In January we briefly adopted an Anatolian shepherd named Roxy from the local animal shelter, until she stalked the semi-feral cats living in our garage. Sadly, we had to return her, although she was otherwise a very sweet dog who’d had a rough life, living on the street for several months before the animal shelter was able to capture her.
Tuesday evening I was walking our two dogs around the track at the local high school, when I noticed a guy walking two dogs, a small dark Chihuahua and a large tan dog, outside the school fence, paralleling us. They were on the marina access road so I saw them in glimpses, actually on the other side of the track’s grandstand, as well as a long hedge. But the larger, tan dog looked enough like Roxy to remind me of her.
The gate connecting the high school track was open, and we both reached it at the same time, with my two approaching just as they were a few yards away, so that I called Edie and Nora back. I’d let mine off leash at this point, and they led me into the tall grass by the fence just as the guy and his dogs began walking around the rip-rap along the shoreline, outside the fence.
Which was when I heard him speaking to the larger dog—it sounded as if he called her Roxy. Did I hear that right?
Then I heard him call her Roxy again. It was too much of a coincidence, I had to ask.
Yes, he had adopted her from the Alameda animal shelter, and she was an Anatolian shepherd mix. He had adopted her a couple months ago. It was the same dog we’d had for two days.
So we approached the fence, and she put her nose up to say hello. She was always an aloof dog, so she wasn’t effusive in her greeting. I wondered what Edie thought when she put her nose out in an inquisitive hello. Nora, of course, was her little bouncy buggy self, probably sniffing a half dozen things in the grass, at the fence, the other dogs, all in the time it took us to say hello.
I talked to the guy for a bit, explained what had happened, and he confirmed that he had to grip the leash hard when she spotted any cats, as she would lunge for them. She had generally fit in well with his other dog, and with the household. They had no cats. He said it was fine to offer her treats, but she seemed un-interested. So I went back to using them to try and inculcate recall in my little Manchester terrier’s noggin.
Had he and his wife renamed Roxy, we never would have known. Or if he hadn’t called her by name; we’d have continued walking net to each other, both on our own sides of that cyclone fence. It did my heart good to know Roxy has landed in a good place. I still wonder what her prior life was like, how she ended up flea-bitten, ribs showing, surviving on the street for several months—and at six years old, who knows what life had been like before that?
Also odd for Nora to meet her. Had Roxy worked out for us, we never would have adopted our little 15 pound package of terrier dynamite. Ain’t life strange?