Long story short:
"Jack," named by my son, Drew, was the perfect stray...as far as strays go.
Not having really lived in the country before, I was a little unsure how this process worked. I was a little concerned the first time the kids noticed our "new dog" as they called it. I warned them about not running up on a strange dog. As "Jack" laid next to Bo, our beloved and sneaky and magical dog...if you know him, you understand that description...I walked cautiously to see him. The boys were anxious to greet and play, but stayed behind me. Jack loved me. He loved my kids. My anxiety was not warranted. Until Chad got home.Chad's presence brought the showing of teeth, and even a nasty (and eventually infected) bite to the hand. Well, from that moment, Chad hated the dog, of course. His hatred met opposition from my children. Jack was smaller and a little easier to play with than Bo.
Well, after several near-bites and growls and unpleasant welcomes to any male who approached our house, Chad and our friend, Tom took matters in to their own hands. My morbid curiosity got the best of me, and I had to watch the dog go down for some reason. I stood in the kitchen watching out the window as the first shot fired. He got it in the chest. He laid down....tail still wagging. That made me instantly feel horrible about having to put him down. It took a few more shots...the kids came running...I went out to shoo them away...saw things I never really wanted to see...but again, curiosity.
At least our friends and my husband are safe again from the animal. It just would have been easier if Jack would have been mean to us all.
