Free Oogy The Dog Only a Family Could Love by Larry Levin Page A

no way that I could stay. I was worried and sad and could not concentrate. I needed to be with Buzz; I was convinced that on some level, he would know I was there. I went home and sat next to him, reading a book while he slept. When the movie was over, I drove back and picked up Jennifer and the boys. We returned to the house; I put a pillow and blanket on the floor next to Buzz and curled up for the night.
    I called Ardmore when they opened the next morning and told them I was bringing Buzzy over. The boys said they wanted to come to the hospital with me, knowing it was their last chance to say good-bye to the cat they had known all their lives. I was both surprised and moved by their willingness to confront sickness and death; it evidenced a remarkable strength and maturity. It was also a testament to their deep connection with him. I put the blanket in the cat carrier and placed Buzz inside. I put him on the passenger seat next to me while the boys clambered into the middle seats. I kept one finger touching him the entire ride. I wanted to reassure him. I thought if he could feel me stroking him, he wouldn’t be afraid.
    At the hospital, one of the technicians gently removed Buzz from the carrier and took him into the treatment room. Dr. Peters, one of the two doctors on duty, said that Dr. Bianco would give us a call Monday morning. And then, just as we were getting ready to leave, another one of the staff members emerged from the back of the hospital with a pure white pup on a leash. The dog was so eager to go for a walk that he was straining to get out the door, pawing at the floor. The dog was a visual oxymoron. The right side of him was adorable, but the left side of his face was all flamingo pink scar tissue; it looked as if it had melted. His head appeared swollen, distorted. His right ear was flopped over itself. His left ear was a jagged stump of flesh a thumb’s width high. The back of his lower left lip drooped below his jawline. As soon as he saw us, he started this strange little dance. His head wagged one way and his butt the other; his tail whipped around as though he were trying to take off, which he was. His forepaws whirled on the floor as he tried to gain traction.
    The dog strained toward us, and Noah went down on one knee. With a sudden explosive force, the pup tore the leash out of the technician’s grasp and rocketed into Noah, knocking him over. Noah fell backward and lay stretched out as the dog stood on his chest, licking his face without pause. The boys started laughing as Dan reached over and began to pet the dog, who wriggled over to him and lapped at his face. I converged on the entanglement, and when I touched the pup, I felt that I had never met an animal with such soft fur. He was a plush toy come to life, as smooth as butter. I stood and cradled the dog in my arms as he licked my face and neck. The boys crowded around; the pup covered us with kisses. We fell instantly and completely in love with him. Seeing what was going on, the technician removed the leash from around the pup’s neck.
    The dog had run to us as though he had instantly recognized that we were his family and he had been waiting all of his life for us to arrive. He knew who we were to him. The union was instantaneous and complete.
    I asked Dr. Peters, “What happened to him?” It seemed rather obvious to me that the dog had been badly burned in a fire.
    Very matter-of-factly, as if he were telling me the score of a game, Dr. Peters stated, “He was a bait dog.”
    “What?” I asked. I was buying time to try to comprehend the enormity of his words. “What’s a bait dog?” I had never heard that term before, yet I had a sense it was nothing pleasant.
    “He was used as bait for a fighting dog. That’s how they teach them to fight. They’ll use anything they can get. Poodles, cats, you name it.”
    “Where do they get them?”
    “Strays. Petnapping.” He raised the first two fingers of each hand. “‘Free to