Rosee has been with me a week and three days. She came to me February 13, 2016 from downstate Illinois. Her person was done hunting her, he told the shelter, and he kindly donated her dog house, still chained to her in the bed of his truck, because, he said, “she loves it”.
No comments, please about the hunter. He didn’t shoot her or turn her loose, or even bring her to a county kill shelter. He had a pretty good idea she’d be taken care of. He might have been mistaken about that, but it turns out he wasn’t.
I was told before she was brought to me that she is good with “dogs, cats, and kids”. I wonder how he knew that. She shows affection easily, and I’m guessing she received it. She doesn’t know a thing about treats, but she does know about belly rubs.
He kept her skinny so that she would be a better hunter. He would shoot a rifle over her head when he fed her breakfast so she would be less gun-shy. Her physical condition is good, her step light, her coat glossy, her coloring not faded like an aging tri-color’s does. She has a noticeable tumor on her left side. It’s benign, according to the biopsy ordered by the shelter. When thunderstorms and the 4th of July comes around, if she is calm I won’t argue with his methods.
In the time I’ve had her, Rosee has shown herself to be a quick learner, not house trained, and a nose-to-the-ground sniffer. The last is interesting because coonhounds are air scenters – they must be taught that putting nose to ground works. This hunter knows what she’s about.
She has defecated three times outdoors, and about twenty times in the house. She has urinated around thirty times in the house, and exactly once outside, this morning, to be exact. She had probably never urinated while on a leash in all of her eight years.
She took food from my hand too, for the first time, today.
I think we’re off to a pretty good start.