The hardest part about taking care of this dog has been the fact that he does not even have a name.
Well, let me back up. The hardest part about taking care of this dog is watching his owners abuse, neglect and generally act like regular prick-fucks every time they interact with the little pooch.
His only respite from soiled water and no food each day is when he jumps over the fence that divides our parking lot and his shit-pad of a backyard. He is chained up with a link that is heavier than his head can move and it frequently get caught in the trees and trash this morons keep in their backyard.
That means every once in a great while when he jumps over he does not have enough chain to make the leap and ends up committing something close to doggie suicide when he tries to escape what I can only imagine is a festering pit of despair.
We have attmpted to to creat a varitable Berlin Wall of newspaper pallets to discourage him from trying to escape to his own finale. But with each stiff wind or act of vandalism, the pallets are removed and he make his leap of faith that there is enough chain to merely lay on the other side of the fence.
If the grass is always greener on the other side, then he must have it pretty bad to envy the black top we have here on our side.
Don't get me wrong here, cats and kittens. I am no tree hugging hippie or card carrying member of PETA. I don't live in a fantasy world where the animals around us are somehow our equal — Max might be my only exception simply becasue he is better than most people I encounter in Northeast.
But the amount of neglect and abuse this dog has gone though is criminal. And I will be the first to admit that the only reason I am even involved is probably because every time he jumps that fence he stares right at me though my office window.
I don't know. I thought about stealing him. Giving him a bath and adopting him as my own. But keeping him in an apartment — especially with as much energy as he has — would be just as abusive.
He is a great dog that I have been able to teach how to sit and shake in only a few days. He also seems to remember me and the other writers who have dropped phone calls to run outside and lift him over the fence each time he jumps for it.
Now if only he had a name. Then his theft...err, escape would be that much easier.