On being disposable (not deplorable).

This is Wally, caught in an early morning sunbeam; he's one of five dogs with whom I share my humble abode--all rescue. He's part standard poodle and part who-knows-what and weighs about 30lbs dripping wet. He was horribly abused before he came into my life. He was a "Christmas puppy" that turned out to be an unwanted gift because he didn't come already housebroken, and his first six months of life were spent chained below an outdoor staircase and beaten whenever he barked. He suffered from a severe case of mange, pus-filled ears and was infested with fleas and ticks, along with a couple of healed broken ribs and some scabbed over wounds from being bitten by another dog. He was terrified of people. My vet, when I took him in for the first time to get a full medical evaluation, said he felt it would be best to put him down. I didn't. Instead I changed vets. During my 3-decade long career in the medical profession, I've cared for people with severe PTSD; I was sure I could use that experience, that training, to help Wally, but I was well aware of the risks--not just for me, but for my other dogs. My new vet was more understanding, more willing to help but warned me Wally might never regain his hearing and he'd always have patches of "elephant skin", legacy of his mange.

It took him a very long time before he would come when I called him, he didn't like being petted, or touched for that matter. Grooming him (a necessity for a poodle/poodle mix) was a nightmare for all involved, and while he has, on occasion, snapped at me (always when being clipped), he's never actually bitten me. Nine years on he still bears the psychological and physical scars from his early life: he rarely barks, he is fearful of people he doesn't know and will run away if approached. He eats his dinner when he thinks no one is watching, but...slowly over the years he's started to display the real Wally: a sweet, whip-smart and loving dog who enjoys being brushed and bathed and generally fussed over. He sleeps tucked up against me every night.

A couple of days ago, while we were on a walk along the beach, a scruffy-looking guy started pacing us. I smiled, acknowledged him and kept walking, but he kept getting closer and finally dashed ahead so he could block our path, then asked for money--pocket change, "A few bucks", nothing more, or so he said, so he could buy himself something for dinner. I told him I didn't have any money on me. It was true. I didn't have any, as I don't carry cash, and I'd left my wallet in the glove box of my car (had circumstances turned out differently, I would have offered to go get a fast food meal for him if that's what he really wanted the money for, or a sandwich from a local deli as I truly believe most of us are just one crisis, one missing paycheck away from depending upon the charity of others). All I had on me were my car keys, my cell phone, a couple of dog biscuits to reward Wally for walking well on the leash (another hurdle--he still freaks out at having a collar on, and hates being leashed due to his experience with being chained up so I use a no-choke harness and a long "lunge-line" used for horses as a leash) and a pair of WW2-era submariner binoculars I'd inherited from my father. I'd hoped to spot a few whales migrating, or at least a pod of resident dolphins when we started our walk. The guy didn't believe me and started getting agitated, promising he'd leave me alone as long as I "gave" him a few bucks. He likely saw Wally as a puff-ball who posed no threat. I'm sure if I'd been walking a GSD or Doberman he never would have bothered me.

I'd been keeping Wally on a short leash as I tried to convince this guy I was telling him the truth, keeping myself between the two as I was afraid Wally, who I suspected was cowering behind me, would totally freak and manage to slip out of his "escape-proof" harness and run off, perhaps back to the car and in the process get hit by another motorist, or his struggles would distract me just long enough this guy would grab me and we'd go from a demand for money to a physical assault.

When the guy told me he'd have my binoculars in lieu of cash, and stepped closer, Wally had had enough, snarled and went for him. I'm not sure who was more surprised: me or my would-be mugger. 30lbs of enraged poodle-mix, teeth barred suddenly coming at him was too much and he took off, running as fast as he could over loose, dry sand. Wally very much wanted to follow, to impress upon this fellow the need for better manners, or perhaps to mete out long-overdue revenge for all the abuse heaped on him by other humans.

I didn't let go of his leash. I immediately called the police, then hurried back to my car, Wally now in my arms as he wouldn't stop tugging at the leash, clearly still in a mood to chase after the guy. In fact during the entire hurried trip back to the car, he had his head on my shoulder, looking back the way we'd come and alternately barking and growling which at first was unnerving because I thought maybe that meant the guy was again following us, but when I looked back I realized that no, Wally was just still throwing curses and telling the jerk what for and the object of his rage was no where to be seen.

I rarely discuss personal stuff on social media; I am a deeply private person and I readily admit, I lead a rather humdrum life--nothing anyone else would be interested in reading about, certainly. But everyone needs a reminder, now and then, never to give up on those who have mental health issues, whether they have two or four feet. People and animals aren't disposable. And patience does have its rewards.

Wally's my hero.