Was Lucky, Lucky, or Not?

I first saw him running down the middle of the road. He was pretty confused, I thought, to be wandering down the middle of a highway, with fast cars and trucks going by. A young hound, maybe a year or so old, and I could tell he would ultimately be a big boy. I turned my truck around, and picked him up. No collar, no tags. I took him home, and kept him for a couple of weeks. I named him Lucky, since, if I hadn't picked him up, he probably would have been flattened on the road in a short while, and then food for the buzzards. He was short-haired, chestnut brown with large white spots, and all muscle and big paws. He had a way of cocking his head and pointing his ears, and staring at me with big blackish brown eyes that seemed set so close together that he looked comically cross-eyed. When I first took him in, I had no idea how energetic and rambunctious he could be. I could not trust him to be in any room alone. If I did, I would find that he had chewed up a couch cushion, or turned the wooden leg of a chair into a splintery mess. He also ate like there was no tomorrow. He would clean out his bowl seemingly in a single gulp, then push it around with his nose or paws chasing it across the kitchen floor before settling down to simply gnaw at it endlessly. My dog, Life was 6 years old, and spayed, and she had her own issues regarding Lucky. She enjoyed romping around with him in the back yard, but had absolutely no interest in this horny youngster always trying to climb up onto her back. Oh me, What have I gotten myself into?!

At last, after running a 'free dog' ad in the paper that got little response, I resigned to taking him to a shelter. It was a hard drive to take. The whole time I was driving there, Lucky was licking eagerly on the passenger side window like it was delicious. The people at the shelter, are good at making connections between orphaned cats and dogs and people who might want them. They would study Lucky and his temperament, and whether he would respond to training. If that went well, he would be put up for adoption. If it did not go well, he would soon be euthanized. I didn't want to think about that possibility. The trainer who took him in, seemed mild-mannered, and a lover of animals. He felt he could probably work with Lucky, and that reassured me a little. He thought Lucky would make a good hunting dog. I still felt full of mixed emotions upon leaving. I looked over at the passenger window smeared with drying slobber. Good luck, Lucky. Maybe, you stand a chance.

Two weeks later, I went back to the shelter. Lucky was gone. They had, indeed, found a hunter interested in training him as a field dog. I felt relieved. Maybe Lucky had found his element. Maybe he's a squirrel dog now, or a bird dog. Happy hunting, Lucky!