Love Letter to an Old and New Dog
Hank’s 3-legged life was surrounded by love. photo: M Rocket
A little over a year ago, we lost our beloved tripod Hank.
More than just a family pet, Hank was a daily presence at our local alt-weekly newspaper, The Austin Chronicle, where he served as a freelance therapy dog, full-time staff member, occasional cover boy, and inspiration for countless marketing campaigns including the paper's annual Hair of the Three-Legged Dog Day Party during SXSW. His name appeared in the staff box in every issue under a title that changed weekly. He commuted to work in his own dog art car, complete with barking horn.
Hank came to us from our local Humane Society in January 2012. He arrived with fresh sutures showing where his left hind leg had been recently amputated, but minus any information about why that had been necessary or how he'd wound up in the shelter. He was already full grown, house trained, and had clearly spent time surrounded by humans. The veterinarian estimated his then age at between 1 and 3, making him at least 14 at the time of his death, though possibly older. His origins remain a mystery.
Hank had a genius for friendship. He loved people, other dogs, children, cats, and even the UPS driver, though squirrels not so much. He made the rounds of the staff offices every day, and he was always on hand in the reception area to greet any visitors. He was gentle, calm, and loving with naturally good manners, but he still maintained an air of intelligent independence. He was his own dog.
An Aussie mix, Hank was a handsome boy with golden brown eyes, pointed ears that could be deployed up or down, a harlequin face, and a luxurious soft coat of brown and white spots. He most closely resembled a breed called a Koolie, whose average age is 18 and who are never bathed, simply wiped down with a damp cloth even for show. Hank himself had just one bath in his life, when he got sprayed in the face by a skunk. He enjoyed water but only to drink; he was miraculously self-cleaning.
Hank never let his missing leg slow him down and was faster than many four-legged dogs. He generally peed on the side with the missing leg (so efficient), but if there was something on the other side that needed marking, he would occasionally do a handstand to lift his remaining hind leg, a move we called the Ghost Leg Pee. He greeted each morning by looking out a low window on the stairs at our house and wagging his tail at the new day. His optimism was relentless.
When Hank died, we knew he would be a hard act to follow. In fact, it took nearly a year before we could even think about opening our hearts to a new dog. But then, the first week of December, we got an email from a friend. A rural shelter about 45 minutes outside of town was looking for a family to foster a special boy, another spotted Aussie mix who'd come loping in from nowhere on three legs. Champ, as the shelter named him, wasn't chipped or tagged and he was heartworm positive, meaning he would need a calm foster home while he endured several months of lifesaving medical treatment.
What could we say? We jumped in the car and drove out to meet him.
As soon as the gate opened at the shelter's fenced yard, Champ came hopping out to greet us. He was missing the exact opposite leg from Hank's, the right front, as opposed to the left hind. He had one golden eye like Hank's, while the other was an icy blue. His spots were black and white with a few brown highlights. His friendly nature was all Hank, yet all his own, too. It was love at first sight.
Foster? Hah! We adopted him on the spot.
Like Hank, Champ is a dog of mystery. Our vet estimates his age at around five. He's fully house trained, loves kids, other dogs, and pretty much all humans. The surgery to remove his front leg wasn't recent and would've been quite expensive - yet he wasn't chipped or tagged and his previous people obviously didn't bother with heartworm prevention meds. The shelter had posted fliers and put out calls on social media for a solid month before we got him. Yet no one spoke up to claim him.
Champ still has at least four weeks to go on his heartworm treatment so he can't be a full-time office dog yet. But he's had a chance to meet the staff and sniff around the Chronicle complex, and his name is already in the staff box every week. On his rare visits so far, it's clearly been a mutual love fest. Folks can't wait to have another spotty friend underfoot as soon as he's cleared for work duty.
Where he'd lived, what he was called, how he'd come to wander into the dusty driveway of a rural shelter...these are things we'll never know about Champ. All we know is that we love him. And we have to believe that somehow Hank helped him find his way to us.