The day I stole a dog

I moved to a small town in the early part of my career and worked as the production manager, creating commercials and station ID’s during the week and every four weeks, my friend with the amazing voice and I would book a graveyard shift at the big public radio station near my old home. This meant that on a Friday night I would drive 13 hours home, sleep for a few hours, wake, meet at the old university, produce radio sketches and our own show ID’s and then broadcast from midnight, developing a radio program we could use for an amazing audition tape to propel our careers. Then, Sunday morning from 7am, I would make it home, sleep for a few hours, wake and then drive yet ANOTHER 13 hours to my country town hell hole.

During that year I met a lonely, abandoned dog, Rusty. She was wandering the streets and immediately latched onto me. Being the fact it had been almost five months and I didn’t have a single new friend in this town and my old friends were getting on with their own lives, to me, Rusty was a gift. Maybe we were meeting each other at the ideal moment in time.

She followed me to the supermarket and waited patiently outside until I emerged with cans of dog food. She lapped up that food at my home. I then closed my door to her and let her be on her way.

I saw her again the next day, wandering the streets and again we took that walk to the supermarket.

After a month somebody moved into the recently renovated other half of my split house. He was an alcoholic. This guy was smaller than me, freckly, with oily skin and yellow teeth. Most days when emptying my rubbish in the large bins I noted the piles of beer bottles near his side of the back door.

It turns out Rusty was the owner of this guy who had moved in next door. I had no idea. There was no indication until one day, after returning home, I found Rusty chained to a tree. I unchained her and she sat next to me in my box-sized living room as I watched TV. This became a regular occurrence. I also found Rusty locked in the tiny laundry out the back, which we supposedly shared. I once waited three days, in an experiment to see if this alcoholic would let Rusty out. He didn’t. I did. And during those three days I would sneak in, feed her, apologise and promise to free her soon.

When I finally freed her, she was so grateful. I was her best friend. I let her sleep on the end of my bed that night and she obediently stayed there and fell asleep. When I left for work I let her out to be free for the day.

When I returned home on some days I noticed Rusty chained up out the back. But the leash was so long Rusty would walk around the tree until the chain was tied and she had no room to move. As an experiment I let her off the chain but didn’t unwind the chain from the tree. Sure enough I noticed Rusty chained to the leash with the chain still wrapped around the tree.

Again, I would unchain Rusty, feed her and let her sit next to me while I watched a movie in the living room. Over time this dog ended up regularly sleeping at the end of my bed.

I asked the owner about Rusty. It seemed that in his neglect he had no idea I was feeding her, walking her, taking her to the beach an hour away or letting her sleep at the end of my bed. How could he not know this?

This guy revealed he fed Rusty only every three days with food he was able to get from the local pub. That would explain why she always seemed so desperately hungry and was so thin. I don’t even think this guy had noticed Rusty putting on weight.

When I met Rusty, she was a smelly, skinny, dog in need of love and attention. Now I was bathing her, feeding her, letting her sleep on my bed and driving her to the beach on spare weekends, where she found a love of running into the shallow waters. Rusty was the happiest she had probably ever been. It’s amazing what a bit of hope will do for a living creature and it felt great to throw that lifeline. And Rusty was filling in the void of my loneliness too.

God I was getting lonely. I thought radio was a way to get popular. But as simply the production guy, there were no frills and party invites. My job was in a small soundproof room with a microphone, booth and audio editing equipment.

Some nights, with Rusty on the end of my bed I would hear this alcoholic drunk screaming, “That is my F*cking dog!” Yet he never approached me the following day.

Soon enough, Rusty would come to me whenever I clicked my fingers. At one point the owner and I had an argument out the back. And I believe if he had actually been a bigger, tougher guy, I would have had some big bruises. But he seemed a bit too gutless to take it to that next step. However, he wanted to make it known that Rusty was his dog. I wanted to show him he was wrong.

Loser Animal Neglecter: That is my f*cking dog.

Ms: (Click my fingers. Rusty comes to me)

Loser Animal Neglecter: Rusty come here! (Rusty cautiously walks to him)

ME: (Click my fingers. Rusty runs to me) You rarely feed your dog. You chain her up. You never walk her. You lock her in the laundry.

Loser Animal Neglecter: (Walks over, picks rusty up using all his strength and tries to carry her)

ME: (Click my fingers. Rusty struggles free, falls to the ground, runs to me and then into my side of the dank house)

Loser Animal Neglecter: Fuck you. (Walks back into his side of the house)

Well, that was the end of that. Defeated, this depressive loser slothed back into his side of the house holding his beer in one hand and a newly lit cigarette in the other, topless and his shorts falling down to reveal a hairy ass crack.

This war of ownership was not over.

My friend from radio school and I had a plan to make it big, by meeting at a community radio station in a big city to do a graveyard radio shift in order to put a demo tape together. And we met every 4-5 weeks. It required me driving almost 13 hours non stop each way. But thinking of the bigger picture, I just did it.

It took well over a year of driving those long hours back home to do our experimental radio show, but soon we had an amazing audition tape. On my drives down and during the week, I practised vocal coaching from audio training CD’s I had been given. Hours of practicing to speak clearly, concisely and with purpose slowly started bringing my vocal skills in line with my production skills.

This was over a year of very hard work.

Then, just as I had began successfully networking with program directors at larger cities and piquing their interest, I scored an interview with a larger FM radio station for me and my friend. And one week before the interview, my friend informed me he had decided to become a born again Christian and that he could no longer pursue a career in radio. He bailed.

With my friend lost to God as he had now decided to leave radio and become a born again Christian, leaving all of my hard work for nothing (so I thought at the time), and yet refusing to not giving up, I pursued my hard earned contacts for a solo on air opportunity.

It took a few extra months but they took a chance. And through a talent agency I was referred to, I won a position as host of a popular Hot 30 show on the complete opposite side of the country. I was to be moving out of this town. Onwards and upwards. Solo and free to move wherever the opportunities were. But... Rusty.... my only friend in that town...

I knocked on my neighbours door and offered to buy Rusty. He declined, reminding me that Rusty was his dog and that his nephews liked to play with Rusty on occasion. Again, I explained how neglected Rusty was. His response? “That is my f*cking dog”.

So what to do with Rusty? This would not be easy.

It would have to be a very sneaky mission. I needed a plan. And I think I had one.

I gave two weeks notice at the radio station in that town and prepared to move out. Rusty had the sense that something was wrong. She seemed more timid and needy, always watching my every move. After packing everything into a trailer late one night and emptying the apartment, I had to leave Rusty outside that morning. It broke my heart to see the worried expression on her face. As I drove away I could see a sad, desperate plea of confusion on Rusty’s face. She could not understand my plan. I drove to the real estate agent and dropped off my keys.

After dropping my keys off, I slowly drove back around to my street to check for any witnesses. Nobody around.

And no Rusty. Sh*t. Where was she? Had my loser neighbour taken her?

“Rusty! Rusty!” I called out for almost two minutes.

Then, slowly Rusty emerged from underneath the house looking depressed. Then she saw me and her tail started wagging vigorously. I opened the front passenger side of my car and clicked my fingers. The world’s happiest dog bolted towards me, ears peeled back, tongue out and leapt into my car. And off we went, leaving that town behind, together.

My first step was the 13 hour drive home. Rusty needed somewhere to live while I set up on the other side of the country.

I was lucky I had a family who loved animals as much as I did. Rusty stayed with them very briefly with me, as I prepared to move to the other side of the country.

At this point I had been without any form of relationship or female attention whatsoever in almost three years. My career confidence was high but my personal confidence with the opposite sex was in tatters. But I had a great dog, so cares??

It would take a little while to get Rusty to me. But in the meantime I managed to find a home for her with a very caring woman and her daughter who fostered children. Rusty loved the attention and the foster children would care deeply for her. All had come from neglected homes. It was a perfect match.

So off I went on my journey to other side of the country. Rusty had found the perfect home, a place where foster children needed her as much as she needed them.

When I next visited though, even when they offered her food, when I clicked my fingers, she ignored them and ran to me. I think she understood what I had done and was forever grateful and happy.