A Ruff Life in Ireland

The people of Listowel love their animals.  Go for a walk in the park and you will find plenty of hounds running around without leashes, tongues hanging, tails wagging.  A quick sharp whistle from their owner sends them dashing back, knowing exactly who they belong to.  It’s these times that I miss my dog the most.

But there are also dogs in Listowel that are not so lucky.  For a few hours every afternoon, the same collie walks into town and stands in front of the pub across the street from my apartment.  He is brown and dingy white with kind eyes and walks with a limp.  He stays out of the way of pedestrians and never tries to go inside the pubs.  He just stands there, looking very sad and lonely, and occasionally sneaks a drink of water from a nearby water drain. 

Yesterday I came across another stray as I was walking home from the grocery store.  This one was a brown lab and was soaking wet.  It had not rained, so I was very curious as to how he had become so drenched.  Next to him lay a wet tree branch that had to have weighed fifteen pounds—he must have gone swimming for it in the river that runs through town.  As I approached, he nudged the branch in my direction, looked me in the eye, and whimpered.  This dog was not a beggar; he was working for his food.  I reached in my handbag and retrieved a dog biscuit.  The dog politely waited for me to lay it on the ground in front of him before seizing it hungrily. 

Everyday I resist the urge to pull these sweet babies into my tiny apartment and shower them with affection.  Although I am not in the position to become their foster mother, I will continue to buy treats for them and pray that they are able to find shelter at night.  I wish there was more that I could do.