Mojo was slated to be euthanized. When I met him, he had soiled himself as the short car ride to meet me had proved too much for him to handle. “The poor guy is just so fearful of everything, I just don’t know that we can place him,” said the folks at the rescue. Armed with unrealistic expectations and a pocket full of treats, I brought him home that afternoon.
He spent the first night curled up in the back of my closet, refusing food, water and treats of every kind. During his first walk with me the next day, he flinched at the sound of a leaf hitting the sidewalk. My fantasy of the two of us running on the beach, sun on our faces, wind in our hair, was dashed to bits as he trembled at the sound of each crashing wave.
These days, Mojo acts as the official greeter of our local beaches and parks, prancing up to dogs large and small, tails waggin’ away. He seems to pay extra attention to the more timid dogs as if to say “Don’t worry buddy, it’s gonna be okay. I’ve got good mojo now, and you will too.”