Champ
Before we moved out here to the country, we lived in Brownsburg, IN in a nice older neighborhood. We loved the house and the convenience of being close to everything, but the neighbor's dog had barked every day for 5 years. The neighbor wouldn’t do anything about it and Bill was the furthest thing from a dog lover, so we did the only thing we could do. We moved.
The first 3 months in our big old farmhouse were peaceful. We were in the middle of a cornfield on four acres and the closest neighbor was ½ mile away. We were enjoying country life and even Frankie and Sammy adjusted well. I was looking forward to having a few barn cats, but there were no dogs in the picture. At least none expected, anyway.
One day I came home from work and there in my driveway was a big black dog. His wagging tail indicated his friendly demeanor and I slowly opened the door to find a friendly black lab/chow mix greeting me with kisses. He was wearing a collar so I was sure that he belonged to someone. I called around and asked if anyone was missing him. No one seemed to be. Bill wouldn’t let me feed the mutt because he didn’t want the dog to hang around. Eventually, the dog disappeared, but, much to Bill's dismay, the curly-tailed, spotted-tongued, friendly black dog was back a few weeks later.
There must have been something special about this dog because funny things started to happen at our house. First, a water bowl appeared on our porch. Then one a bag of dog chow landed in our grocery cart; then came dog treats. A blanket found its way onto our porch. Don’t even ask me where the dog toys came from. We started using odd terms like, “He’s a good boy” and “Wanna go for a walk?” Sometimes, when it stormed, there would be a scared black dog in our laundry room curled up on a blanket. Eventually, when it stormed, there was a black dog under our bed. And one time after we watched a very sad dog movie, there was a black dog IN our bed with us and two cats. Thank goodness for king-sized beds!
Eventually we learned that Champ did belong to some of our neighbors. We got to know them and we joked that we had shared custody. He would visit his true owners who lived about 1/2 mile away, but he always ended up at our house at the end of the day. Although we was at our house most of the time, we knew he wasn’t really our dog. We didn’t feel like we could take him anywhere or make him a true part of our family (although one year he DID make it into our Christmas card picture). We just had to love him at paw’s length.
Then one day, we noticed Champ had stopped eating. We offered him treats, soft dog food, cheese - all of his favorite things - but he just wasn’t interested. He also wasn’t using the bathroom. Then he just quit moving around all together. I found him lying in a flower bed. He would look up at me with his big brown eyes and wag his tail, but he wouldn’t get up. We knew something was definitely wrong. With his owner’s permission, we took Champ to the vet. We hoped and prayed that it would be something simple. Maybe he had eaten a bone and it had gotten stuck. Maybe he had a doggie flu.
At the vet, we learned that Champ had lost 7 pound. They took x-rays and determined Champ’s intestines weren’t where they were supposed to be. The only way to find out why was to do an expensive exploratory surgery. Armed with the surgery estimate, we brought Champ home and Bill called Champ’s owner to tell him what was going on. His response indicated that we could do whatever we wanted since he was basically already our dog. So - there we were - the proud new owners of a very sick dog. As soon as Bill hung up, I called the vet and we scheduled the surgery for the next morning.
We tearfully left Champ at the vet’s office and awaited the call to let us know what they had found. After four agonizing hours, the call came in. Apparently, Champ’s love for tormenting the local cows had resulted in a kick to the chest so traumatic that it had punctured a hole in his diaphragm, causing his intestines and his liver to poke through. Almost half of Champ’s liver had died due to loss of blood supply. The vet had removed the liver’s dead portion, rearranged his intestines and sewed up the hole in the diaphragm. The next 48 hours were critical in determining Champ’s recovery. We were told we could come and see him the next day.
We braced ourselves for what we would find. We were prepared to see our normally overactive dog lying on a bed, in pain and likely in a stupor. Wrong. His original owner sure did give Champ an appropriate name. We arrived at the vet and asked if we could see Champ. When they replied, "Sure. We'll bring him out," we looked at each other quizzically and wondered if they were going to wheel him out on a little gurney. The next thing we knew, here came Champ on a leash, wagging his tail despite the bandages around his abdomen and the lamp shade collar he was wearing. We were awestruck. Our good boy who had been on death’s door 24 hours ago was standing before us acting like nothing had ever happened. The vet said he had eaten a little soft food and had gone to the bathroom. He wasn’t out of the woods yet, but the vet told us what we already knew; that dog was "something else." We had to leave Champ there for 3 days, but our hearts were much lighter when we left that day than when we had walked in.
When Champ came home, it was all we could do to keep him calm and quiet. In many ways, it was like having a new puppy. We had to take him out for potty breaks, often in the wee hours of the morning. We had to make sure his lamp shade collar was on securely so he wouldn’t lick the staples that lined his underside from his chest to his tail. He really wanted to go outside and chase rabbits and he would stand at the window and whine when Bill left because he wanted to chase him down the road and visit his buddies at the neighboring farm. It was a long two weeks of recovery, but we never complained about any part of it. Champ was home and alive and well.
Champ in my office during his recovery and in the kitchen with his detestable cone collar!
Champ made a full recovery and is now so much a part of the family that even the cats have accepted him. He still makes his rounds and he still chases cows - perhaps a little more cautiously. He sleeps under our bed every night, not just stormy nights. He recently had a checkup and when I looked at the paperwork, I noticed that they listed his attitude as “Bright, Alert, Responsive” and his diagnosis was “Apparently healthy.” I had to laugh a little at that. I think even THEY are surprised at how well he’s bounced back.
One day Bill and I were sitting on the porch and I started thinking about how Champ came to be lying there at our feet. I imagined God directing an orchestra of events. Originally, it was a barking dog that had prompted us to move. Then, despite looking at dozens of houses, we chose our farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. The fact that Champ’s owners had adopted him from a local shelter and brought him home to be their pet. Next, Champ came to our house and decided he liked us way before we decided we loved him. And finally, the realization that Champ was ALIVE and healthy because he had chosen us so long ago. I felt a little overwhelmed and amazed at it all.
We know that Champ isn’t perfect. He likes to roll in cow manure, he chases skunks, and yes, he occasionally barks. But somehow, the barking doesn’t bother us anymore. I guess that’s what happens when you come to love thy neighbor’s dog.
Champ's Photo Album
Champ's album is short only because he HATES having his picture taken - he runs when he sees a camera!
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| Mae Belle, Bill and Champ enjoy some porch time. | Sleepy doggie. |
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| Champ and the guy who used to hate dogs. | A happy Champ! He's a good boy! |
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| What a handsome boy! | Champ sure likes to run! We've clocked him at 31 mph - as you can see in this video |