JusJournaling

About a month and a half ago, a golden retriever pup, no more than six months old, I'd say, took up residence in the prison parking lot.  He was a sad little fella.  It wasn't long before he became the institution pet.  When it became obvious the dog wasn't going anywhere, the officers brought food for him, talked to him - plotted to find him a home.

The ladies in programs named him Henry.  I guess it fit ok, but frankly, he just didn't say Henry to me.  Everybody wanted him to have a home, but nobody was willing to take him to theirs.  They already had dogs, you see.

On Friday, Lynn the Psychologist and I were having our smoke break at the lobby entrance. 

"I thought Officer Love was gonna take Henry home with him."

He had promised he would, but his wife wouldn't let him.

"He's gonna get run over out here.  Take him home with you, just for the weekend."

I promised I would, but that evening when I left, Henry was nowhere in sight.  Saturday morning, I showed up at tower 1, looking for the dog.  Matthews said..."Yesterday evening, he was sleeping under one of the nurse's vehicles.."

I knew where he was going with this and said - No, don't tell me!

But he did.  The nurse had backed over Henry.  Twice.  Twice!  I'm still trying to figure out HOW she managed that.

But she didn't kill him - he went running off toward the ballfield, so I went there to look for him.  I called him.  I combed the underbrush.  Nothing.

And then Sunday, while driving past, my friend spotted him at Tower Two.  We whipped in, lured him into the car and took him to my house.  And we promptly changed his name to Opus, naming him after the State Network.

He loved it at my house, but my father had asked me to bring him to his house, so I did....Opus didn't like that, but he stayed, and I visit him in the evenings.

My father is a cancer patient.  I'm hoping Opus will be good for him, and vice versa.  They've both been through a lot.