Something Borrowed

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The dog with its blanket in its mouth stares at me, and I stare at him.

The both of us not understanding what just happened. One minute I was reading Matt's Facebook plea for his dog the next minute I had the lady on the phone asking if the dog is still available now Tank and I are sitting in the back seat of a taxi heading home.

This is wrong on so many levels, but I just couldn't let the dog stay at some kennel where his time was running out.

My mom is always saying I'm a bleeding heart.

The dog looks shaken in the back seat. Trying to soothe it down petting it's head, behind the ears. Talking to it like he's a person.

The blanket in its mouth looks old, with lots of holes throughout. The lady at the kennel telling me that the dog takes it everywhere. It's a fight to get it away from him to wash it.

Once at home, the dog naturally follows me inside with a swing to its tail dragging his blanket on the ground. He's sniffing every spot in the house until he lifts up his leg and pees on the side of the couch.

"Bad Tank, bad boy." Pointing my finger at him; he crouches in his spot, ears flopping miserably down his head making him look very innocent and sad. I have a tint of regret with the way I just yelled at the dog.

"Outside." Walking towards the sliding door that leads to the fenced in backyard. That was a thought of mine when I bought the house if I ever got a dog at least I don't have to put a fence up.

He sniffs around the yard, while I clean the pee off the floor and couch. Once done, I sit outside on the patio chair my mom bought me for the deck. The dog leaving it's blanket beside my feet while it picks up a stick that's fallen onto my side of the yard from the neighbor's tree. He brings it over to me with a big tail wag putting it down at my feet nudging the branch forward with its nose looking at me with a turn of his head to the side. Another nudge of its nose on the stick that's now on my feet. Reaching down picking up the stick, the dog walks backward slightly muscles bunching ready to spring when I release the first throw. It's a fun game of catch that I don't think this dog tires from easily.

Tank seems like a very good dog. Matt was right about him, just that minor incident of peeing on the couch, but I forgive him. This is new for him and he's probably scared.

Taking my phone out, taking a picture of the dog's mouth with the stick in it.

Posting it on Facebook, the first picture I put up in months. Within seconds the likes start to come, people asking if it's my dog. Responding to them that it's a rescue dog, not claiming ownership because it's not mine. I will give him back once Matt gets out of jail, he's the real owner.

Within the first week of housing this dog, he has destroyed my best pair of shoes; he has torn up the grass in the back yard so bad that when he comes in now I have to wipe his feet or else he will track mud into the house. He's able to open the fridge up somehow and eat whatever leftovers are available, leaving his dog food in the bowl untouched, he likes real food.

He's able to open up the sliding door at night to let himself out to pee; he just doesn't close the door back up when he comes in.

One morning I woke up to dogs terrible farts, he got into the deviled eggs the night before eating all ten of them while I was in the shower. When I opened my eyes nearly gagging on the stench, my lips were pressed against what I thought was the dogs head, no it was it's ass that I had on my lips.

Buying him a crate to sleep in, the dog just kept whining all night long, the both of us not sleeping until he was up on the bed, instantly he was snoring while I thought this dog might be smarter than me.

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