LAUREL COUNTY, Ky. — A little over a month ago, I was sitting outside in a lawn chair when I noticed a small dog coming up the hill. The approximately three-year-old male Chihuahua came straight up to me, jumped in my lap and used his nose to lift my palm so I could pet him on the head.

He’s been in my lap almost every evening since.

I don’t know what it is about our home that attracts animals. As soon as the sun goes down, the yard is dotted with rabbits. Bird couples return every year to nest underneath the eaves and soffits. I’ve found baby possums in my landscaping. Cats hide their poop in my mulch. Now, a strange dog wants to move in.

Perhaps he heard we had a soft spot for dogs, after we took in our neighbor’s Shih Tzu when they could no longer take care of him. Perhaps he heard I dole out honey roasted turkey slices every night at about 10 p.m. Or perhaps he heard we offer exceptional accommodations and unconditional love. In any case, we apparently have four dogs, double what we would like to have.

I thought the Chihuahua would go back to his home at the bottom of the hill. But every morning for a week I found him camped on our doorstep. Finally, I packed him up and took back to his home. No one was around, but I spotted a bowl of dog food and water on the porch. I thought his owners may have been on vacation. So, I left him there.

But on the way back up the hill, I looked in the rear-view mirror and saw the little Chihuahua running as hard as he could to catch up. He almost beat me back home.

“OK, I told him, you can stay until your owners get back home, but then you’ve got to leave. We can’t take another dog.” I had to call him something, but didn’t want to spend a lot of effort thinking about it — something generic since he wasn’t staying. I called him Bob.

Bob eventually weaseled his way from the doorstep, through the door and into our home. He settled right in with the other dogs. What were they going to say? “Our crazy parents have adopted another a child. Move over, and don’t mess with my turkey slices.”

Every day, I drove by Bob’s home to see if I could spot any signs of life. Finally, I noticed a man outside mowing the lawn. I stopped and asked him if he was missing a male Chihuahua.

Yes, the dog had been staying there, the man said, after showing up back in the winter. He had been feeding him and had even built him a dog house. Good, I thought. Bob would be reunited with his owners. But, the man seemed reluctant to take Bob back in because he didn’t think he would stay.

He explained that his wife had just left him, and Bob had split soon afterward. He works all the time, so he figured the dog just got lonely and took off.

Wow, that’s tough, I thought, losing your wife and your dog at the same time. He didn’t say which one he missed the most.

The man pleaded with me not to take Bob to the dog pound. Almost in tears from his sob story, I promised to find Bob a good home. I just didn’t figure it would be my own.

Now, the kids are boycotting us and threatening to call the TV show “Hoarders” so they can do a segment on a couple that keeps too many dogs. They don’t understand how we can take in another responsibility when we’ve got five grandkids under the age of four to worry about.

The kids are also wary around Bob. They think he’s a devil dog with his fiery red eyes and a protruding underbite that makes him look like he was crossbred with a wart hog. He does look funny, but he’s a sweet, little dog.

It’s a logical argument. We don’t need another dog. But Bob, the product of a broken home, chose us. We are not going to abandon him.

If anyone needs a male, housebroken, mild-mannered Chihuahua, orthodontic needs aside, please give me a call. But you have to promise him exceptional accommodations and unconditional love.

In the meantime, I’ll be sitting outside with Bob on my lap, looking for the “Hoarders” crew and hoping for marital harmony in my neighborhood.



wsawyers@sentinel-echo.com