When I first saw Izzy, he was running in circles around a fence in the farm field where he had lived mostly outside for some years. His coat was covered in burrs, bits of feces, brush and twigs. He was a wild creature, and it took us two days just to catch him. On the way to the farm, he vomited and spewed diarrhea all over the car, and I realized he had never been in a car. When we got  home, I took him on a leash and brought him out to see the donkeys and the sheep. He flipped out, pulled the leash out of my hand and took off up the hill and into the woods.

I called Rose, jumped in the truck and took off after him. I caught up with him four or five miles away on Bunker Hill Road just above Cossayuna. He was running like a greyhound, strong and very fast. I pulled ahead of him and pulled over across the road – just like they do in the movies –  and Rose jumped out of the window just as Izzy came rocketing up to us. Rose looked at me, confused, wanting directions. “Get the sheep!” I yelled, pointing at Izzy. That was all she needed to hear. She took off after Izzy as he came rushing past, grabbed onto his tail, and hung on for dear life. Izzy, startled, suddenly carrying the 50 pound weight of this tenacious creature, turned, and stopped. I got to him and grabbed him. We all came back in the truck, everybody panting and gasping for breath. Izzy never ran off again.

Over the next few weeks he nearly destroyed my life. He dug holes under fences, jumped over them, dismantled three metal crates, ate the paneling off the living room walls, dumped all over the house. I was about ready to give him up when my vet Jeff Meyers examined him and turned to me, and said, “you need to keep Izzy. He will be a great dog for you.” So it was.

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There is no news to report on Izzy. He is tired, resting, eating, walking. We are taking tests, and waiting on them.