My dog Batman may, or may not, be two years old. When animal control picked him up in a field they wrote down “stray”, and packed him off to the vet for a checkup. Unsurprisingly the vet thought that Batman’s airways were blocked somehow.
Perhaps he accidentally inhaled a groundhog or one too many Mickey D’s wrappers while foraging in the field?
After a few exams, the vet realized what I have come to love. Batman is inherently a snorting, snoring, snuffling, nosy goofball; who happens to breathe with the same quiet candor of a freight train when he’s anxious or excited.
The vet sent Batman back into the general population with a certificate of health, minus his man-parts, and the glowing description “male, Boxer, 52lbs, neutered, fawn/black mask, 2yrs”.
The mug shot animal control posted of Batman for potential adopters to see was about as appealing as a slide of a frog mid-dissection. Batman cowered against a brick wall, his black ears lay back against his skull, his nubby tail tucked under him.
How cute. I’d definitely adopt the one that looks like it might be peeing itself. Adorable.
Batman’s situation was roughly an Oliver Twist meets The Green Mile, as the shelter that kept him routinely gassed animals “without prospects” after a few weeks stay.
Lucky for me a breed rescue found Batman, in all his pee covered glory, and sent him to a foster home.
I didn’t know about any of Batman’s adventures until I got his folder the day I met him. As far as I knew Batman was “male, fawn, 1 yr, dogs: yes, kids/cats: unknown”.
When the rescue brought Batman home to me they added some info.
Batman can’t go to dog parks. He might kill something.
Don’t invite too many of your friends over right away. He might kill something.
Are you planning on having children anytime soon because…Best of luck!
P.S. He’s two years old.
Me, “But he’s graying in the face?”
He’s two years old.
“Ok.”
I’m told that it’s common for Boxers to gray early if it’s in their genetics, or they eat one too many wrappers in a desolate field.
Either way, Batman’s here now. He may, or may not, be two years old, and hasn’t killed anything yet. Instead, his main tactic is the classic runrunrun-get-me-the-hell-away-from: his crate, the washer/dryer, tall blinds, his crate, the garage door opener, his crate, the vacuum, the gate in our fence, his crate and men.
To be fair, I’m pretty sure Batman hasn't lived inside before, and was probably knocked around by a man in his lifetime; so there’s a steep learning curve ahead for him.
That didn’t stop him from trying to stick his face up my neighbor’s butt when he met him. Face to face, Batman is a coward, but turn your back and Batman will run up to you for a wary butt sniff.
Man, woman, human, dog, tall scary blinds, it doesn’t matter. If Batman thinks you, or your inanimate object, aren’t looking he’ll snorkel right up to you and snort his way into your personal bubble.
This seems to be a common characteristic that cowards share. Face to face they will run and hide, but turn your back and they run up to sniff your butt.
