Oscar

Oscar

Sarah walked into the house to find Abraham glaring at Oscar. The poor dog cowered beside the couch with one paw on Abraham’s foot.

Sarah could see a mess on the kitchen floor. “What happened here?”

“This dog ate the roast I had thawing on the counter,” Abraham growled, “and when I caught him, he peed on the floor.”

Sarah crossed her arms, “Why are you so impatient with him. He’s old. Look at him, he’s trying to make up to you. You know we are his last chance.”

It was true. They had adopted Oscar from the local shelter. He had been surrendered by the son of his original owner. Then, adopted and returned twice. This was his final chance before he would be euthanized.

Oscar was a good dog. But he was and old dog. His muzzle was grey from his eyes to his nose. He had a bit of arthritis from being a herding dog all of his life. His owner and best friend had died and was sent to the shelter.

He was a medium sized dog. Originally, he was black with a white star on his chest. When he was young, he was quick and brave. He had protected his sheep from wolves and bears and the occasional thief. Oscar was the head dog of the three that worked the sheep. That meant he ate first. He got along with the other dogs and was affectionate with the family until meal time. He had to be fed separately to avoid trouble. Otherwise, he was a great dog.

Oscar thought he was going to live with the farmer’s son, when he put him in his truck. But the son’s wife was afraid of Oscar and would not have him around her smaller dog. That is how Oscar arrived at the shelter.

Oscar lay in the kennel sad and confused. He missed the farm and the sheep and the farmer. This place was noisy and lonely. No one stopped to talk to him.  That was okay with Oscar. The shrill voices of the children hurt his ears. They all clamored for the puppies. Only the staff paid him any attention.

One day, a nice middle-aged couple stopped in front of Oscar. They didn’t smell of children, that was good. The man had a weather face like he worked outside. Oscar was encouraged and wagged his tail. The lady had a soft voice and kind hands.

He rode to their home in the back of the car and slept in the sun coming through the window. At the house, he was shown his bed in the laundry room with a soft old blanket. It would be a good place to spend his days.

Unfortunately, they had a cat. Oscar hated cats. The minute they laid eyes on each other, the war was on; barking and hissing and crashing around the room. Oscar had the cat cornered when he felt the leash clip onto his collar. He was back at the shelter by feeding time. 

He curled in the back of his kennel dejectedly and stayed that way for a week. Then, he moved to the front and lay listlessly as people passed him by. A note reading “NO CATS”, was taped to his kennel.

The shelter had a thirty-day limit for keeping animals. Oscar was very close to that when an older man crouched in front of him. “No cats, that’s good by me. I don’t like ‘em either. I need a good watchdog though.”

The man walked Oscar to a pickup and helped him onto the front seat. Oscar crouched against the cushion as the truck sped down the street and bounced over some railroad tracks. The neighborhood was rough and the truck pulled onto a dirt front yard. “Come on boy,” the man said as he put Oscar on the ground. He led Oscar into the house. It didn’t smell very good. The man pointed to a blanket by the front door. “That’s where you sleep. Don’t let anybody in this house,” the man cautioned. Oscar understood the tone.

At first life was pleasant. The man gave him enough food and water and a coarse kind of affection. But the people that came to the house made Oscar uncomfortable. He felt they couldn’t be trusted. He stayed outside when they came.

One day, the man came out of his room with a knapsack. “I have to be gone a couple of days. Don’t let anyone in the house!”

Oscar didn’t know what that meant. As night came on, Oscar became anxious alone in the house. He heard a noise at the front door and barked a warning. He heard someone go around to the back door. There was a crash and someone came through the back door. Oscar charged to the kitchen, barking fiercely. Something heavy hit him across the shoulders and he yelped at a brutal kick in his ribs. Before another blow could fall, Oscar ran from the house to escape the beating. He ran, beaten and frightened, until he found a hiding place under a porch. Someone called animal control and Oscar was on his way back to the shelter. His thirty-day clock reset.

Sarah walked past his cage. She turned and came back, “Abraham, doesn’t this dog remind you of Jasper?” Abrahm peered at Oscar. “Yeah, if Jasper was old and beat up.” Jasper had been Abraham’s dog when he met Sarah.

Sarah bent down, “Hey boy, you wanna come live with us?”

Oscar didn’t move but wagged his tail. In the meeting yard, Oscar approached them cautiously and crouched in front of the couple. Abraham stroked his head gently and Sarah looked him over carefully. They walked a few paces away and called to Oscar. He trotted to them and looked at them wondering if they might take him out of here. They took note of the “No cats” warning and decided they met Oscar’s requirements. He was bundled into their SUV and carried to his new home.

Oscar tried to be a good dog. He slept where he was told and did all of his business outside. He only stole one of Abraham’s socks to sleep with. It took the man several tries to realize it had become the dog’s security sock.

Sarah laughed, “You should be flattered. He doesn’t want anything of mine. You are his guy.”

But Oscar could not resist taking food. If it was unattended, it was his. Sarah learned to put it all away. Abraham believed Oscar could be taught to have self-control. He would leave a sandwich on the counter or meat thawing in the sink. Oscar could not break a lifelong habit.

Each time Oscar stole food, Abraham would scold him and threaten to send him back to the shelter. Poor Oscar would cower and plead forgiveness. Abraham was slowly learning that Oscar was worth more to him than some pilfered food. But he would still threaten, “The next time he does this, he is gone!”

This day, Abraham was pushed past his breaking point. Not only has Oscar eaten a whole roast, he broke the bowl it was in and Abraham had cut his foot on the glass. “I won’t keep doing this, Sarah. He just won’t learn.”

Sarh looked at Oscar lying plaintively at the man’s feet. “If we take him back, they’ll put him down. Maybe you are the one that needs to learn.” She began to cry and left the room.

Abraham sat silent. Oscar went to his bed. He liked it here. These were good people. He wanted to stay. He picked up Abraham’s sock and went to him. He laid it on the man’s foot.

Sarah came back wiping her eyes and carrying Oscar’s leash.  “Come on, boy”, she choked.

Abraham put his hand on the old dog’s head. “No, don’t”, he said.