept.
Sunday
The alarm jolted me. It took a minute to realize why I’d set the alarm so early – then I jumped up and ran to the front porch. Lula was curled up in a ball in her homemade cave. She was safe. I got dressed and got her into the truck and headed to the vet’s office. On the way, she started salivating by the cupfuls. She was car sick. Really car sick. I hadn’t fed her that morning, not sure if I should in case she needed some kind of meds or something.
The vet took one look at her and said, “She’s carsick.” Drool was puddling in the floor under where I held her and my arm was soaked. The vet knew the story. I told him that I was planning to keep her if she would stay, but I only wanted her to have what she needed until she decided if she wanted to stay. He recommended flea and tick meds – pill form – and dewormer. I told him what I’d discovered about her paws and why they were swollen, and they looked a little better that morning. He toenails had been angled up at about a 45 degree angle the morning before and now they were straight out. He said the swelling would continue to go down now that all the ticks were gone from between and they would curve down as they should. I asked about her eyes and he said the dewormer would probably resolve that secondary infection once her immune system wasn’t so overloaded.
He recommended a parvo/distemper shot and, after my experience once with a parvo puppy, I readily agreed. He told me that he also recommended an antibiotic for lyme disease considering how many ticks she had on her, but that it could wait until I knew if she would stay. He said, if she stays a week, she’s gonna stay. I told him I’d be back next week for the antibiotics.
He told me to wait about an hour after I got home to give her the dewormer and the flea meds, so she didn’t throw them up on the way home and that the flea meds would start working in about half an hour. I asked him for flea and tick treatment meds for my cats too so they didn’t share the joy of parasites.
He congratulated me on my new puppy with a broad smile and told me that she was going to be a beautiful girl. I had to agree.
I got her back home and waited over an hour to give her the meds – well after she stopped slobbering. My truck seat upholstery was soaked. I left a window down to let it air out and dry up.
I gave her the meds and fed her some more canned chicken. I spent the day looking up the nutritional needs of a large dog – which I didn’t even know were different than for a smaller dog. Now I know. Regular dog food and especially regular puppy food makes the bones of a larger dog grow faster than the cartilage and joints grow – causing hip and joint problems later in life. There are certain common dog food ingredients that block the absorption of taurine and lead to heart issues, especially in large breeds. I learned how to puppy-proof my house for a large dog (different than for the smaller breeds I’ve had in the past – way different).
I determined that, although she looks like a schnauzer in the face, that I was right, those are rare (especially the giant ones) in this area. And that she’s most likely a labradoodle because the RSPO2 gene when Labrador retrievers and Poodles mix genes. This causes the bushy eyebrows, the beard and the facial “furnishings” Luna has. Her muzzle is long and super broad and thick – not at all like a poodle, but her leg length and the “cut” of her frame is very much like a standard poodle. That RESPO2 gene when it meshes with a short-haired Labrador changes from soft and curly to wiry and wavy – which is exactly what I see in Luna.
So, without the benefit of an expensive genetic test (not happening), labradoodle – which is fairly common around here, is my best guess – with a bit of this and that thrown in for good measure. All I do know is that lead dog of the pack was freaking huge and Luna is 33 pounds and as tall as my knee and is 12 weeks old based on the fact that she’s just now getting in her baby back teeth and her baby incisors are bright white and still strong. She won’t start losing baby teeth until after 4 months. Her paws, now much less swollen, are still the size of my palm.
She’s gonna be enormous. The vet estimates between 90-100 pounds, which meshes with the 80-120 pound estimates I’ve been able to determine using online sources based on her size now.
I spent the day trying to get ready for Luna to stay. I ordered her two collars – one for the size she is now, one for the size she will be in a couple months. Both had her new name (which she was already recognizing on the regular – but not yet consistently) and my phone number. They would arrive on Friday. I ordered the food (expensive stuff) that she needed and had read that she’s to be fed three times a day, but only one cup each time. I won’t bore you with all the reasons for that, but there were a lot! And I learned that large puppies need to stay on puppy kibble for 24 full months, not 12.
I sat beside her doing my research and petting her while she slept. She ate occasionally, drank often and rested and healed. The fleas were gone, the vet assured me that even the ticks I couldn’t see would be dead in a couple hours and would fall off. I brushed her several times to remove dead fleas and ticks. Her coat still looked pretty good from the bath and I didn’t want to put her though anything else so I brushed instead of bathing her again.
Although I’d priced a crate and a dog bed, I’d hoped I could pick that up in Danville when I went to take my mom to her neurology appointment on Monday. I didn’t want to leave Luna here alone and feeling abandoned. I was afraid she would wonder off if she saw me leave, or chase the truck like she did when I drove back from the barn. And I couldn’t bear the thought of chaining her up because that would probably send her into a panic. Besides, I didn’t have a collar yet.
If it had been a standard doctor appointment, I might have asked mom to reschedule – but it was a specialist appointment that was a follow-up from a recent hospitalization – and she simply could not miss that appointment. Mom has a fenced in back yard and (surprisingly) offered to let me keep Luna back there while we were at the Dr. She even told me that she hoped Luna and Abby (Mom’s Dog) would become friends and play together. It was so sweet of her. And, she understood when I asked that we not introduce them until Luna was a little more settled. Abby is rambunctious and I didn’t want to upset Luna, scare her, or make her feel insecure. It was bad enough that I was going to have to leave her for four hours.
Monday Morning
On the way to Mom’s Luna got car sick and a full can of chicken, cat food that I didn’t realize she’d scrounged from the cat bowl and about a pint of water came up all over my car and all down my leg and started soaking into the seat under my thigh. I didn’t have a change of clothes, of course, and I had to pull off on the side of the road and try to scoop the joy out of my seat, her seat and my cup holders. Instead of being upset (this would usually have really put a dent in my day), I just felt bad for putting Luna through this. I hated having to take her in a car when I knew she got so sick, but I had no option.
When we got to Mom’s I took her to the back yard, opened up a new can of chicken for her since she had lost hers to the car ride, put down a soft place for her to rest and mom filled up a big bowl of water for her. She drank about half of it and mom refilled it. Abby was left inside while we were gone so Luna wouldn’t be any more stressed than absolutely necessary. Then we had to leave for the Dr. I told Luna to be a good girl and I’d be back soon.
When we got to the doctor’s office, I checked the security cameras and saw l Luna exploring the back yard. A little later, I peeked in again and couldn’t see her, but could hear her… she was whining pitifully. I told mom we needed to go straight home after the appointment, Luna was distressed. On the way home we did stop long enough for me to get a crate and a bed and a toy for Luna and then we headed back. It had taken four hours for the round trip to Lexington, the doctor’s visit, the stop at PetSmart and the trip back. I went outside to greet my little girl…
And LUNA was GONE!
For the next two and a half hours, I canvased the neighborhood and the surrounding neighborhoods. I handed out every business card I had to everyone I saw, describing Luna, showing pictures, telling them she didn’t have a collar, looked half-starved and wouldn’t survive in a city because she wasn’t street smart and wasn’t old enough to hunt for herself. I asked them to call the number on the card if they saw her.
I just knew that in her weakened condition she wouldn’t last more than a day, maybe two. I called animal control, I called the humane society, I posted photos on Facebook, I prayed for her safety. I didn’t allow myself to pray selfishly. God had brought her to me, if she wasn’t meant to be with me, I just wanted someone to love her and care for her. Then I cried. A lot.
I found how she got out – she dug out. That made me feel even worse. She was so terrified that she had dug with those very tender paws through hard dirt and rocks to escape – probably to look for me or her pack. She was alone and scared.
I couldn’t believe how in 48 hours that little girl had so completely and thoroughly captured my heart. I tried to reason with myself – if I wanted a dog, I could give a good home to any dog at the shelter if Luna wasn’t found. But, I didn’t want a dog. I wanted Luna. Period. End of story.
I stayed for hours at Mom’s house, even though I had client work to do, I just kept looking and hoping and posting her photos and asking people to share and to call if they saw her.
I had a plumber coming the following morning, a plumber I had not prepared to receive yet – I had things to move and change and do at the cabin. My progress forward on construction was at a standstill until the plumbing was complete and getting a decent plumber had proven to be more than challenging. They don’t return calls, they don’t show up, they do half the job and never return. It’s been a real fiasco. So, I had to be there for the new plumber I’d finally found that was actually willing to come out as far as I live. Again… I had to go and I had no option. I forwarded my business number to my cell and forwarded my cell to the VoIP phone at the cabin so no matter how someone called, if they called, I’d get the message.
I cried most of the way home. Mom told me not to give up hope, but I told her that she was going to be hit by a car or curl up under a bush and starve – she was too weak to make it for more than a few hours.
When I got home, I realized that once again, I’d not eaten. I threw something fast and easy in a bowl and sat down and with every bite felt guilty that I had abandoned that baby who was probably starving while I stuffed my face.
I fell asleep in my chair, too exhausted – physically and emotionally – to focus on the movie I had playing. I couldn’t go to bed either. Everything felt wrong.
At 9pm the phone rang. It woke me up, but I was too out of it to find the phone in time before they hung up. I started searching though VoIP for the caller ID – It wasn’t set up because I just got the system. I went on the porch and checked my cell phone. No new numbers. I went back inside and got on my computer and logged into my business phone number and finally found the caller.
I called them back, “This is Angela Allen, I think I missed a call from you?”
“I know about your dog,” a woman’s voice said, and she introduced herself and told me that Luna had wandered up and looked so pitiful they thought she was a stray. (Totally understandable). She went on to tell me that she had just seen the post on FB where a friend had shared it. She also didn’t have Luna, they had someone at their house that was personal friends with a Vet, and they called said Vet about her. They said that she was so sweet that they didn’t want to call the pound. They wanted her checked out and that the vet was going to give her flea and tick meds and …
I stopped her, “Oh no! She’s just had those, her system is too delicate, she can’t take another dose it might kill her. Has he already given them to her?”
She told me she was sure he had and that I could call the vet’s office – she would give me the number and he would get back to me. I told her a quick version of the story of Luna’s previous 48 hours and she gave me the number so I could call right away.
I left a message and the vet called me right back. I could tell that he thought my puppy was neglected. I would have thought the same thing. I asked him if I could come get her tonight. He told me he was coming off a 15 hour workday and tonight wasn’t going to work. I asked if he had given her any meds and he said no, not yet. I told him that was great news and told him what she’d already had and gave him a quick rundown of how I got her and what happened for her to end up with him. He told me his side of Luna’s story: that he usually doesn’t take in dogs, but did it as a favor to a friend who couldn’t bear to see her go to the pound.
So I tried again and begged (actually said, “pretty please can I come get her tonight?”). He asked how far away I was, that he was headed home and he had a long drive. I told him I was 45 minutes away, but I could get in the car now if it was at all possible for me to get her tonight. I told him how worried I was about her and that I just wanted to get her home and take care of her. He agreed.
I flew to Danville, hoping I wouldn’t get pulled over (that would happen on the way back home, but I digress…) I called the lady back that had called me to let me know they had found her and told her I was on the road to go get her. We talked about how sweet Luna is, I filled in more about how she got in the shape she was in and we discovered that this nice lady was the older sister of someone I played soccer with back in high school. (Small world, huh?)
The vet had been with a patient and picked Luna up from his office and met me in town. He was simply charming. We were blocking traffic in the Dairy Queen parking lot, so we parted quickly. Luna didn’t seem particularly happy to see me at first – she just looked bewildered -- but she draped herself over me when he handed her to me and held on with a bear hug. I got her in the car and headed home.
I called him when I remembered I hadn’t paid him for taking care of her. He said he was just glad she had a home and we talked almost all of my drive back home. He was delightful. He owns a couple air B&Bs in town, raises meat sheep, and told me that Luna had been renamed in their care – Raven. I told him I had a cat named Raven years and years ago, and explained why I’d named her Luna – the owl-howl the color of her coat, like the night sky. And he teased me that I could always call her Luna-Tick based on her history. I laughed, but declined. He told me that he thought she was a labradoodle and I told him I agreed. We talked about her age – he knew she was young, but hadn’t checked her teeth, so he asked me what the local vet had said. When I told him three months, he said she was going to be big and I had to agree.
In the middle of our conversation, I saw blue lights – I told him I had to go, I was being pulled over. The officer was very nice. He told me my license plate lights weren’t working and it was a violation. Honestly, I didn’t even know I HAD lights on my license plate – much less that they weren’t working. He asked where I was coming from, where I was going and why – questions that usually make me bristle because I find such things invasive. But I was so happy to have Luna back, I asked “You want to know why I’m travelling from Danville to Casey County?” He said yes, and I said, “Do you have time for a story?” “Sure.” So I gave him the brief version of Luna’s history in the last 72 hours. He looked in at her on the passenger’s seat. She wasn’t throwing up, but she didn’t feel well and was enduring another car ride. He told me to take care of her and get the lights checked the next time I was out. No ticket. I called the vet back, told him that no, I wasn’t in jail and we continued the conversation for another 15 minutes or so.
Tuesday she stayed by my chair while I worked. She rested. She started to recognize her name. She healed, she ate, she gained strength.
So in the last four days I have chased off a pack of wild dogs, adopted a weak – almost fatally so – puppy, picked off more ticks than I’ve ever seen in my life (my best estimate is somewhere between a thousand and 1200, but it could easily have been more), fell in love with said puppy, took her to the vet, bought her a cage large enough to accommodate her at full size and a bed, ordered two collars and a leash, lost the puppy, searched the neighborhood for hours, posted on social media, got the puppy back and now… now I’m tired, but I’m happy.
I’m really happy – and so is Luna. She is responding to her name every time I say it. She's strong enough to walk up the stairs of the cabin and has learned to navigate them up and down. She’s walking beside me everywhere I go and is coming to me (almost) every time I call. She’s playing with the squeaky toy I got her, she’s chasing butterflies and running from one lightening bug to another across the yard and she’s sleeping on the floor right next to my bed… oh and I’ve ordered another dog bed for my bedside because she wants to be close all the time.
I’ve made a friend, a sweet, loveable, amazing little furry friend. A living doll, and I look forward to our future together.
