In the spring of 2015 I was working as a hospice nurse up in Austin, Indiana. I had driven to a small farmhouse to check on a patient. After the visit I walked out the backdoor with the wife of my patient and I spotted a big, red dog tied to a long clothesline rope, stretching from one tree to another tree, about 30 feet apart. An old beat up dog house sat next to one of the trees.

“That’s a good looking dog, “ I said, even as I noticed he was rather skinny and bony.

“You want him?” the wife asked me. “I’m moving soon and not taking him with me. Nobody wants him so I may just leave him here. I’ve got no way to take care of him.”

“You let hospice know if you need help finding a home. I can help too, but I’m not looking for a dog right now. Call hospice if you need us,” I replied.

Well, she did call. And I did end up coming back out to Austin to pick up that red dog. Turns out his name was Red. I had a small dog run in my backyard to place him in until I found him a home. I took him to the vet to get his shots and to ask for help in placing Red with a new owner.

“This dog is positive for heart worm, Joan,” my vet reported to me after testing him. “I can’t place a dog in a home with heart worm.”

The cost for treatment was $600. I told my vet I was not looking to invest that kind of money in a dog I wasn’t going to keep. Turns out she had a two month old expired medicine for heart worm, and I could have it for free for treating Red if I wanted to take him home and keep him quiet in his run for a couple of weeks. It was a painful injection to each side of his rib cage. He would need rest and not too much activity. I agreed to the injections, and to keep him quiet in the dog run.

I would go visit Red every day, more than once while he recuperated in his indoor/outdoor run. I would sit with him and talk to him. After a few days I took him on very short prayer walks with me. I’m not sure he had ever been on a leash before, but that big, red dog tried to be a gentleman. He was strong, and asked for very little. I could tell he was in pain for the first few days by the way he walked, stiff and sore. He loved to sit next to me while I stroked his forehead and told him about my days. He loved to eat, and began to gain a little weight, growing into a bigger red dog!

You can guess the ending. I did not take him back to the vet at the end of those  two weeks. I had fallen in love with that big, red dog that asked for so little and appreciated everything he was given. He had found his forever home, and in some ways I think he rescued me. I called him Reddogg. He is now fifteen years young, and one of my best friends.