Thursday, July 13, 2006


Fetching Blaze, Part 4...

The funny thing was, I almost didn't wear the hard-shell bulletproof vest my brother sent me. It was an old model and awfully heavy. It was one of the reasons I felt slow and clumsy. But my brother, who never asked me to do anything, begged me to wear it. "You think that crazy asshole doesn't have a shotgun?" he yelled at me on the phone. "That vest just might save your life!"

"What if he shoots me in the head?" I asked.

"Oh, well...don't worry kid. If he kills you, I'll go out there myself and kill him back. Besides, I'd need to get my vest anyway."

It didn't occur to me that the vest would be useful against cowboy boots and iron pipes. Granted, WW still knocked the wind out of me and I'd have sore ribs for a while, but at least my ribs weren't what made the cracking noises. That sound was made by blows hitting the armor plates, causing them to knock together inside the vest. Lucky me.

As WW tottered backwards, I crouched on the concrete, trying to catch my breath. Blaze's barking stopped for a moment. I looked up, squinting to see where WW was. Without my glasses, I couldn't see much, but he still appeared to be hopping on one foot and cursing. Only now Blaze was dancing around him now, weaving this way and that, barking in alarm.

I'd love to tell you Blaze had leapt to my defense, but this was no Disney movie. Blaze was almost certainly trying to move to the other side of the kennel, to get away from WW. Somehow, as he stumbled backwards, WW's boot got tangled in a loop of Blaze's chain. A moment later, WW swung a threatening fist at Blaze, hoping to make him move. It worked. Blaze darted around him and pulled the chain in such a way that he clipped the back of WW's other boot, taking his feet out from under him. WW went over backwards hitting the concrete hard, first with his ass, then with the back of his head. He sat up almost immediately, but the whack on the head must have really given his brains--such as they were--a good shake. He stared at Blaze, who was now back over by his doghouse. I was still panting, but I was standing upright, looking down at my tormentor.

The next part's difficult for me to relate. Many of you know that I was raised on comic books, and when you're raised on comic books, your sense of decency and morality runs the danger of becoming seriously skewed away from reality. Good guys fought the Good Fight, which meant they didn't pick on guys smaller than they were, they didn't hit girls, or anybody with glasses, and they most assuredly didn't hit a man in the back, or when he was down. Growing up, I always thought that I was a good guy, and that these rules applied to me.

Well, that night there in that dog kennel I put to rest any notion of being a good guy.

Because while he was down, while his attention was still focused on Blaze, I locked my hands together in one big fist, took two running steps, raised my hands high, and swung down like I was holding a sledge hammer. And the back of WW's neck was a fence post.

There was no dramatic sound effect, only a dull thud and the jolt of impact running up both arms. My injured wrist sent out a flare of pain. My teeth rattled. I hit him in the base of the skull, below the bloody scuff mark he'd just received when he fell. I put my weight into it, and for the first time I was glad to have put on 20 pounds this spring. WW pitched forward bonelessly, almost smacking the concrete with his face. Before he could recover, I threw myself on him, digging my knee as hard as I could into the middle of his back. Then I went into full Drunken Booger mode, elbows flying and head thrashing every which way. I must have looked like an overgrown 2-year-old throwing the mother of all temper tantrums. It wasn't pretty, it wasn't elegant, it most certainly wasn't honorable.

I lost track of time for a few seconds there, then it came back to me that I needed to get going. I sprang up off of WW's back, heart pounding. I had my hands up now, ready for the next round, feeling nothing, no pain , no emotion. My old karate instructor used to chide me for thinking too much during a fight. He said when I thought, I worried too much about hurting the other guy. Well, I guess he would have been glad to see me just then. I wasn't thinking at all. I had nothing left but adrenalin and instinct.

And suddenly, it didn't look like I'd need either.

WW stayed down, groaning audibly. He had blood trickling out of one ear and a huge gash on his cheek. Had I done that? One boot was still wrapped in the chain; I could hear its heavy jingle as he slowly moved his foot.

The chain I thought, casting around, trying to see. A few feet away was the bolt cutter. I bent and scooped it up. Miraculously, my glasses, their frames bent again, lay right nearby. I stuffed them into my pocket, then ran to Blaze, who was still barking, almost hysterically, it seemed. By touch, I found that the chain was padlocked to a metal ring that hung from the prong collar. Squinting, I put the ring in the mouth of the bolt cutter and pushed. The chain and the collar parted and my dog was free.

For a moment, I thought Blaze might jump into my arms and we'd have an emotional reunion, but without so much as a backwards glance, he skittered around the crawling form of WW and bolted straight out of the gate and into the darkness, leaving me behind.

Hoping I could catch him, I grabbed the bolt cutter and the pipe and started for the gate. Then I stopped. WW was sitting up once more, swaying slightly. I wondered if I had given him a concussion, then realized--to my own horror--that I actually didn't give a shit. Then he was looking at me and all of a sudden, my temper rose, blood pounded in my ears. I was starting to feel the pain in my eye, my cheek, my lip, my wrist, my ribs. I'd had a lousy fucking day, all because of this guy. I thought I deserved the last word.

I stepped towards him and he shrunk back, much as Blaze had done when WW approached earlier. With the pipe in one hand and the bolt cutter in the other, he must have thought I was going to lay a serious beat-down on him, as I have no doubt he would have done had our positions been reversed.

I took another step closer, trying to think of something really memorable and appropriate. But my mind was a blank.

I took a third step and now WW was up against the chain link fence, looking from my face to the pipe, to the bolt cutter, and back to my face.

Now, I'm pretty sure that I intended to say something righteous and final. "I ever see your face again, you'll get worse" or maybe "Let this be a lesson to you, WW. And stop being mean to animals."

But to my surprise, I opened my mouth, spittle and blood ran down my chin, and I screamed two words right in his face:

"MY Dog!!!"

Not exactly the kind of last words likely to appear in books of quotations, but what can you do? I must have looked sufficiently crazy, though, because WW just stared at me, unmoving. I held his gaze for one murderous second.

Then I turned and ran.

I closed the gate and noticed a hole in the latch, a place where one might loop a padlock to secure the kennel. There was no lock, so I rammed the iron pole through it. Then I turned around, trying to get my bearings. In the distance, I could hear dogs barking and the far-off muttering of the old man, cursing and probably wondering where his son was with that damned flashlight.

I heard a familiar whine off to my right. There, at the beginning of the long driveway, stood Blaze, his fur matted with blood and dirt, one eye weeping some kind of goop after something (or someone) had scratched his cornea. But his ears were pricked up and he looked at me in anticipation.

"Come on!" I said, slapping my leg. And together we ran for the car.

Later I realized my ham-fisted rescue mission had taken less than 7 minutes. That was all.

But it took us that long and then some to run--well, hobble--all the way back to my car. I unlocked the door and Blaze scrabbled in. I jumped in, locked the doors and started the car. I wasted 30 valuable seconds rummaging in the glove compartment for my spare glasses, found them, then gunned it and tore off up the road as fast as I could. In 10 minutes, we were back on a state highway and I struggled mightily to keep to the speed limit of 40 miles an hour (I didn't want to get pulled over by a cop, for many reasons). Finally, we reached the interstate. I jumped on, but got off at the very next exit. Right off the ramp, I pulled into a gas station parking lot, intending to use to rest room to clean up. Instead, I hopped out, ran to the bushes at the edge of the lot and threw up, my stomach knotted, my head pounding from the adrenaline overload of the past hour.

I sat down on the gravel-strewn pavement under the orange glow of a sodium vapor light and tried to catch my breath. Sweat was streaming off me and now I was the one trembling. In my haste, I had left the car door open. Blaze clambered out of the car and limped over to me. He nudged his snout up under my arm and started licking my sore cheek. Up close, I finally saw how to remove the prong collar and unclipped it from his neck. As I did, I heard an unpleasant noise. Some of the prongs had become embedded in his neck, deeply enough that blood had welled around the prongs, then dried. As I pulled, clots of matted fur came off and Blaze yelped a little, but mostly I think he was relieved to have the damn thing off him. He stepped into my lap, stuffing one of his paws into my crotch, but that was the least of my pains. He tried to lay in my lap like he was a tiny puppy, instead of a big fat dog, and then I started crying. I hugged his smelly, matted, punctured neck and cried into it. He just sat there, his tail making whisking sounds against the pavement as he wagged it.

" okay?"

I looked up. A gas station attendant, evidently on her way to the bathroom, stood at the corner, staring.

"Yeah, yeah," I said, wiping my eyes and snuffling. "Fine. Lost my dog for a while. But I just found him."

"Oh, okay," she said, somewhat uncertainly. Then she headed on to the bathroom.

I pulled myself together, grabbed two duffel bags from the car and took Blaze into the men's room with me. By now, he was limping noticeably and he seemed lethargic. I pinched his skin at the back of his neck and it sort of stuck together, a classic sign of dehydration. I got out the first-aid kit his girlfriends at the animal hospital had put together for me and gave him a shot of fluids under his skin. Then I found the bag containing two cold hamburger patties I had bought at a little diner back in town. They were cooked--no raw meat for my dog. I fished out a bottle of antibiotics and stuffed one tablet into one burger, then gave it to Blaze, who gulped it in two bites. While he chewed, I pulled out the collapsible travel bowl I had brought and put a little water from the sink into it. Blaze lapped it up, then looked at me for more, but I didn't want him drinking so much that he'd get sick.

I checked him over, then dabbed his cuts and puncture wounds with an antibiotic ointment. He had about a dozen blood-engorged ticks on him, so I fished the tweezers out of the first aid kit and pulled them off, taking care to make sure I removed the whole tick and didn't leave anything behind to cause an infection.

While pulling ticks, I found the raised welts on his side where he'd been kicked. He yelped loudly when I barely brushed them. I listened to his breathing for a moment and he sounded okay, but I was going to have to find a vet tomorrow to look at him and make sure he didn't have a bruised lung. I also wondered if dogs needed tetanus shots for puncture wounds. I got an aspirin out of the first-aid kit, stuffed that in the second burger and fed him that. At least he'd be comfortable til tomorrow.

With Blaze's wounds seen to, I laid him on top of my soft canvas duffel, then took a few minutes to gingerly wash my face and assess my own damage. My right eye was pretty much closed, but with my spare pair of glasses, I would be fine to drive home. Everything else seemed more or less attached and in working order. I took off the vest BB had sent me, being sure to first remove the night-vision scope from the vest's inside pocket and returning it to its case. I put these and my black clothes--now soaked with blood, sweat and dirt--into the other bag and changed into a fresh t-shirt and jeans. Blaze, I was astonished to see, was already fast asleep on top of the canvas bag, his doggy snores echoing off the dirty tile of the rest room. I hitched one bag over my shoulder, leaving my hands free to pick Blaze up, bag, dog and all. I carried him to the car, arranged a soft bed in the back using an old comforter and several towels I had brought. Blaze stirred long enough to transfer himself from the bag to this kingly bed. He was asleep again before I got back in the driver's seat.

We drove on for another few hours, until I crossed the state line and felt that WW and his puppy farm were well behind us. I was starting to seriously ache, so we stopped at an ATM for a fresh infusion of money, then laid up for the night at an old motor lodge, just off the interstate.

"We don't allow pets," the short stubby man grunted at me, when he saw me walk in with Blaze in my arms (I had wanted to keep Blaze in the car, but when he woke up and saw me get out, he began whining like a puppy. For the next few days, he wouldn't leave my side). We must have looked like quite the pair.

"How much is a room?" I asked.

"Twenty-five," Stubby said. "But we don't allow--"

I set Blaze on the floor, then counted out the money for the room. I paused a beat, then laid another 20 next to it. "That's for him," I said.

Stubby took the money, pocketing the extra bill, but evidently twenty bucks didn't buy his silence. He grumbled while I filled out the register. "Just don't want to see no hair on the towels or crap on the floor. That's why we don't take pets," he muttered petulantly.

I leaned in and fixed him with the same look I had given WW. "I don't have a pet," I said. "This is my dog."

Stubby just put his hands up and backed away, afraid my brand of crazy was catchy. "Sure, man. Whatever." He handed me a key. "Room 23." My lucky number.

The room was spare, but clean, and with plenty of hot water. As soon as I locked the door behind us, though, I realized I was too tired to do anything but lie down. I set Blaze on the bed next to me and flopped onto the springy mattress. In moments, we were both asleep. Blaze woke up a few times during the night, yelping from his injuries, or from bad dreams. I had a few doozies of my own, mostly jumbled images of me trapped in a kennel while WW stood outside prodding me with his iron pole, or me trying to get Blaze's collar off, only to realize it was locked and I had forgotten the bolt cutters.

But some time after midnight, we both hunkered under the covers and eventually found our way to a more soothing, healing sleep, the kind where nightmares gave way to endless green fields and bounding rabbits and the knowledge that we were free to chase them.

And if we stirred, it was only the twitch of a hand or paw, only the unconscious working of a mouth or wrinkling of a snout as we slept on through the night, as innocent and peaceful as two dogs dreaming.

From Somewhere on the Masthead


To repeat a tired phrase: Wow.

Bravo. I am applauding and crying at the same time. I pray my children grow up to be mensches like you.

Thanks again, immensely, for your gift of storytelling.
What Stu said, because words fail me.
Can't see the words to type - you are amazing. Blaze is amazing. You're both lucky to have each other and your stories are unforgettable.
Well done, and as far as the fight went, it's known as "crazy beats tough".

And I'll echo the wow. It's good that everyone is safe and sound (for the longterm, anyway).
That is an incredibly moving story. I love it. It could and should be a book.

Oh, and "MY Dog" is a perfect final statement. Concise and decisive. You can't ask for anything more.
You brought tears to my eyes. I'm so glad you're both alive and on the mend!
Wow totally sums it up. I am so glad that you got Blaze back. BRAVO!! I am in awe of you. :)
What Kapgar said. "MY dog" says all that needs to be said.
"My Dog!!!" is the pinnacle of that moment. The outrage and sorrow you were feeling is so evident, the frustration so palpable. When I first read it, I was knocked out, feeling like I had been kicked in the chest. They are absolutely last words that ought appear in a book of quotations. If I were producing the film, I would absolutely use that shot in the trailer. It is an arresting moment that, in many ways, defines your greatness as a human.
"my dog" is like "no ticket" when Indiana Jones throws the Nazi from the zeppelin(sp?). Short and sweet.

Amazing story.
That's incredible. I am so proud of you....
adoring sighs, and a few tears too.

Had to shout out a HOOAAAA! At "My Dog" - both times.....then I had to send links to everyone in the office and explain myself.
thank you for sharing, much amazement and tears over here. i'm so glad the hell is over with.

Absolutely amazing. You might be crazy, you might be reckless, but you're a hero to your family and to all of us for damned sure.

Thanks for sharing this amazing tale with us MM.

Thank you for being a terrific human being.

Thank you for being a great story teller.

And thank you for not leaving us another cliff hanger.
My god...I got chills reading this one. When I read your stories, I get so into them, I actually picture the people in them in my head...down to the surly motel owner and WW's tired father. This story is amazing. I can't imagine how you even began to recant it to your family. :-) But I'm so glad Blaze is home and safe. MY DOG was probably the perfect thing to say. A long elaborate speech wouldn't have registered in WW's brain (such as it is) But "MY DOG"...well, even a child can understand that. And here's hoping that the weapons in your hand and the look in your eyes made WW realize that trying this again would not be worth it.
Fantastic story. I'm sorry you had to have the adventure, but an adventure for the ages! And I still think you're a good guy. A REALLY good guy.
*sniff* Wow.

That was just perfect. So sorry that both of you went through so much pain, but so happy you decided to share it with us.

I think we were all in there with you, tripping WW, and making sure Blaze was going home.

As everyone has said, "MY dog" is just about the most perfect thing you could have said.

Now, about that book....
You are an amazing story teller! I can't believe all that you did for Blaze, but I sure as hell wish there were more people in this world like you. Thank you, from all the animal loving humans out there.
Positively riveting, the entire way through.

"MY Dog!" More words would only have been useless noise. That said everything that needed saying - for the past, the present and the future.

Again, wow. If this dog is ever in trouble, I want you for my back.
MY DOG! Short, concice & right to the point. Even WW dirtbag had to understand your position. Not a bad book title either. Once again a terrific story, destined to be addad to "THE ONES EVERYONE ASKS ABOUT"
I'm telling you, when I read "MY DOG!" it stole the breath out of me as though it was my face you'd screamed it into.

Amazing. The story and the telling of it.
Christ, here I go being a philosopher, all 22 years of me...

You are still the good guy. You may not believe it, but you are. You got the best of WW and more importantly, yourself. You saved your friend, and you have shown once again that you can do anything you set your mind to.

This was a man who tried to kill you from behind. Even sitting down, this guy was still a threat to you. Once you saw he wasn't a threat any more, you stopped. You fought a man who took pleasure out of violence. You did it without taking pleasure in that violence.

And remember how you said you do anything for family? You did what you had to do. You kept your word.

You know what all these things say about you? You're a man of honor. You're the good guy. You're a hero.
You're our hero MM! Blaze and the family is so lucky to have you.
I can't say I would have shown WW half the mercy you did, especially if I was standing over him with an iron pipe. I think the tempatation to inflict some serious injury would have overwhelmed any sense of decency still remaining at that point. You are a better man than I.

That said, kudos to you for taking the high road (and probably staying out of jail). And thanks for a scintillating narrative.

Give Blaze a good belly rub from me and my family. We had to put our dog down in January (cancer) and we still miss him terribly. Your story made me miss him all the more...
Every time I read an installment of this amazing tale I have to go and love up my dog, Tux. Who is indeed part of the family. Would I attempt what you have done in similar circumstances? Damn straight. Would I succeed? Doubtful. And if I did, would I be able to tell my story half so well? Not a chance in hell.
The analytical side of me has wanted to dive into this story at each post, and it's especially fidgety now--there's writing to evaluate and ideas to consider and clues and hints to follow and perhaps be snarkily off-handed about.

But it just doesn't seem right, and so I've been limited to expressing my thankfulness that you were able to save Blaze.

And that's still all I can do.
I am amazed at the love you have shown for your family each time I read an entry. I am glued to the computer every day.
I also would like to throw out that I understand your choice of WW for the villain... it does mean wee weiner, right? :)
Oh, man. Absolutely riveting, as someone above said. I am sitting here with tears streaming, amazed by you and so impressed by your guts and perseverance.

I am awed and humbled by you, and you definitely are still one of the good guys--this is from one comic book reader to another. Blaze is so lucky to have you.
OK. I cried. I admit it. I'm a wuss.

Magazine Man, sir, you are never the bad guy when you are rescuing someone you love from an awful predicament.
Never, even in spite of what your conscience tells you.

I am sorry that you had to resort to violence to get Blaze back, but at the same time, I am so glad that you did, because clearly reasoning and rational discussion wasn't going to work.

Re: *MY* dog.
Mate, those two words said everything that needed to be said.

Well done, sir. Well done.


Your family -- human and canine -- is damn lucky to have you.
Wow MM (seems like all my comments start that way). An incredible story, incredibly well told.

Reading about your ministrations to Blaze in the gas-station restroom -- the preparation that required, the presence of mind, the tenderness and the love -- just about broke my heart.

You are indeed one of the good guys.

-- Imran
I want to second the Wow and also the Bravo! Also as a fan of mystery novels, I have to say that violence is often a necessary part of resolving the mystery. In the end the hero remains a hero, even if a flawed one. I see that quality in you MM, and I am so glad that you and Blaze made it home safe to your family. Be well and keep a sharp eye out for WW.


I'm so glad you got him back!!

Also, please, PLEASE take steps to keep WW from showing up at your home. We know that both Faith and Mercy know where you live. WW seems like the kind of guy who would have no problem using physical force on either of them to get them to tell him where you lived. I worry about HMS and the kids! And Blaze!! I can't image what he would do to Blaze if he ever got his hands on him again.

So, please say you're taking steps to protect those closest to you!

what shafa (and all the others) said.

it's amazing how well blaze turned out, considering his time before you. kudos to blaze's girlfriends at the vet's office - sounds like they did a bang-up job of advising you on the first aid kit.

kudos to bb, too, for insisting on the body armor. it sounds like it saved you from significant injury.

part of what makes you a good guy is that you question yourself and you doubt that you ARE in fact a good guy. those people that are absolutely certain of everything worry me.

and, "MY dog" is the perfect answer. he'll understand it, and if you looked nuts enough, he'll believe it.

yay to happy endings!
You really are Maximum Dad!
I second what everyone else said. What an amazing story of devotion and heroism. You rock!

And, if you have anymore trouble with WW, just call his local animal control or animal rights group. And make sure you have pictures of your injuries...just in case you ever need to prove his violence to anyone.
I read the last two entries yesterday afternoon.
.........extra long exhale........

It was hard to read such entries here. I am so glad this is over and now I petition for the final chapter, the homecoming.

I so want to hear about the moment Blaze passed through the front door and the childrens thrills at seeing him (and you) home again.
WOO HOO!!!!!!!!!!

I am sooooooo happy that blaze is back!!!!!!

you are a hero!!!!
This kind of writing makes me want to shut down my blog and point my URL to your site. Great story.
I don't know you but I will love you forever. What a wonderful person you are. Your family, including blaze, is so lucky to have you.
What a journey! I've always wondered to what lengths I'd go for my dogs. You've lived it and put into words what I can only imagine.

From my dogs to Blaze, sleep soundly in the fold of your people.
That was truly amazing! We don't have any pets right now (I've got three children ages 4 and under so I really don't have the time to dedicate to a pet), but I'd like to think that I would be that dedicated to any animal that we brought into our home!
I've spent most of the last week going through the archives, and Blaze had me at hello. I'm so glad that you got him back, and that you will both recover in time.
Touching, heroic tstory. Thank you for it.
So glad you got Blaze back. What a story! You *are* one of the good guys.

Did the Brownie ever remember to ask about Jenny the boy fox?
Truly amazing writing. Thank you for sharing with us! I can't believe that took only 7 minutes! I spend fewer words explaining a year in my life.. this explains why I'm not good at this writing thing! Make sure I get the first book that rolls off the presses MM!
you asked what we would or did do for our animals.

Several years ago we adopted Dixie, an abused Bluetick Coonhound. We didnt know how badly messed up she was, nor that she'd bitten a child(her idiot owners left a fearful snappy dog alone with a 2 year old, so no one is sure how it happened.)

We went to meet her, but she was in such emotional pain and terror that my husband coudnt leave her there. We both knew we were making a potential mistake but took her anyway.

Less than a week later she attacked me-I wasnt bitten but she did shred my shirt.

That was when we realised she was already ours. a Coonhound rescue group had said they'd take her if it didnt work out. But we're childless and were very worried she'd end up on a home where she might bite another kid. We figured with the help of a dog behavior vet she might become trustworthy and happy. If not, we'd have her put down ourselves, whcih was a scary thought. But she'd lost at least 2 homes already. If she could be saved, we'd do it, if not, we wouldnt make her go off with someone else just to save ourselves losing her. SO we took ehr to a vet specialising in behavior problems, and he thought she could be truned around with training.

Now, years later, we have a happy dog we can trusts most of the time and know what to watch out for. she's even ok with kids if closely supervised, which she always is when around other people. We cant allow her on the bed or couch cause that makes her thinks she's in charge and she starts gettign aggresive. Making her sleep by herself may be the hardest part of having her, but it keeps her sane. And when she sometimes drives us crazy we remember we chose her(it wasnt her choice) and she needs us.

When we got her she was afriad of people waving rakes or brooms, drink cans being thrown, crackled, or crushed, the smell of beer, human feet, and other things. If you threw anything her way, even a small treat, she'd run and she peed in fear when anyone looked at her. She has early arthritis in one shoulder which our vet thinks was likely caused by being kicked.

She still panics if anyone goes in the bathroom and closes the door, and totally freaks if a human vomits. Ill never know the full story but i think she must have been abused by someone who got extra mean when he(she is scared of men. also children and other dogs) was puking drunk or hungover.

It might have been easier to let the rescue people take her but we just couldnt. we'd let her into the family and couldn't push her out. And most of the time we love havign her, especially since she eventaully developed a sense of humor and likes to play now. She's even learned she can get away with almost anyting if she makes me laugh.
Oh my god. I read ever word of your story today. Frankly I had no idea how to react. So I won't. Except, to say that if you are making this up, then you need to take your act on the road. If not, then her lovely self needs to whack the puddin out of you. Next time, for god's sake, would you call up some decent rednecks like me and my husband to go callin upon WW with ya. Geesh...there was no reason what so ever for you to get even a mere scratch.
I have never read your blog before today. I will read it every day now. Man Blaze is amazingly lucky to have you as his owner. I am so happy that you have him back.
I think actually that Faith and her family are in a more frightening position than you and your family right now. If WW honestly thinks that you were her boyfriend or in some way associated with her, then he is going to come after Faith. He has no idea who you are, but he may try to bring battery charges against or even harm Faith or her kids.
I have sat here and read the entire "adventure" of you and Blaze. A few posts back you asked if other people thought of their pets as family and would they go as far as you did. I would. I would do everything for my two Rottweilers that you did for Blaze. He's a very lucky dog to have you. And you and your family are very lucky to have him. Thank you for going so far to find and save him. I hope that both of you are recovering fine.

it's taken me a while to find time to sit down and give this story the attention it deserves. "My dog!!" is about as articulate as my core response to this story, especially the details of Blaze's injuries: that motherfucker.

He deserved every bit of that beating you administered. He deserved to be hit when he was down, chained up and defenseless. That's what he did to your dog without a second thought, after all.
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