The Bot

He was sort of small, mostly black, whining in his cage.  I stroked his tuxedo shirt front through the wire, but he didn't seem to notice.  Or care.  Not much of a salesman, this dog.

We had come to the shelter to find a companion for Sadie.  A mature male, confident, relaxed.  A large dog, smart and calm, a dog that not only told you Timmy was down the well, but threw down a rope to haul him out.  A dog's dog.  After two hours of searching, we decided to take a look at the little black one.

He was gangly, underweight, and walked on the diagonal, with his front legs sweeping circles like roundhouse punches.  Hip dysplasia gave him a sashay.  His pupils were two different sizes; he had an ear infection, a skin infection, a bladder infection, and, the cherry on top, diarrhea.  We were smitten.

We changed his name to Isadore, Izzy to his friends, but we know him as The Bot.