I hurried out to the deck and discovered the source of the howls. There was a fully intact male hound pacing back and forth on the sidewalk that runs alongside the house. He was soaking wet, shivering and trying to stay out of the rain under our deep overhang. His tail started wagging as soon as he spotted me, and he had that look on his face that said, "Finally! Couldn't you hear me howling at your sliding door?"
Big Daddy went outside to see if his expensive suede collar had a tag on it - no luck. But the dog followed him right into the garage and let BD dry him off with a towel. He smelled like he had been sprayed by a skunk, but probably not last night. You couldn't smell it from any distance - thankfully. I couldn't get him to hold still long enough to get a good picture of him, as he was way more interested in the wood that was being split than in posing for me.
|Not such a good shot of the stray hound. He was in continual motion, |
and my camera battery needed a charge.
Once the hound was dried off, his tail never stopped wagging. He ate some of our dog food like he hadn't had a meal in a while, he appreciated the meat scraps Big Daddy hand-fed him, and he drank a fair amount of water. Once those needs were met, he was more than ready to lie down on the old comforter I dragged out for him. Right after this shot was snapped, he went to sleep for a few hours. Obviously he had been a busy boy last night.
|Stray hound looking not nearly as happy and energetic as when we first let him into the garage. |
He didn't mind the messy digs (hey, this is Big Daddy's space, and I don't interfere),
and he slept soundly right there.
A poll of the closest neighbors that I know how to reach proved fruitless. Our small town doesn't have its own Humane Society or no-kill shelter, so I'll have to wait until tomorrow to have the local vet check to see if he's got a chip. Why do the strays always drop in on us on rainy Sundays?