The Dog Writers Association of America named “Moose: The Story of a Lhasa Apso” the winner of the Maxwell Medallion, as the Best Individual Feature Article in a Single-Breed Magazine. It has been published in the Lhasa Apso Reporter, the New Zealand Kennel Gazette, and the Lhasa Apso Club Newsletter of the United Kingdom. The story was included in the book Heart Dog Diaries, and has been featured on several websites.
A Stranger at the Door
It was an overcast and quite dreary mid-December Saturday. Although not as cold as a typical pre-Christmas day in East Tennessee, its primary feature was a cool, persistent, and uncomfortable rain. My wife and I had just returned home from a near-by city. Little did we realize that a rather significant change was about to occur in our lives.
It began when Muffin, the more hyperactive and observant of our two dogs, began sniffing furiously at the inside of the front door. She then proceeded, in her own inimitable way, to work herself into a whirling frenzy. After observing her demeanor for a few seconds, we concluded that something of interest, at least to Muffin, was present on our front porch.
Upon opening the door, we found the most pitiful, bedraggled bundle of fur one could ever imagine. All we could tell for sure at that point was that the little creature was a dog, and that he was in very deep trouble.
As we stepped onto the porch, he wearily and with great effort raised his head. He slowly opened what had once, no doubt, been large and shining brown eyes, one now dull and unseeing, and the other matted with infection. His body was literally shrunken to skin and bones, covered with fur whose tangles and dirt spoke volumes about the elements and travails to which he had been exposed.
We brought a bowl of water, a cup of food, and a blanket, all of which he accepted with obvious and well-communicated appreciation. And we noticed that he had no collar.
Darkness was fast approaching, and the cold wind was picking up. There really was no decision to be made. We opened the door and invited him in. And as he slowly gathered his strength to stand and begin walking, we saw further evidence of his ordeal. One of his rear legs hung still and useless, as he limped on three legs, tail dragging, into our house and into our lives.
Who Might This Be?
We felt two distinctly opposite emotions as we led our little visitor inside. The first was concern for the very real possibility that he might not survive. The second, however, was the satisfaction of knowing that a pet owner somewhere might soon learn that his or her lost animal had been found.
But the first priority was the dog’s health. Although he continued to eat and drink with growing enthusiasm, an immediate trip to the veterinarian was in order.
The vet concluded that the little dog would likely recover. But he emphasized that our new friend had come to the very edge of perishing from the dehydration and near-starvation he had endured during a journey lasting many weeks. The fact that he had used his last depths of energy to come to a place where care and safety awaited was little short of miraculous.
The dog’s other ailments were serious as well. One eye, damaged severely by exposure to the weather, would never regain its sight. And X-rays revealed that he had apparently been hit by a car earlier in life, and his hip had required surgery. It was not likely, the vet concluded, that the dog would ever again walk on his crippled rear leg, as the necessary muscle did not appear to be present.
Our next priority was finding his owner, which we expected to be as simple as a call to the local animal shelter. To our surprise, no report was on file of such a dog being missing. We contacted every source we could think of, including veterinarian offices, the Humane Society, breeders, classified ads, and even the police department. There was no trace of a report.
We now realized that we had a new addition to our family. The little fellow had begun to ease his way into our hearts just as readily as he was eating his way through increasingly large quantities of dog food. The “iron-clad” resolve that our household’s dog population would never exceed two was quickly forgotten.
He now had a home, and he had the promise of recovery, so now he needed a name. We read off a long list of potential dog names, in hope that he might recognize the name from his former life. He reacted to none. We decided to call him “Moose,” after a dog I’d had during my teenage years. And there seemed to be an element of strength in that name, which matched this little guy’s strength, courage, and tenacity.
We then turned our attention to his appearance. The groomer surely deserved combat pay for dealing with the tangle of dirty, matted, and damaged fur.
If Moose’s arrival on our front porch qualified as a miracle, then he soon proved that his reservoir of miracles was far from empty. Shortly after the veterinarian’s conclusion that Moose would never again walk on his lifeless rear leg, he suddenly proceeded to do precisely that.
He didn’t start on it slowly or gingerly, and he didn’t limp. He simply began walking on it full force, as though it had never had the slightest trace of a problem. He ran on it. He jumped on it. He stood on his hind legs to beg for treats. For the first time, he went up the stairs to the second story of our house. And he didn’t walk up the stairs… He ran at full speed.
Moose was now looking better, acting stronger, gaining weight, and beginning to acquire the first signs of an aura of self-assured happiness. He now carried his tail, erect and proud, over his back. We began to realize for the first time what a beautiful little dog he was. But as to what breed he might be, we hadn’t a clue.
And soon thereafter, someone knowledgeable in the intricacies of dog breeds exclaimed to us, “Why, what a pretty Lhasa Apso you have!”
Getting to Know Each Other
Dog tags jingled energetically from a collar in an adjoining room. Moose was waking up from his nap. Most dogs would have headed for the area of the house where our other two dogs were at play. But this was Moose, and we had quickly learned where he’d go after a nap. He’d head directly to find us.
We had been around dogs all our lives, but we had soon realized that Moose was quite unlike any dog we’d ever encountered. His most distinguishing and endearing characteristic was a powerful attraction to people, and a strong desire to be with them at all times. He had no problems in getting along with our other dogs. It was that he simply had no interest in them. He wanted, instead, to be around people. Even as we exercised on the treadmill, he’d try to climb on behind, ending up befuddled as to why the machine persisted in depositing him, bottom first, back onto the floor.
Yet it was something more than just wishing to be in the presence of people. He seemed to have an unusual ability to fathom when one of his human companions was sad, tired, or happy, and it was as though he could communicate sympathy or celebration in response. And as we learned more about the Lhasa Apso breed, we realized the ancestral origin of his strong companionship trait.
As we began to let him meander on a leash through the neighborhood, he met, made friends with, and got along famously with our neighbors, friends, and relatives of all ages. But older persons of 70-plus years elicited a particularly special response. After observing his joyous reaction to the arrival of my parents one day, we realized the likelihood that his previous owners were an older couple. Perhaps their passing had led to his long and grueling journey to our doorstep.
Moose’s Lhasa Apso heritage was also obvious in his skill as a watchdog. If his eyes were now less than perfect, he more than made up for it with a particularly acute sense of hearing. As soon as we’d head the car up the driveway, we could hear him begin his neighborhood-rattling bark inside the house.
His continually high energy level never ceased to astound us. But when he decided to sleep, it was as though a light switch had been flipped. He’d immediately fall asleep, with no transition whatsoever, and he wouldn’t move until he woke up. And when he did wake up, he’d immediately leap from deep slumber to full, joyful energy. His impatience with us, as we rubbed our eyes and attempted to awaken enough to face the day, was obvious.
A Taste for the Good Life
Moose’s sheer exuberance for life involved activities common to most dogs. He loved to play ball, and could do so long after his human friends were panting with exhaustion. He loved his walks through the neighborhood, and greeting his acquaintances. He enjoyed playing with his basketful of toys. And he’d sit on the deck with us for hours on end, at rest and content as the breeze blew through his fur.
But his love of one aspect of life was truly amazing in its intensity: I have never seen any living creature enjoy any activity to the degree that Moose enjoyed eating.
At least an hour before time for his meal, Moose would become ecstatic in anticipation. He’d dance. He’d jump on all fours. He’d howl, he’d bark, he’d talk, and he’d sing. He’d beg the clock–and us–to hasten matters along.
And when the magic hour arrived, it was usually hilarious to behold. The routine was supposed to begin with a human opening the pantry door, scooping Moose’s dog food from a large sack into a metal cup, and transfe
rring it to his bowl. But if we weren’t careful at the pantry door, he’d slip inside and try to climb into the food sack. As we transferred the food in the metal cup, he’d lock his vision onto it, causing him to bang into us, bounce off the walls, and sometimes even fall into his food bowl.
And once the food was in his bowl, it was only a matter of seconds until every morsel was gone. He virtually inhaled it, in a motion reminiscent of a powerful vacuum cleaner. Afterward, he’d literally glow with satisfaction at the joy he’d just experienced. He’d then scour every inch of the carpet for several minutes, searching for any kernel of food that might have fallen aside during the transfer.