The Luck of an Abandoned Pup

It was, for a change, going to be a sunny and warm long weekend at the end of May, 1999, and a few friends and myself went camping at Cultus Lake, about an hour’s drive from Vancouver, BC. On the Sunday, we had decided to go to the water slides, and were playing football at the field beside them when we heard screeching tires from the highway next to us. Wondering what the commotion was all about, we saw a small puppy meandering his way across the busy street, and one of the passengers of a car that had stopped tried to catch the little fur ball, but he ran scared into a parking lot, and traffic continued to flow. Not wanting to see the poor dog try to cross the highway again, and perhaps not be so lucky next time, I went after him, hoping to catch him and find his owners. Once again, the little dog took off in fright, and as I crawled under cars to reach him, he dodged from the safety of one to another, until I cornered him at the edge of the parking lot fence, only because he was desperately trying to get at the water splashing from the pool inside the fence. Little was I to know at the time, that after such a pursuit, that the little fellow was to become like my second shadow for many years.

Since I had a broken wrist at the time, and could not get the cast wet, I stayed at the field with the puppy while my friends went in for an afternoon of fun. I had no dog supplies with me, but after thirstily drinking from the water jug I had, and assuming he was also very hungry, we shared a meal of sour cream and onion potato chips, the only food I had with me. Since he had no dog tags or collar on, I fashioned a dog leash out of a piece of rope I had in my truck, then tied him up for a nap, while I crossed the highway and bought some dog food from a corner store, and he spent the rest of the weekend camping with us. When I took him home, I called the SPCA to see if anyone was looking for a lost puppy, gave a description, and was told that two others of the same description had been picked up, and they figured a litter had been abandoned. Since the SPCA is always overcrowded with homeless dogs, they asked if I could look after him ‘for a few days’, which I said was fine. I never heard from anyone looking for him, and since May 23rd, 1999, I have been ‘looking after him’.

Even before I knew I was keeping him, every dog needs a name, and the choice to me was obvious. Within an hour of the time I had found him, thousands of miles away in Kansas City, Missouri, WWF wrestler Owen Hart had fallen to his death in a terrible accident, and, I hope, in respect to him, I named my new friend Owen. I took him for a vet check-up and shots, etc., and the vet figured the pup was about 8 weeks old. He quickly fit into our family, getting along well with our other two dogs, a 9-year-old pug, Reilly, and especially our one-year-old Border collie, Kelsey. Owen and Kelsey were best friends from day one, and spent hours romping and playing around the house and in the backyard. If I could tell for sure, there is no doubt in my mind that the worst day of Owen’s life was November 29th, 2002, when Kelsey passed away at the age of four, after ingesting rat poison left out on a farm at the dyke where we took our daily walks. While he has many neighborhood friends, like Maggie, Kayla and Monty, he has never been as playful and energetic as he was with Kelsey, and may she rest in peace.

While no one is sure of the breeds Owen is made up of, and the number may be many, he is quite a character. At 107 pounds, he thinks he is a lap dog, and once used the couch as a stepping stone to sprawl comfortably on my lap while I was in the recliner, leaving me wondering how to get up. Every night he gets up onto my bed, and over the course of the next half hour attempts to push me out, until I finally have to tell him to get down. With a huge sigh, he will lie on any articles of my clothing lying around, and is soon snoring away. He is a gentle, docile teddy bear, who absolutely loves kids and car rides, and it is a shame that some people are so intimidated by his size. When walking, he will try to poke his head into any baby carriage that happens to pass by, and if he is not kept on a leash at the dyke parking lot, he will climb into any car door that happens to be open. He is curious about other animals, and seems indignant when cats and squirrels run from him, and was most offended this past summer when the black creature with the white stripe down its back sprayed him with the foulest smelling perfume he had ever come across. While he likes wading, and walks through every mud puddle he can find, he hates baths, and the tomato juice bath he had to endure after that episode will hopefully serve as a lesson.

While there are thousands of unwanted and homeless dogs in the world today, I wanted to share with you the story of one that, in my opinion, lucked out in finding a good home, and is living, pardon the pun, ‘a dog’s life’. When I decided to make a website, dogs were really the only subject that interested me enough to write about, and I hope you enjoyed Owen’s story, and find the rest of the website interesting and helpful.

If you do, please email me at: sharproad@yahoo.com