Before returning to Omaha, I hadn’t had a pet since I was a kid. One day, I found myself wandering through the halls of the Nebraska Humane Society. As I entered the dog room, each kennel revealed the eyes of animals with a singular plea. Until I saw a Rottweiler. He sat, studying each person walking past his kennel. Some would pause and attempt to coax him forward. His eyes would slowly blink and he’d turn his head away from them. He’d remain in this position until the next person engaged him. For ten minutes, I watched him respond this way. I returned to the main area to inquire about the dog. A staff member told me that the Rottweiler, whose name was Godfrey, was a voluntary surrender. He’d been with his owner since he was a puppy. She pulled out a file and showed me pictures.
The owner was a former police officer who’d been killed in the line of duty. The officer’s son couldn’t take Godfrey, and had to give him up. She listed the training the dog had received, and cautioned me saying, “Godfrey needs a strong leader.” I returned to the kennels.
Godfrey hadn’t moved. I walked closer to his cage, set my satchel onto the floor, and sat cross-legged in front of him. I waited. He looked at me, and then turned his head away. I said, “Really?” He gave me the side-eye. I pulled my Kindle from my satchel, flipped open the cover, and started reading. A few minutes later, Godfrey moved to the front of the kennel. I could feel his warm breath on my forehead. I looked up at him. “You’re breath stinks,” I said. He barked. “Should we get outa here, then?” He turned and walked to the door at the back of the kennel.
We did the required meet and greet, with a staff person observing. After convincing her that someone my size could handle a 145 pound dog, she agreed to the adoption. The paperwork complete, I bought a leash, dog dishes, and some food, from the Humane Society’s store. Another staff person brought Godfrey out to the front. Godfrey was pulling on the leash. When he saw me, he started to run. The guy could barely keep up. Everyone stopped what they were doing, unsure how to help. I held my hand up and told Godfrey to stop, and sit. He obeyed. I traded my leash for theirs, and led Godfrey to my Jeep. He hopped onto the front passenger seat. I rolled down the window, more for me than for him, making a mental note to do something about his breath, and headed home.
Most days, I don’t regret bringing him home. Some days, though, he gets himself into a little trouble.
I never liked that chair; It was a leftover from my Great Aunt Violet. So, really, Godfrey did me a favor. Nevertheless, I couldn’t have him believing he could just rip my furniture to shreds, so I sent him to his place where he did this:
That look pretty much gets him out of all kinds of trouble.
He’s annoying, eats like a friggin’ horse (with poop to match) and still has bad breath, but I wouldn’t change a thing. I got lucky the day I found my Rottie.
Dez