Sunday afternoon I was at the dining room table, working on this week’s edition of the newspaper.
J.R. the camerabreaking cat jumped on the window sill, crouched and started staring at something outside between the air conditioner and the dining room wall.
J.R. often stalks birds through the window, so I raised out of my chair to see what he might be watching and - woah!
There was a black nose and two shiny eyes staring back at me.
It was a puppy, stretching for the window.
Kindra was making a salad with chicken, so I cadged a small piece and went out to meet the puppy.
He was a cute little guy, eight or nine weeks old. He looks like he might have a little German Shepherd in his heritage and maybe some collie. And lots of miscellaneous.
When he saw me come around the corner of the house, he started growling and barking and being as fierce as an eight-to-nine-week-old puppy can get.
I pitched him a tiny piece of chicken, which he inhaled, and used the rest of it to lure him from behind the air conditioner.
Once he got close enough, I picked him up and got drummed in the side by the puppy’s tail as he licked my fingers.
Turns out, the little guy is as friendly as he is fearless.
I thought he looked like his name was Reno, and he responded to it. Kindra thought his name was Cyrano and there was a minority effort in favor of Apollo, but Aaliyah used some sort of randomizer on the Internet and it landed on Reno.
So, there you go.
People often dump animals in our area. I suspect they are town poeople who figure someone in the neighborhood will take in the pets they are abandoning.
Dogs and cats both get dumped, which explains the well-fed coyotes in the area.
I don’t know for sure Reno was dumped, but I doubt he was big enough to wander from home and wind up behind our air conditioner.
Judging from his paws, I figure he’ll be a medium-sized dog, maybe around Martin’s 50 pounds, perhaps less.
We brought in a large dog crate that I bought a few years ago to haul turkeys and fixed him a towel for a bed.
Martin and Monroe had been in the backyard during the capture, but they could see little Reno through the window.
When the time came for introductions, Martin sniffed Reno’s butt through the crate, then wanted to play.
Monroe was not so gracious. She raised the hair on her back and barked with the volume that only a 92-pound dog can summon.
Scared the bejeebers out of Reno, but, as he had at the air conditioner, he barked and growled in defiance and stood his ground.
Brave little dude.
Kindra posted a note on the neighborhood Facebook page to see if someone had lost a puppy recently.
So far, no responses. I have trouble accepting that someone would dump a little guy like Reno, but that’s what happened to Monroe, too.
If that’s the case, I hope the person who dumped him gets shingles.
The kiddoes are hoping that no one claims him and that Reno can join the household.
Kindra recently asked what I thought about getting a dachshund sometime, so she’s been thinking about having a dog whose allegiance isn’t totally to me, but yonder Reno is anything but a dachshund. And hey - dogs like me.
We’ll see what happens. Right now, Reno is in his bed, calmly chewing on a piece of Monroe’s rawhide in the crate by the fireplace.