Member-only story
I Take My Dog to Work and It’s (Mostly) Great
It’s not all belly rubs and rainbows.
Let me tell you the story of Hershey Potter. She was pulled from a kill shelter in Kentucky by a rescue group in Sharon Center, Ohio, called Maggie’s Mission. They pulled any animal that was evenly vaguely, marginally adoptable.
Enter Hershey, stage right.
Hershey has… issues. She was two (or three) years old when they handed me the leash, and had both recently given birth AND been spayed. After the foster mom left, I ran my hands over Hershey’s tummy.
She had wire sticking out of her. Was she a robot? DID I HAVE A ROBOT DOG?? (A) Cool, but (B) probably not, and what the hell?
Turns out that rescue animals do not exactly get concierge care from vets, and my new dog had surgical steel sutures that no one had bothered to remove. One eventually migrated somewhere into her abdomen (don’t even think about it), and the others were removed the next day by my vet.
Hershey does not like:
Men, hats, sunglasses, tall people, people who move, cats, other dogs, having her paws touched, the mail carrier, the FedEx guy, the UPS guy, my boss.*
And Hershey barks. A lot. At everything.
