His ears went down, just a little, and his tail wagged once, and he whimpered, almost silently. I read that all to mean, just get me out of here!
I slipped my hands beneath his body; he made no move to bite and didn't "yipe." I tried to keep him as flat as possible as I carried him to the side of the road, away from the pavement, where I put him down and looked around. The other little dog had again crossed the street and was passing behind my car, but I was too worried about this one to do more than notice.
Two houses were in view, neither of which showed obvious evidence of dogs or children.
How hard must a heart be, to be able to resist puppy eyes at full power?
So, hoping that I wasn't making any injuries worse, I again picked him up and carried him to my car, putting him gently on the floor of the front passenger side, then going to knock on doors. The occupants of both houses were gone, busy, or just not answering, so I headed home. He uncurled, once we got underway, and I gently pushed him back to the floor when he would have climbed onto the seat or reeled across the dividing hump into my side.
He'd started shaking. Shock, I thought; he's going into shock. He howled, and I spoke quietly to him, trying to reassure him. Our eyes met again. He had a look to his face that says "terrier" — sharp little nose, neat little ears. I felt so sorry for him, and I felt that tug that happens when you really look into the eyes of the young and innocent. Puppy Eyes.
"Oh please," I said, "please don't make me want to keep you!" >>
