So, yesterday I walked Tank. Tank had been one of the shelter's recent success stories: not just adopted, but adopted in a cool way. He'd been adopted by someone who lived on a sailboat. They got along well, and the guy had gotten Tank his own life jacket…it sounded cool.
Tank's back at the shelter. When I asked about this, they told me he'd been afraid of the water, and had really hated being on the boat, so much so that when the guy had brought him back, he'd seemed happier in the shelter than out adopted!
Sigh. So I walked Tank yesterday, who is a calm and impressive joy of a dog. He's so think in the jaw and neck that he's like the incredible Hulk of dogs—at least half again as wide as Drake, my pit bull—and when you first enter the kennel, he's so eager to get going that he sort of jumps and grabs at you, wrapping paws around legs or torso.
And then he calms down and you can walk him with one finger. (Literally—I took turns switching which single finger I had through the leash handle.) He motors along at a steady pace, enjoying the walk, until he gets to taller grass.
Some of it he wades through, as if he enjoys the tickle on his belly. Other times he throws himself down on his back to roll around in it. Still other times he sweeps that great wide head back and forth through it, cocking his head to grin at me.
He's a big, gentle guy.
