I've cut him free and we're now living in a craftsmen style bungalow in South Knoxville. He and Juicy are getting along juuust fine...
No, his life is still tragic, especially now with the summer heat. He spends his days a filthy heap of fur asleep by his house.
His owners did shave him, so they aren't 100% terrible. Only 99.
I have taken it upon myself to give him treats and a reason to live. Of course, they're dental treats
because I mean business in my Good Samaritan efforts.
The first time I tried to give him one, I called for him to come up the hill to me, but he stayed on the porch. I threw it to him, it bounced off the deck, and ricocheted out of his reach. Fail.
The next time, I had a better throw, he ate it, and stared at me from the porch. Progress.
This past weekend, I coaxed him to come up the hill to me. He's still a little snarly, so I used my trusty stick to pet him.
I gave him the treat, and then he started doing the same thing he did when I freed him from the tree trunk he had wrapped himself around in the storm- he bounded around playfully. I continued to stick pet him but I knew he wanted something more.
It looks like he has little sore spots on his skin (mange? I should know this, but I don't) where flies keep landing. Or maybe the flies like him because he's dirty.
I did pet him on the head with my bear* hand for about ten seconds. Then I went home to wash my hands immediately.
In my teeny tiny bubble of a world, this is the most risky thing I've done with my life in a long time. Not only is he unpredictable, but I have this wonderful feeling I'm going to get a gun pulled on me one day very soon. The blinds of the house are closed and I only visit when there aren't any cars in the driveway, but still. This is life on the edge, and it's exhilarating.
I decided to give him a name. My first thought was Pookie Face, but then, I thought, no. A desperate dog such as this needs a strong and noble namesake. So I've named him Samuel, after Samuel Hamilton