Rescued in the truest sense.
We had our Siberian Queen-of-you-all Husky and our German Shepherd Dog running in the field. A car stopped on the highway, and an elderly couple asked if one of our dogs got away. They had just spotted one across the highway. Injured. But not ours.
My son and I searched twice before this burly white dog stuck her head above the tall grass between the highway and the railroad track. We weren’t sure what got her—truck or train—but it had mangled one hind leg. Compound fractures. Bloodied. Shattered.
I crept toward this wounded animal, hands out to my sides, speaking softly—
And she rolled onto her back. Rub my belly. My leg hurts.
She never snapped, growled or grumbled as we loaded her up and searched for her owner. Finally, we brought her home. Took her to a vet (several times). And welcomed her into our family.
We named her Nixie. Found out her original name was Ghost. So it fit. German for water pixie. Or water nymph. Or mermaid. It really, really fit.
Nixie loves puddles after a rain. Loves her doggy wading pool. Loves the mini-donkey trough where she dunks herself almost daily. She drinks with her entire snout immersed, like how a bloodhound flushes its nose. I want to take her to the ocean. She’d spin circles. It’s mine—ALL MINE!
The sweetest of our doggies. The vet said if we weren’t keeping her, there were five people ready to take her home. No, thanks. We love her. Gimpy. Tripod. Nixie-bear.