Do you like stories about crackheads, stripper names and cute dogs? Of course you do. It's storytime! (Be forewarned - it's a long one)
People often ask me how I got Daisy. They figure that because she's a blue-eyed, all-white (read: rare and freaky cute) Jack Russell, I must've gone somewhere fancy.
Well... no. Not so much.
Daisy is a rescue through Jack Russell Rescue. The ex (henceforth referred to as "C") and I decided we wanted a chick dog to be a playmate for Jack, our other JRT. C had rescued dogs from the organization before, so we went right back to it. He found her on the site, we were saddened by her story and kinda intrigued by her strange look, so we signed up for her. And the bizarre adventure began.
C spoke with the girl who was giving Daisy away, and we made plans to pick her up in downtown Hamilton. We went to the apartment building and called. No answer. Having no idea what unit they were in, our only way of getting a hold of the owners was to call. Over and over. And over. No answer.
We circled the apartment building for hours, trying to figure out where they were. We spent forever just trying to find a way in the building so we could get our new girl and go home. But something was not right. The place was sketchy, they knew we were coming, and yet - nothing.
Finally, a man went out to his balcony. We called up to him, and he let us in the building. After explaining why we were there, he told us that there was a guy on the floor above him who had a bunch of dogs that were always barking. He wished us "good luck", and up we went.
We figured out which apartment they were in by calling their number and listening closely for the ring. We heard it, and they ignored the phone call yet again.
When we knocked on the door, we were greeted by the sound of dogs going absolutely crazy and a man screaming at them. He yelled "Misty, shut the fuck up!" a few times, and we knew we had the right place. Daisy's name used to be Misty, 'til we got her and changed it. (My dog is not a stripper.)
A girl opened the door and we were swarmed by dogs. Six of them, if I remember correctly. One of them was a little white Jack who was so happy to see new people. Another was a tiny Jack Russell puppy, Daisy's last baby, who kept jumping on me sweetly although he had a maimed paw.
The place was awful. A tiny bachelor apartment with overflowing ashtrays everywhere and newspapers on the floor for the dogs to pee on. I can't describe the smell, it was so bad. It housed 5 or 6 dogs, one cat, and two adults in that small space.
The man hid in the kitchen because he hadn't put pants on. We explained who we were to the girl. She was nice enough, but you could tell she got herself caught in a bad situation. Her eyes were glazed; she sat on the bed like she couldn't move as the man kept screaming at us from the kitchen. Lovely words like "Where's my fuckin' money?" and "Who the fuck are you?", etc, etc.
This was a crackhouse. They bred dogs for drug money, that much was apparent. Daisy had been their babymaker until she couldn't do it anymore - she no longer served a purpose for them, and that's why they got rid of her.
The girl kissed Daisy goodbye and gave us the leash. I felt for her, but she knew she was letting Daisy go to a better situation.
With tears in our eyes and our new dog at our feet, C and I got out of there as quick as we could.
On the ride to Toronto, we were fighting tears and anger because we wanted to go back and take the rest of the dogs. We felt so bad. But we couldn't do anything.
C and I knew right away that Daisy (no longer Misty) would have some issues. She was skin and bones, undernourished, had no idea how to walk on a leash or interact with new dogs. She was a sweetheart, ready to cuddle at any moment, but very afraid of being punished. Broke my damn heart to know that she was treated badly. If an arm was raised around her, she'd bark or cower. We have reason to believe her former owner hit her quite a bit. The signs of abuse were obvious.
She was a big part of our family immediately. Looking at the pictures above, you can see how well she fit with us, and loved her new best friend Jack. She became a happy girl, and she's the best thing I've ever known.
This is my girl now. Healthy, happy, fixed and very far away from her old life.
She is very loved, even by those that aren't around.
Moral of the story?
My bitch is the shit. And crack? Well, crack is whack.
The end. (You won't find a happier ending than this one.)