When I found Bailey at the pound, he was so malnourished that the Humane Society mis-identified him as a hound dog – just a depressed pile of bones and droopy skin. He could only walk about 15 feet at a time before he’d need to stop and rest for a moment.
Then, as we fed him and exercised him he grew. And grew. I went from being able to pick him up and put him in the back of the car to, well, having to just swear at him helplessly if he didn’t feel like getting in. This was 12 years ago. He’d eventually get to about 150 pounds, almost no fat. His dog bed was a twin mattress.
He was never an easy dog. Not even the rosiest of glasses could paint that image. He was protective and bad with strangers and would shed baffling amounts. More than once…
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