PREVIOUSLY KILLED ANIMAL: TROUT
- Ashley
- Aug 14, 2017
- 3 min read
"Ah. It says here, 'P.K.A. Previously killed animal.' He's killed an animal," said the volunteer at the humane society.
"Oh," we said, trying to hold off judgement. "Does it say what kind of animal?"
"Trout."
P.K.A. . . .
Previously known as.
The poor guy's name was Trout.
Patrick and I adopted an older dog back when we were first dating. Her name was Tippy, and she was wonderful. She was deaf and blind, and we thought she was dead at least once a day, but she made our little unit complete. She passed away in the summer of 2015, and she took quite some getting over.
Patrick, in particular, was not ready for another dog for a long time.
I, on the other hand, missed the company of a furry friend almost instantly. I grew up with dogs and, as my family will attest, used to write "Ashley + Yankee" on the firs surrounding our house. Our home didn't feel right without a dog.
One of my colleagues volunteered her time at a dog shelter, Safe Haven Humane Society in Albany, Oregon. She was a foster mom to the dogs that were waiting for homes, and she persistently let me know when dogs were brought in. It didn't take much convincing until I was out there meeting rolly little pugs and rowdy doodles. Eventually I drug Patrick out to meet one of the gems I found-- a long-haired lady named Honey at the Humane Society of Polk County. Unfortunately, Honey was over 11 years old and was too tuckered out by the afternoon to even bring herself to stand. "We can't get another old dog that's just gonna die," he said.
Fair enough.
A while later, Patrick had maybe an hour before he had to be somewhere. "Let's just take a quick look around," I said, and I got him to come with me to Safe Haven.
Safe Haven is big, and sterile, and privately owned. They have such a capacity that they even accept trucks of adoptable dogs from California and neighboring states. We arrived just after one of these arrivals, so almost every kennel was at double-occupancy. We passed one dog that was in his pen all by himself, howling and jumping and making a real ruckus. We continued on to a kennel that held two little scruffy dogs of similar size and color. We asked the attendant if we could spend some time with the dogs, and he set us up in the small visitor's room to the side. The two little scruffy dogs were fun, but they peed a bunch and didn't seem to have a lot of personality. All the while, Patrick kept looking out the glass divider to the barky dog we had passed on the way in. "Can we see that dog?" Patrick asked, as we watched a big family oodle and point to the loud dog in his cage. "Sure-- I'll get him for you," the volunteer said.
When the loud dog came in to the visitor's room, he immediately went to Patrick and started licking his face. He adored Patrick and wanted to sit on his lap and stare at him the whole time. Finally, I didn't have to do any convincing: Patrick was sold.
Trout is a puggle-- a mix between a Beagle and a Pug. He's about eight years old (maybe more, judging by the white coloring on his face), and he has plenty of habits that we attribute to his years in "the system." He had been returned to the pound at least three times-- initially; when his name was Trout; and when his name was Remmy (woof). We didn't know what his original name was, but he still responded to 'Trout,' so we kept it. We love this little guy-- he's snuggly, energetic, and has become the most excellent van dog. So far he knows three tricks: sit, shake, lay down. He knows several words including 'special,' 'treat,' 'breakfast,' 'dinner,' 'fodder,' 'mudder,' and 'who's that?' His dislikes include fat kids walking by our house, helmets and Patrick and I being in separate rooms.