Bruno's Story

Bruno is a dog.
Bruno is a mixed-breed dog.
Bruno is a mixed-breed shelter dog.
Bruno is a big, black, mixed breed shelter dog.
Bruno is a big, black, mixed-breed high-kill "shelter" dog.

With each statement, his chances of making it out alive got less and less.  He is one of the lucky ones at Pima Animal Care and Control, PACC, of Tucson, AZ.  Last time I looked at the pet section of Tucson's craigslist, someone had posted that they killed 54 dogs in a day.  None of these dogs were "unadoptable"; some were sick with minor illnesses (usually URI, upper respiratory infection- a cold), others had treatable injuries (such as from fighting with kennelmates, the dogs are kept 2-3 to a cage) some were pregnant or lactating, some were starved and skinny, and others were "too shy to adopt".  Some had simply run out of time, and were killed to make room for new inmates.
Before their time was up, the dogs were kept in concrete-floored runs, overcrowded, no beds to lie on, and no walks except for the occasional volunteer.  Even dogs previously housetrained were forced to eliminate in their sleeping area, which is very stressful to dogs.

For these reasons, it was practically imperative that I save a dog from that hellhole.  I was visiting my dear sister Molly in Tucson, where she lived at the time. I was in Arizona to go to a primitive-skills campout/seminar called WinterCount (see backtracks.net for more info, if you're curious.)  I had just lost my dear friend Ginger, an 11-year old racing-bred Alaskan Husky, and was craving canine companionship.  (Ginger deserves a whole post of her own to tell her story, so I'll save it until then.)

So without telling anyone my plans, I sneaked out of her house, down to the pound "just to look at the dogs" and maybe choose one to come back and adopt later, after thinking about it for a few days.  NOT!  I had seen on their website that Bruno was half-price because he'd been there nearly two months, and though he didn't have a set "expiration date," his time was running out.   I saw him sitting sadly in his kennel and it was love (or maybe pity) at first sight.  I also said "Oh! I thought he was bigger!" because in his photo on the web, he looked Labrador or German Shepherd sized. Here was a trim little 50-pounder, not an 80 lb bruiser.  "Bruno! What a dumb name! I'll have to change that," I thought.  Ha- famous last words...

So I took him, paid my money, and walked out with a dog.  Now what?  I had no way to get him back to Molly's house, as I didn't have a car. This is how I even got to the shelter in the first place:
 I had started walking, but it was WAYYY farther than it looked on a map. And it was hot, so I sat down at a bus shelter to wait and rest.  As it ended up, a man who started talking to me offered to drive me the rest of the way there.  Ah, what the heck. I have my phone and it's not far, I figured.  The car was littered with McDonald's wrappers and there was a glass pipe full of marijuana in plain site.  But he was kind.

How to get back?  Well, Mr. messy-car-pothead had given me his phone number in a vain attempt to flirt with me, so I called him back, and he came and picked me and my new dog up and drove us to Molly's house.    

The first thing anyone said when we came in the door- "Whose dog is that?"  Well, he's mine now...

A few days passed, while I next put my brain to work figuring out how to get him and me back to Oregon.  (for anyone not familiar with Western American Geography, that's a two day drive, at least.)  Still no car.  No money to pay for a plane ticket and have him in cargo.  No dogs allowed on Greyhound (ironic, eh?)  So that left one choice:  The almightly CRAIGSLIST RIDESHARE.  

I replied to posts that were even reasonable close to my destination- San Fran? Sure, I can find someone to take me the rest of the way to Portland.  Seattle? Okay, just drop me off along the way.  Boy, I can tell you, there are so WEIRD people out there.  My first ride I thought I'd figured emailed me to tell me she decided to leave early without me.  One guy insisted that I not wear deodorant while in his car.  One guy told me that he had to stop in Indio, CA, so he could use his foodstamps. "No, dude, food stamps are a NATIONAL program, you can use them anywhere in the USA."  He was sure that since he applied for them in Indio, he had to use them there. No use arguing with stupid, I guess...

I ended up getting a ride with a long-haul trucker (name withheld because he broke his company's rules to take me.)  He was taking a load of scrap metal from Phoenix to San Francisco, and then going home to Portland. Score! A direct route.

The drive took two days.  Where did we sleep?  The cab of the truck had buckbeds in it- I took the top one, the trucker took the bottom. He snored like a jackhammer!  During the day, we talked about the few things we had in common (a love of travel, dog ownership, that was pretty much it.)  He said he wanted to get a dog to ride in his truck with him, but hadn't decided what kind would be best.

After 2 days and hundreds of miles and learning more than I will ever need to know about commercial trucking, we pulled in Portland, Oregon, my home town, and as they say, the rest is history.