My dogs had a wonderful time sniffing all sorts of new things. They rode in the truck, along tiny rural highways, and stopped every couple hours to run and pee and bark. But somewhere along the way, a disturbing idea was planted in Mr S-P's consciousness.
When we found our little red-headed dog, he was unconscious in the middle of a stretch of Route 66, in Barstow, California. He had been hit by a car, but his only injuries were a concussion and a small flange broken off of one of his femurs. As we drove past him, he picked his head up, and Mr S-P slammed on the brakes. "That dog isn't dead!" He loaded him in the back of our car, and I spoke to him in soothing tones while we searched for an emergency vet. When he got seen, it was determined that he was about six month old, and had been wandering the streets for long enough that his intestines were filled with sand from whatever he scavenged from the desert. He was terrified of being put in a kennel that we had borrowed from a friend. He never made a peep when he was moved, even though he was injured, but when we attempted to put him in a cage so that we didn't have to worry about a strange dog around our cats, he yiped and cried and begged not to go in the cage.
We tried to adopt him out to one of the men who worked in the Mr's office, but apparently he was not a good fit for that family. So he came back to us, and by that time, the office guys had named him "Captain Speedbump." Bump named himself "mama's dog." He loved our whole family, but he seemed very protective of me, and I always wondered whether that was because it was my voice he heard as he woke up from the nightmare of life on the street and pain from the car that hit him. I got the credit for his rescue, even though it was his daddy who did the actual lifting from the road to the car. He turned into the best dog I have ever known.
And now on a two week long trip, he may have given up what happened to him in the pre-Smith days. All along the way, he moped when the truck stopped. He was very suspicious when the food bowls went down, and he frequently refused to eat. When it was time to load back in the truck, he was the first in, even before the tailgate was fully down. Mr S-P is convinced that he wasn't just a young stray in those early months. He thinks he was abandoned. I am so heartbroken at the idea of it. Bump is my very favorite dog of my whole life. I can't imagine how he must have felt to be left, or even just lost on a road trip. I know they tell you not to hug your dog, but it makes me want to hug him and promise that we will never drive him out and abandon him. I'm glad he's home so I can give him attention now.
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