This past February, my 17 year-old daughter and I were traveling from Wichita, KS to a basketball game in Joplin, MO. Out in the countryside, we had made a wrong turn onto the wrong road, yet were still on the right path. My daughter spotted a little creature ahead of us at the side of the narrow road. Immediately after, we both saw a semi truck coming toward us and more importantly, toward the little creature. As both we realized it to be a little dachshund, the semi rolled past it, sending it rolling into the gutter. When we finally passed the dog in our car, we saw her get up having escaped what we were sure was a hit by the truck. My now hysterical daughter insisted we go back, get the dog off the road and find her owner. We were late and semi-lost, but I reluctantly turned back. We retrieved the pathetic little dachshund and I drove to the nearest farmhouse praying it would be the right one so we could be on our way. It was, and it wasn’t. This was where the dachshund was staying but it was not her home. She had just shown up to the farm one day and the elderly woman who lived there was occasionally feeding her. “Did we want her?” she asked and I knew the answer when I looked into my daughters eyes. Never mind, that we already had a dachshund named Rusty at home in Wichita. So, off we went to Joplin. It wasn’t long in the enclosed little car that we realized, Sugar (we quickly named her for her brown sugar coloring) was filthy, flea infested and had very, very bad breath. This was only the beginning of her afflictions.

A very kind vet took us on short notice when we arrived in Joplin. He then proceeded to give us $1200 in services for $140. He felt sure she had been a crated breeder’s dog. Her muscles were underdeveloped due to a lack of exercise. No wonder the truck blew her over like a tumbleweed. She had been over-bred. She had gingivitis. Her claws were 2 inches long. Patches of fur were missing. Her ears were infected, cut up and losing fur. Part of her tail was missing. The vet printed out three diagnosis sheets. It wasn’t until we returned to Wichita and some time had passed that we realized her long list of neuroses. This poor little dog had been terribly neglected and abused. She doesn’t know what it means to play and chase a ball. Her tail is tucked in between her legs much of the time. When you call her to you, she crawls submissively and fearfully. When you hold her and speak kindly to her she groans plaintively, so grateful for the attention and love. She can’t get enough. It is a stark contrast to our Rusty, that we have had for 10 years. It is heartbreaking. She has the most soulful eyes we have ever seen and it is beyond our comprehension how anyone could treat her as she has been. She has won us over, even Rusty, finally. The rest of her life will be peaceful and comfortable. She adapted quite quickly to a life of comfort. She has beds and blankets all over the house and she had adopted my 15 year-old son as her own. My daughter is sure that the wrong turn we made onto the wrong road wasn’t so wrong after all.

Catherine from KS