The Red Dog Inn

White chocolate and carob dipped dog biscuits. (Remember: Chocolate is toxic to dogs. Butters' got into chocolate one Christmas and had to have his tummy pumped. Not cheap!)

I love:

• Dave and Marilyn, the great couple who live on the edge of the park, because they don’t mind when their border collie brings home a few friends and runs them through their freshly remodeled home.  
• The Dogfather (not a typo) who knows all the dogs and their people and helps damsels in distress.
• Auntie Tracy, who spoils my dogs silly.  Case in point: She’s sent Butters white chocolate dipped milkbones for Valentine’s day and overnighted a box of canine chicken jerky.
• Dawn, who rescues basset hounds regardless of their circumstances and finds them forever homes.
• Friends Sonia & Kim who bring their dogs to the park and make me walk with them
• Great neighbors who enjoy my dogs as much as I do and help me when I need it
• Great neighbors who think a basset hound howl is music.
• A great vet
• A compassionate chiropractor who gave me another 12 months with Mr. Finley and rescued a lovely pitbull who thinks she’s my lapdog
• Good friends who force you to bust out a dog in need
• The folks who help find homes for Baghdad Pups
• People who help us understand our dogs better
• Great groomers
• Dog-friendly businesses

I love :: people who love our canine companions.

Butters is my treasure.  Butters path to The Red Dog Inn was an interesting one. 

I learned of Butters through my friend, Amy.  Amy’s boss was fostering this dog, but his golden retriever was driving him nuts.  The dog was left behind when his family moved. Somehow he got to Amy’s boss. I received an email, “Suzi, could you take him? If not, they’re taking him to the shelter.”

I had Finley, a 14-year-old golden retriever.  Oh boy. So I wrote back, “Amy, let me come see him.”

I dragged my pal, Liz, along that day to give him the once over. I should know better than to take Liz.  I had no intentions of coming home with another dog on my birthday, but after seeing him, Liz hit me in the arm and whispered, “We’re busting him out today!” 

So I looked at the lady of the house and said, “We’ll just take him now, if that’s okay?” As soon as she clipped on his leash, he pulled us out the gate to Liz’s SUV and loaded up as if to say, “See ya!”

When we got home, I gave him a flea bath and tried to take out some of the mats from his coat. Oh my goodness… my tub looked like tribbles bred it it!

 The first night, he let me pat him on the head, then he went outside to lay for a few hours.  Finley took it in stride. (I love that dog and miss him terribly to this day.)  The next night, I was able to pat him on the head twice, and he went outside to lay for a few hours before I made him come inside to sleep.

I made an appointment with my vet.  He was healthy, about 3 or 4-years-old, but he was matted, and he had fleas. She body clipped him. Now… I don’t know if he’d never been pet before, but when I ran my hands down his fuzzy crew cut, he melted. Today, he’s a petting junkie!!! 

Butters is a handsome charmer.  He’s quick with a wave and a kiss on the cheek. He’ll charm you out of your last Milkbone or insist that you pet him until you can pet no more. Women are particularly captivated by him. His Auntie Tracy even overnights gourmet dog treats to him!  But, he always knows where his mom is and how to get to her. He’s as polite as can be and a sweet, sweet boy. I even catch him acting like Finley every once in a while.  (Thanks for the help, Fin’.)

In short, Butters is my found treasure. He’s priceless.  He’s going no where.  He’s home… forever.

I LOVE:  Butters… my found treasure.