Rescue Dogs Rule

I didn’t know that what I needed was another dog.

The stop at the animal hospital was supposed to be a quick drop-off of a cat that was being spayed. It was just a favor I was doing for my mother, who has volunteered for animal rescue groups for as long as I can remember.

Midway through shifting the cat carrier to the vet tech, I overheard something at the front desk about a dog who’d been hit by a car and whose leg hadn’t healed after a month in a cast. The leg would have to go, but if the dog ended up an amputee, the city wasn’t going to help pay for his care because he’d essentially be unadoptable.

He’d have to be put down.

Before I could even consider the words and the ramifications, I said, “I’ll adopt him.”

Sight unseen. No idea of sex, personality, size, color, breed, age.

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They’d been calling the poor little dog Echo. On quick first encounter in the corridor that day, Echo, a male, seemed average: reddish-blond, medium size, no discernible breed. Except for his hard-knocks stray vibe, he was sort of unremarkable.

But then he looked up at me tentatively. He had big brown doe eyes, and a bloody left ear that looked like it had been cut off with a scissors (in fact, half of it had been ripped off in the same car accident that irreparably shattered his leg).

He had the shy, slight cower of dogs who have been abused and know they are unwanted. When he looked at me with that wary pleading, all I wanted was to give him a safe, loving home.

Sam — that’s the name my son gave him after briefly toying with “Tripod” — came home with me after the amputation of his back left leg. By then his ear was on the mend enough that it didn’t hurt just to look at it. His leg was another story.

Lopped off at his torso, there wasn’t even a stump where his leg had been. The stitched-up wound was almost a foot long.

It was Christmastime. There would be several return trips to the vet, but Sam and I had a couple of uninterrupted weeks of vacation time during which to bond deeply and heal slowly.

Today he is a sweet, lovable, and healthy member of my motley crew of rescues, adorable misfits once deemed unadoptable who fit together perfectly, idiosyncratically, and happily in my furry family.

Some might say I’m anthropomorphizing, but I’m sure Sam is grateful. I’m the one who should be grateful, though.

Looking at Sam — who is at the moment snoozing on his doggie bed under the desk where I’m typing — floods me with love. And being filled with love does a body good. The joy and companionship Sam gives bring out my best self. A two-time failure in marriage, I turn out to be pretty good at caring for otherwise-unwanted four-legged companions.

Sam’s wonderful quirky personality — a little sheepish and streetwise at the same time — endlessly warms, delights, and entertains me. He’s applied himself with determination to be just like the other dogs, and his can-do example touches everyone who meets him.

My neighbors like Sam more than they like me. And I approve of their empathetic choice. When we walk the streets of my usually keep-to-ourselves community, he melts HOA hearts.

“Who’s walking who?” someone will invariably say good-naturedly as we pass by. Some of the guys, impressed by Sam’s obvious heart as he lopes along, sometimes call out, “Looks like he’s doing just fine on three legs. Good for him!”

Invigorating walks in all weather, blanket-vying bed pile-ons, wagging tails in every greeting, bellies offered for petting, choruses of barking in protection and excitement — it’s hard to enumerate all I’ve gotten for saying yes to dogs in need.

That’s probably why Subaru’s dog campaign speaks to me. I’ve owned a Subaru or two over the years, but it’s not any particular car that draws me in.

I’ve always appreciated that some marketing genius picked “love” as the thing they wanted Subaru to be associated with: “Love. It’s what makes a Subaru a Subaru.”

The smart slogan and heartwarming commercials (the family of labs or goldens driving their Subaru with their cute puppy waving from its car seat!) are part of the now-legendary advertising and marketing campaign by Carmichael Lynch for Subaru. But what really pulls at my heartstrings is the fact that they put money and effort toward helping to find homes for pets — especially those hardest-to-adopt shelter dogs.

As part of its various “love” initiatives, Subaru established October 22 as National Make a Dog’s Day. Maybe you’ve seen their commercial with the old blind dog and the little snaggle-tooth pooch. Oh, my God, my heart overfloweth.

I’m temporarily maxed-out on four-legged family members, as you’d guess if you saw me wheeling my kibble-filled cart at the grocery store. But here’s hoping that some of you big-hearted folks reading this or seeing Subaru’s campaign will heed the call and open your hearts and homes.

Make a dog’s day. It will make your world.

If you can’t do it on National Make a Dog’s Day on October 22, the needy are always among us. If you respond to their need — especially those hardest-to-adopt shelter dogs — what you’ll get in return is a lot of love.

As part of its Subaru Loves Pets initiative, Subaru and its retailers are partnering with local animal organizations to help our furry friends and improve their chances at finding a safe and loving home. Learn more at subaru.com/pets.