So I plucked Riley off the pages of Craigslist. I had been looking for a new dog for a couple of weeks but the search intensified after my "vacation" ended. I figured if I was going to be out of work I might as well make some good use out of it. Getting a new dog takes a certain amount of free time, at least at first, so I thought I should jump on the opportunity.
Riley was rescued out of the Brooklyn Animal Shelter by a rescue group, as apparently he was on a list to be put to sleep. There was nothing wrong with him except for a bit of a chest cold that needed a course of antibiotics. He was being bordered at a vet's office in Queens, about an hour from my house by subway. And after I made the trip out to meet him, we got off to a rocky start. He was quite the handful. His kennel was a small cage and he got two walks a day, as well as just a brief exercise period in the back, and always one dog at a time. To say he was frustrated would be a pretty big understatement. He constantly chewed on his own leash, he pulled me almost right off my feet, and he jumped up on everybody. He was almost too strong even for me.
So he was already qualifying as a dented can dog, but since he was so cute, I took him for a walk. He was horrible. Completely undisciplined, didn't pay any attention and didn't know how to walk on a leash. I had my doubts. But after a block he stopped trying to bite the leash and a block later there was a glimmer of some rudimentary training. I walked him aound the vet's neighborhood and he calmed down considerably. He was by no means good, but he was presenting a challenge, and I love that. I always date the bad boy. Plus, I thought he was gorgeous. What can I say? I'm shallow.
By the time I brought him back to the vet, I was pretty much sold. If for no other reason than I wanted to get the poor creature out of Queens.
So the next afternoon Riley was picked up and brought to me in Manhattan. He was to stay overnight, and I was to get up at 6:30 the next morning in order to take him waaaaay uptown (110th St.) to Manhattan Animal Control. He was scheduled to have his balls cut off. I hated the idea of bringing the poor thing from his second shelter in to my home, only to turn around and have to bring him to another shelter, and worse, this time have him get knocked out and wake up with his man-bits missing, but I guess having a person there to comfort him and a nice place to recover would count for something. I needn't have worried. By the time I picked him up around 6 that night he acted like he wasn't missing his balls in the slightest.
Tomorrow, I'll tell you what a hell hole Manhattan Animal Control turned out to be, and how they ALMOST GAVE ME BACK THE WRONG DOG!