The Amazing Story Of Donut the Devil Dog

Part One: Wherein Donut is Adopted From the St. Helen's Humane Society at a Significant Discount

When my daughter was five years old she started to ask for a dog. We, as a family, had not owned a dog. Our pet experience was limited to some stray cats we fed on the porch, and another cat we had adopted a few years before but who had disappeared soon after — rather suspiciously (foul play suspected).

I hail from a tiny-dog family, whereas my parents had always kept one or more small “combo” dogs: you’ve got your Pekingese/Poodle mix (Peek-a-poo), your Cocker Spaniel/Poodle mix (cock-a-poo). For some reason a poodle is just a very popular “base” dog for a mini-mutt concoction.

So I was unopposed to smallish dog. We began our search on Pets.com and for some reason there was a bit of a dearth in small dogs at that time. Eventually we began seeing a Jack Russell terrier mix popping up. She looked fairly small (her “doggie dating profile” purported that she was approximately 20 lbs.) The shelter deemed her to be approximately 2 years old, so we thought she might be puppy-ish. She looked a bit scruffy, and she looked very sincere, and almost entirely black. The child deemed this to be Dog of Choice. A plan was hatched to retrieve her.

I was unavailable for the journey which turned out to be to the Humane Society in St Helen's, a 90 minute drive. So the kids went with their dad and the dog returned with them later that day.

When I arrived home, I found them all out in the backyard with the dog. But this was not the dog I was expecting. This dog was…older. Her face was slightly grizzled, she looked larger than 20 lbs. and she had distinct rust colored markings in her black fur, reminiscent of say….a Rottweiler or Doberman. Where we were expecting a youngish, smallish, puppy-like, Jack Russell terrier-ish tiny-dog, before us in the yard was an older, crustier, scruffier, and definitely heavier unit.

With a gigantic lump on her neck.

What I had thought was a tuft of fur in her picture, was in fact a fatty lump (I did not come up with that term). And this is the reason she was adopted at a discount. The fatty lump.

It was as if the foreign exchange student you were expecting actually turned out to be a 50 year old merchant marine with a goiter on his throat. I couldn’t look away.

My daughter quickly determined that the dog was Donut.

The first mistake we made was to leave Donut in the yard. It was entirely fenced, but this was the first lesson we would learn about Donut: there was no fence on earth that could keep her in.

Please stay tuned for Part Two: Wherein I Trespass In Every Yard In My Neighborhood Chasing a Crazy Terrier Dog