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I found the little puppy on a morning walk with my dog. He was curled up by a gate, miserable, wet and all alone. As often happens in this part of Italy, he had been torn from his mother and siblings and then simply thrown away.
I picked him up; he was breathing heavily and bubbles were coming out of his nose. What was I doing? I already had a dog, a big German shepherd named Sabra and my husband would not be at all happy if I brought home another dog. I put him down; he looked around, totally lost, and then frantically scrambled towards my feet. I picked him up again.
I thought… I’ll take him closer to town. That way someone passing by will see him and take him home. As I walked along the panoramica, the little puppy sat quietly in the crook of my arm, content for the warmth and company.
I put him down gently at the entrance to S. Agata. “There you go little guy. Someone will surely pick you up”, I assured him. He wandered away aimlessly when I suddenly realized a steep ravine yawned at the side of the road. Sabra studiously ignored the unfolding drama. I ran to catch him and realized I just couldn’t leave him there, all alone, to fend for himself. “Nope,” I said scooping him up, “you’re coming with me.”
When we arrived home I put the damp pup on the terrace and gave him some warm milk. He seemed anxious to eat, but gagged and couldn’t swallow, so before calling the vet, I wrapped him up in a blanket where he immediately plummeted into a deep sleep.
When the vet arrived he looked the dog over, clucking at what he heard in the stethoscope, and then diagnosed him with a severe case of bronchitis. His chest and throat, he said, were terribly inflamed and that was why he could not swallow any food. Puppy was injected with two different antibiotics and the vet told us to repeat the shots for another two days and hope that he survived.
I got out my camera and took a few pictures of the little tyke. Then I wrote to all my dog-loving friends, attached the pictures and asked for suggestions about a name. The response was immediate and unequivocal: Lucky.
Needless to say, Lucky survived and 11 days later, the time came for me to say good-bye and take him to his new owners. I was happy because he was going to a great home with four children and a 6-month old puppy playmate. What more could a little dog want than to play all day and never be alone?
It was hard to see him go. He’d morphed into a totally different little animal: always underfoot, playful, strong and belligerent. I’m really going to miss him.
Sabra, with a sigh of relief, won’t…