Technically, this is isn't the story of the little dog up there; it's the story of how we met. I know very little about him. He was in my life for maybe twenty-four hours.
We - my wife, my dogs, & myself - met him on a walk. He approached us, he was a bit yappy but unafraid, & he didn't have a human anywhere near him. Nor did he have a tag. He was impossibly small - he couldn't have weighed five pounds. & he was pretty filthy.
He walked with us for a while, but when it seemed like he was going another direction, I scooped him up & I carried him home. He was immediately docile. He seemed like a dog who was used to being carried. I got him home & we had to find a way to seal the space under the gates to our backyard - our dogs are too big to escape under them, but this little fellow had no such problem. My wife nicknamed him "Harry" - after Houdini - when I had to go out to find him once he left. The name didn't take - he didn't respond to it - because it wasn't his name.
He wasn't hungry, but he was a little thirsty, mainly because he marked everything as he went along. If I had to guess his age, I'd say maybe a year - I'm no expert - but he was unneutered, which may have accounted for the relentless lifting of the leg. I immediately took a picture of him - that was the one from the previous post - & I posted it to Next Door & to Facebook via Paw Boost. Paw Boost was extremely popular - my post was shared over three hundred times.
But we heard from no one who knew him that night. My wife gave him a bath, & we left him in the garage. I almost slept out there with him. I fell in love with him on our walk home. He ate a little, but when I would sit next to him, he would immediately come into my lap like in the picture above. It's what, I'm sure, he was bred to do. I felt awful making him sleep alone that night.
The next morning we found a leash for him & walked him to a nearby vet to check for a microchip. He had none. My wife wanted to take him immediately to the Humane Society because she knew the longer he was with us, the harder it would be for us to let him go. He wasn't terrible on a leash, & my dogs didn't seem to mind him, & he did enjoy the walk. He ate so little, he was so little.
A neighborhood person who volunteers with a rescue group contacted me & told me she'd keep him the next night if no one came forward. I thought that was a good idea. We decided to take him for one more walk in the afternoon to near where we found him so we could see if someone had put flyers up. But just as we were leaving, I got an email. It was entitled, "Party yorkie - the little black and white dog found on Raymond." The body read:
Hi,
I'm a friend of the dogs mom. The puppies name is Bo Jingles. What does she need to do to get him back? Who does she need to get a hold of?
James
Immediately he got my phone number & we soon were texting. I spoke with his mother, who didn't have a phone herself. She did not live far - although Bojingles - I spell it that way, I am not certain of the proper spelling - had made it about six blocks to the east of that home - it was quite a distance for such a little fellow.
The story gets a little sad here. His mother is living in what appears to be a halfway house in our neighborhood. It might just be a rooming house, but other people have confidently told us it's a halfway house. We've walked by it many times, & there are often people in front smoking, some with dogs, to whom we say hi as we pass. The dog's mom is named Red. Her friend James looked half her age.
There are some who, seeing the difficult situation in which the woman lived, might have felt uncomfortable surrendering the dog. But there were three things that made it a no-brainer for me. One, it's not my dog. I would hate for someone to find one of my dogs & then tell me I couldn't have him back because they somehow didn't like my lifestyle or the circumstances in which I lived. Two, the dog was so very excited to see her again. He almost flew into her arms - & she confirmed that she carried him everywhere. & three, Red herself explained her unpleasant living situation - which may have been the reason he escaped in the first place - & it seemed to me that Bojingles was one of the few joys in her current predicament.
My wife & I were masked, but no one else at that place was, so, after briefly trying to impress upon Red & James that Bojingles should be neuters & microchipped - Red said she was told he was! - we said goodbye to that little darling & left the uncomfortable situation. I missed him immediately & miss him still. When we walk near where we found him - or where he found us - I look around for him.
The neighbor who was willing to adopt him has gone the extra mile & has spoken with Red. She told me that tomorrow they are taking him to be microchipped, although I am not certain her current address is going to be any kind of permanent address. I can't complain, though - she's doing more than I have offered to do.
When I lived in Fort Worth, we saw stray dogs regularly. We saw dogs who lived nearly alone in backyards, always there, even in the Texas heat. Here in Portland dogs are treated like the family members they surely are. Bojingles was literally the first stray I've seen in almost two years of living here.
& I truly hope he'll be okay. What little I have read about party terriers is that they love to be with their owners in the exact same way Red carries Bojingles with her. I am sorry this story doesn't end on a happier note - like me adopting Bojingles! But I take a small amount of consolation from the fact that I did get him home. Which is a success of a sort.
