Rusty and Anders - a love story

I adopted Rusty as a puppy in early 2003. When I got him, he had some health issues which the vet attributed to the fact he was found as a newborn pup next to his feral mother – who by best guess - had frozen and/or starved to death. Not the ideal start in life. He had seizures and some stomach issues, but he outgrew both and turned into quite the scrappy and spunky little guy.  He also happens to just be a little bit “off”. 

You can’t really put your finger on it – but you know that something isn’t right and suspect it has something to do with not all the lights being on. He is really kind and gentle, but you would never confuse him with smart. My vet explained that if the mother doesn’t get proper nutrition, the puppy’s brain doesn’t form correctly. Rusty could be the poster child for this medical phenomenon. 

He used to do things like jump off the couch and not put his legs down to catch himself. He would just kind of hit the floor, bounce a bit and skid to a stop and then look around all shocked like "What the hell? What just went wrong there?” He finally figured out the mechanics of jumping – but he still – after almost 10 years of trying - has not mastered "sit" and sometimes forgets how to work the stairs.


This is the nicest picture of Rusty ever taken -
he actually looks like a normal dog.

The rescue group I got him from listed him as a terrier/Pomeranian mix on its website. I kind of figured he may be a bit more of a mutt when my vet politely – and with a straight face – asked "what in the hell is that?" when I plunked Rusty down on her exam table.

Her best guess was a terrier/spaniel/coyote/meerkat mix - with a possible side of opossum thrown in for good luck. Rusty has a pink nose on this super tiny head, long skinny legs, a fat sausage body, a rat-like long skinny tail and his back-end is higher than his front-end. When he runs he usually ends up going ass over teakettle as his shorter front legs can’t keep up with all the rear power generated by his long hind legs. When his fur grows out, he gets all these crazy irregular clumps of long white silky fur on random weird places, and then he has other places where the fur stays really short and is wiry like a terrier. His teeth – despite yearly cleanings, specialized dog food and teeth cleaning treats - are basically rotting out of his face, and his eyes don’t quite line up. In short - the guy is a total fucking mess. But again – he is a super good, sweet, gentle and kind – total mess.


Rusty - sporting a hunting cap.

When I met Anders in 2005, he had never had a pet. His sister had a gerbil named Bob when they were kids, but Anders gets all twitchy and weird when I ask what happened to Bob. I think Anders may have been directly involved in Bob's demise, or he may have been involved in the cover-up. Either way - the point here is the guy wasn’t used to animals in his house.

Eventually, Anders figured out that Rusty and I were a package deal. If he wanted to keep me around, he got the little snaggle-toothed freak too. He did start to warm up to him, but he also started trying to give Rusty away as some kind of weird parting gift to people as they tried to leave our house. “Hey thanks for coming – great to see you guys too! Hey - speaking of goodbyes…you know who likes car rides? Rusty – that’s who! You guys got room in there for one more?”

At first, I (and our friends) thought it was a joke. But it kept going, and on a few occasions when people took a split second too long to answer, Anders ran out of the room and reappeared with Rusty’s shit all packed up and ready to go. It was like he had a “just in case tonight is the night” jump bag packed for Rusty so he could shove the dog and his belongs out the door before the people had a chance to change their minds. 

Anders finally admitted that although he loooooved Rusty, (yeah – he sounded that convincing in real life too) maybe we wouldn’t have any pets after Rusty died. I love dogs – and will always have a dog, but in an effort to pick my battles I humoured him and went along with it. I basically thought that since “to know Rusty is to love Rusty” - Rusty would eventually work his screwed up, snaggle-tooth magic and win Anders over. That plan is not working out. But the two of them ended up coming to a truce of sorts where basically both sides agreed “you don’t fuck with me and I won’t piss in your shoes,” or something along those lines.

Then flash forward a couple years, and we had the twins – and I gained some allies. Molly is seriously some kind of animal whisperer. She can walk up to almost any kind of animal – and they just flop over and basically beg to be petted and rubbed. It is actually a bit unsettling and looks like a scene from a Disney movie (if the Disney movie had a crazy overprotective mother come running into the scene screaming at the princess to stop touching that dirty filthy wild animal/cat/dog/whatever – you don’t know where it has been and it could have God-damned rabies and your whole arm could rot off!)

Max isn’t quite there animal whisperer wise, but he does love animals. If I yell at Rusty to stop barking or to get down from the couch, I get a stern glare from Max and he points his little finger at me and says in a low and angry voice, “Momma – I am not very happy with you! You don’t yell at Rusty!”

So, I think Rusty is now officially safe from ending up as a door prize or parting gift at one of our parties, and I will probably always be able to have a dog. At least until Max and Molly move out – and then we will have to renegotiate.

Rusty rolling in freshly cut grass clippings.