Stray Dog Brings Unexpected Joy

I rescued a giant stray dog. Or, more accurately, we rescued each other. A Great Dane mix was the last thing that I thought I wanted, but he turned out to be just what I needed.

“He’s the world’s biggest puppy!” smiled one neighbor, while another groaned, “You mean he’s going to get BIGGER?!” He was 89 pounds of black-and-white spotted energy.

I first saw him on Independence Day, when I was walking through my Los Angeles neighborhood to watch the fireworks. My doctors had urged me to take a short daily walk in the cool of evening to help me recover from chronic fatigue syndrome, a disability that suddenly left me unable to work.

On the worst days, my life partner Dillon prepared meals for me and my only activity was eating them. I usually walked at night to avoid people. I feared that they would wear me out and provoke a relapse. I was already two years into my disability on the day I met the dog who was destined to change my life.

We live on a winding, mountaintop road overlooking the city, so I was able to view several different fireworks displays in the distance. As bursts of gold and emerald sparks shimmered against the night sky, a large, dappled dog emerged from the bushes nearby.

He galloped ahead of me, stopped to sniff something, then ran to catch up with me again. I was impressed by his grace and his countless spots. He had short white fur with black spots, much like a Dalmatian, except he had more spots than usual and they ranged in size from big blotches to tiny flecks. This is the look of a Harlequin Great Dane. Since that night, the sight of him has inspired many strangers to stop and exclaim, “What a beautiful dog!”

Still, I didn’t think much about him until the next morning when I found him on our front porch. He greeted me with a joyful grin and a wagging tail. His brown eyes were intelligent and eager to please. Later a vet would estimate his age between six months and one year. He had a dirty piece of rope around his neck -- and quite a few fleas -- but no identity tags.

Dillon and I had been toying with the idea of getting a dog, a small dog. We resisted feeding this giant, reminding ourselves of the many practical reasons against adopting him. Wasn’t I too weak to help train him, or even hold him on a leash? How could I carry the huge amounts of dog food he would eat? For that matter, how could we afford to buy it? Yes, yes, yes and yet -- there was Winston. Before we knew it, Dillon had named him.

In just the first three days, he made our lives better. We found ourselves looking out the window often, happy to see that Winston was still there. Other people fed him, but he chose to hang out in our yard. My walks, once solitary affairs, became family adventures as both Winston and Dillon suddenly wanted to join me.

During these walks we asked everyone we met if they knew where Winston belonged. I discovered that Winston had already made friends with the entire neighborhood. Everyone agreed that Winston had once been well cared for, because he absolutely loved people. But nobody knew who owned him.

The neighbors informed us that lots of unwanted dogs get dumped in a nearby park. Somebody had already called the county animal shelter to catch Winston, but so far the animal control officers had not come. When dogs go to the local shelter, more than half of them end up being euthanized.

I longed to keep Winston, but I could not care for him by myself and I felt it was too much to ask of Dillon after all the extra burdens she had assumed due to my disability. On the fourth morning, we agreed not to adopt him.

Just a few minutes later a young man rang our doorbell. I had never spoken to him before, even though he lived right across the street. He offered to help us with Winston if we wanted to keep him.

Dillon said she would think about it while se was at work, and drove away to his office. I could tell she was excited by this new possibility.

I rested in the backyard by laying flat on a lawn chair as I always did. But it was not the same as always. Winston lay beside me.

Until that moment, I had not realized how lonely I was. Here was a loyal friend who was delighted to stay with me all day, even if all I could do was lay there silently. Winston was an easy playmate, overjoyed with any activity on my part. He also gave me something to think about besides my problems. Suddenly I realized that my heart had been broken by the many losses surrounding my illness. But that was past. Now I was healing and I wept tears of happiness.

Dillon came home that evening with a collar, a leash, a ten-pound bag of dog food and a big smile. Winston was home to stay.