So I became a Rescue dog, and I was placed in foster care with
Pat Kelly. Pat already had a golden named Madison, who is a therapy dog,
and therefore well trained. She loved me and took care of me, and I liked
being with Madison, even though he suffered from thyroid problems and was
somewhat of a slug. Pat started trying to find a home for me, and kept
telling her friend Nancy Hane what a great dog I was. But the Hanes already
had a dog, a 17-year-old mixed-breed named Blitzen who would not like it if
they suddenly got a year-old golden retriever.
The Hanes say that what happened next is proof that God must have a
sense of humor. I hadn't been at Pat's very long when Blitzen died quite
suddenly of kidney failure. She had been a member of the family for so long
that their grief was understandable. After just a week, they could hardly
stand coming home to an empty house, and felt they needed a new friendly face
to greet them each day. So Carl and Nancy took their son, Andy, up to see me
and see if I was suitable. I saw Andy come in the door, and knew instantly
that this was the family for me. He was 14, and thus could handle my
rambunctiousness. I jumped up on my hind legs and put them on his shoulders,
pushing him down onto the couch, and claimed him as mine. A few days later,
their daughter, Elizabeth, and her friend Joye came by Pat's to see me, too,
and I impressed them as well. So the Hanes took me in, and I had a new home.
Shane came along a few years later. Bob Bornstein called the house one
night and asked Carl if they could possibly take a foster dog. Carl and Nancy
discussed it, and decided to take in Shane as a foster dog. When Shane arrived,
I could hardly believe my eyes. He was a bit taller than I am, and the same
dark red color (we call blond goldens "butt-colored" since they are the same
color as the fur on my back side.) But he was very thin, and you could see
his ribs. When we wrestled and played, I beat him up all the time. I wasn't
too sure I wanted a brother. But I felt bad for Shane, especially after I
heard his story.
Like me, he had been neglected, in a way. He had been trained, and
was an excellent retriever. But he had never been petted, brushed or loved
on. He didn't know what to do when someone petted him, and he wiggled
everywhere. He never actually asked to be petted, either. He'd much
rather fetch, since that's all he'd ever been praised for. He had been raised
from a puppy by a family in Austin, Texas, and they had a female golden, too.
The family bred the two of them, and when the puppies were grown,
they took Shane and his mate to the pound. Shane had acquired worms at the
pound, and was thus as thin as a rail. You could see all his ribs, and his
backbone stuck out. The pound in Austin called Bob, and a nice lady brought
them up to OKC because Austin doesn't have a Rescue. Shane's mate was adopted
out immediately, but Shane had to stay in a kennel until he was placed in
foster care with us.
I wasn't too sure what to think of Shane. Why did they feel they needed another dog when they had me? I realized eventually that they got Shane for me to play with, though. He likes to wrestle and play, when he's not fetching, and we became good friends. Eventually, when his worms were gone, he put on a lot of weight, and now weighs a whopping 75 pounds. He beats me up, now, when we play, because he can, and he remembers how much I beat him up when he was sick. The Hanes decided that we got along so well, they'd adopt Shane as well, so now we both brighten their lives. Nancy says we are both goofy. I don't know why she says this. Shane is a bit odd, since he is afraid of thunder, and jumps the gate to the utility room and goes and hides under their bed when it storms. Sometimes I feel insecure, and I carry a security blanket around with me. Sometimes there's no blanket available, though, and I have to resort to carrying around a stolen toilet seat cover.... I especially like to do this when there is company coming over. Shane is doing much better, and likes to be petted, although you pretty much have to take all of his toys away before he even thinks of it. The Hanes have decided that at 10:00 every night, all the toys must go back on top of the refrigerator, because they are tired of throwing slimy balls and toys for Shane. So Shane looks sad for awhile, but then he starts looking for attention. Sometimes I have to drag him around by his collar to make sure he doesn't get all the attention, though. I can't understand why they say we're goofy, can you?
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