Bob the Odd-Looking Dog

So my roommate, Erika, bought a dog. This dog made it to our home Friday night. It's a beagle/bassethound mix, which is apparently called a bagle. Bob (pronounced with a slight Canadian accent) is a shelter dog, having been found on the side of the road somewhere, half-starving and dehydrated, with another dog in even worse shape. Adopting pets from a shelter is a great thing to do, since they're in need of a good home and some love from good people. I knew this already, but last Tuesday's Oprah enforced this truth on me, and I felt really good about E getting Bob the dog. I felt like we were doing some good in the world, saving this dog from sorrow and loneliness.

But Bob was not suffering just from sorrow and loneliness. No, it would seem that Bob is quite a basket case of physical suffering. I think almsot every night, E told me of something new she learned from the lady at the shelter in the last week or so before she went to pick him up. First it was just that he had to get neutered before he came, so the poor guy was going to be pretty dull and sad at first. No big deal. Then we found out
that he had fleas, but the lady was getting rid of them. He'd be flea-less when he got here. OK. But Bob didn't really take to the medicine for the fleas, or the stitches from his latest job. So he's all red from scratching at himself, and he bit away at his skin and fur in a strip near the end of his back. Cool, Bob.
But it will heal eventually, if he stops scratching, and the cone that he wore for a few days was supposed to help. It didn't really, but it definitely added to the picture of this messed-up dog coming to our home soon.

Then the shelter lady wasn't sure if he was house-trained or what from his past life, so we had no idea if he'd be relieving himself all over our floors or if we could leave him alone safely. Thankfully, the lady tested his bladder control skills over the weekend, and he didn't have any problems in her house. Hopefully it'd be the same here. Problem potentiall solved.

So all of this could be dealt with. He'd be fine. But then we hear that a big German Shepherd had thought Bob was getting to close to his fence, so he bit half of Bob's right ear off. Right off, halfway up his ear. Awesome.

So now, Bob the half-eaten Bagle (as his foster mom affectionately called him) is loping around our house, a sort of sad, nerdy cuteness wafting off him. This long-bodied, stubby-legged mess of a dog is stinking up our home, waiting for when he can get a bath. He's officially free of fleas, thank goodness, and now he's wearing something resembling ankle weights around his neck to keep him from biting at his stitches and hair-stripped flesh.

Honestly, have you heard of a more problem-prone, pathetic-sounding dog? Probably, but I've never personally experienced one like Bob here. We'll see how this goes. All I know is my room has been permanently shut off from Bob - apparently he's a hoarder and a chewer, meaning he will first steal my shoe and hide it in his corner, then systematically chew through the shoe until it is utterly unrecognizable.

Awesome.

UPDATE: Erika's dad was here doing some work on the house this weekend. Though my door is always closed, Erika's dad had to come in while I was at church, to get into the attic through my closet. It would seem that Bob followed him in and then left at some point, taking a token to remember me by. Erika brought down the shorts I wore to bed last night (which were old and ugly, luckily), complete with a fresh hole on one side. Nice job, Bob. You owe me a new pair of shorts.