Don't Judge a Book by Its Cover
The Story of Bullyboy
The first time I saw him, he only looked at me with great curiosity. I looked back at him, equally as curious, wondering how it was his owners had been so careless as to let him roam the streets. He had no collar, therefore, no identity tags. He was obviously an expensive boy as he appeared to be a purebred American Bulldog. He had been picked up as a stray by our local dog pound. He sat there, waiting for his family to come take him home.
The next time I saw him, he put up quite a ruckus, barking at me with everything he had, and jumping up on the fencing of his kennel – the only thing which separated us. On this trip to the pound, I asked about his story. No one could tell me much about him, however, I was told, quite firmly, that he was people and/or dog aggressive. He was certainly scary with his loud bark, I’ll give him that. Still he sat and waited for his family to come take him home.
The next occasion for being at the pound brought the same response from this boy as I walked by his cage – more barking, and more jumping at the fence. All this vocalization, plus the fact I had been informed he was people and/or dog aggressive, was enough to make me cut a wide path as I walked by his cage. Again, he sat waiting for his family to take him home.
A few days later, we received an email from a rescue group – what did we know about the bulldog? An email reply back that we had been informed he was people and/or dog aggressive, and when it came to taking his picture – the most I would volunteer to do would be to take his picture through the cage. The rescue group's request soon followed, “please take his picture, even through the cage”. So I did. And he ferociously barked at me the entire time. Still no family to claim him.
Another email from the rescue group asking for more information. The officer who picked up this boy advised me she had quite a time getting him into the truck, and actually had to call for help. She said he tried to “come after” her, and for the one and only time since she has worked at the dog pound, she had her pepper spray out and ready to give him a shot when help arrived. Given a few more minutes, the bulldog calmed down, and the two officers were able to load him in the truck.
During this same trip, a second dog pound employee advised me she had been in the cage with him earlier that day, playing. Hummm, which was it – was he aggressive, or was he a “sweet” boy? More waiting for his family.
Both of us then ventured to the dog pound to see this boy one more time. We inquired about taking him out of his cage, and one of the employees told us to follow her so we could see what he did when she brought him out. He came out of the cage with absolutely no problems. He looked at both of us, and gave us sort of a “ho-hum” look, more interested in where he was going than in either of us. As he entered the waiting area of the pound, there was a small white terrier who had just been adopted, and had not quite left the facility yet. Oh please, dear Lord, do not let there be an incident. The bulldog walked by the terrier, with just a gentle sniff of her nose, and then his attention turned back to what was going on for him. We sat in the chairs, watched him, and petted him. As a matter of fact, he jumped up on Kim’s lap asking for more pets. He seemed just fine – no aggression. And still no one to claim him.
A report back to the rescue group brought forth a positive email – they wanted him to be on the next transport - they would take him. A collective sigh of relief, and a happy, “yippee” went up from us. No more waiting for a family who was obviously not going to come take him home.
On the following Saturday, at “0 dark-thirty”, the beautiful bulldog was brought out to load the transport vehicle. As he happily jumped in the front seat, he turned around and looked at the dog pound employee, at me, and at the transport driver, Kim. It was at that moment that he truly touched my heart, and brought tears to my eyes. He looked at Kim, and realized something very special was happening for him. He nuzzled into her neck, and gave her several kisses. He was saying, “Thank you. I know my life is being saved.”
As the transport pulled out that morning, I said an extra big cheer of “everybody find a wonderful home”, and felt the happy tears filling my eyes as I particularly thought of the bulldog. The one who had been so unjustly mislabeled, and who, because of that label, could easily have ended up yet another statistic.
He had no name. But I chose to call him “Bullyboy” in my heart. I’ll always remember Bullyboy, and I’ll always be grateful for “opening the book with the bad cover, and reading the pages to see what the story really was”.
Story and photo by C. Corbin