After being dumped in rural Tennessee, Lucy dug under a stranger’s porch, birthed, and raised eight healthy, adorable puppies.
Once ICHBA heard about the situation they found a foster family to care for the puppies, but no one could take Mom.
A tear welled up in my eye as I read Lucy’s story, and I picked up my phone and texted 4 simple words to Melissa that I knew would probably change my life once again. “Call me about Lucy.”
The next day, I met Melissa at Richland Park in Nashville. She was taking the puppies to the Farnival and I was taking Lucy home; mom and pups were about to go their separate ways.
I walked the dog to my car and loaded her in the backseat. She look bewildered, freaked and barely managed a small tail wag for me.
When we got home, I cautiously introduced her to my two other rescue dogs, both considerably smaller than her. She cautiously sniffed out the house and yard and then staked out her claim in my old LA-Z Boy and tried to settle in.
“Boy are you going to suck at fostering, my friend told me with a laugh. You’re just gonna end up owning a large pack of dogs with animal control and the homeowners association on your ass.”
Now, one week later, Lucy is a new dog. She’s been to the vet and will be spayed in a couple of weeks. They tell me her swollen, sagging teats will start to shrink.
She has learned to sit, discovered the joy of gnawing on a Nylabone, enjoys sniffing around in the yard, and comes when I call her. The tail wags come easily, quickly.
But Lucy still hasn’t made a peep.
If she could talk, I wonder what she would say?