Meet Hank. My husband and I adopted Hank last month from the Springdale Animal Shelter.
The Joenkses are a family that understands, owns and loves basset hounds. In fact, we have two: Gus and Grace, both strays themselves. But middle age and years of stress left me with medical conditions for which my doctor says walking is the answer. Although I walk with a good friend, something was missing. I enviously watched those in the park walking dogs.
God sent me Gus when I needed him. God sent me Grace because I deserved her. My friends say this time God helped Hank find me.
In surfing petfinder.com, I had seen this picture several times, pulled up the profile and passed. But on one particular day, a Tuesday, Hank’s face struck me. I was in love. This dog is beyond cute: black flopped-over ears, another spot of pure black where his tail attaches to his body and a grin that literally goes from ear to ear. The shelter staff said he is a blue-heeler mix. Kids tell their parents he’s a “fire dog.” I say he’s a funny-looking basset hound with his nose and ears too short and his legs too long.
With a friend cheering me on, I met the dog that very afternoon. I took my husband to the shelter the next day. He didn’t quite understand why I wanted a dog, but he said, “He’s a cute, nice dog” and “If you want the dog, we’ll get the dog.” I finally asked Hank — at that point, his name was Avery, a name he didn’t recognize — if he wanted to come home with us. He laid down on my feet and turned over to get his tummy rubbed.
We filled out an application, paid the adoption fee, and Hank was to become ours the next afternoon.
In the interim, shelter staff took him to a local vet to be neutered. The vet offered us a complete health screening, vaccinations and a bath — opportunities we gladly took — and then we had to buy a collar, a leash, a doghouse, a bowl and enough treats to keep everyone happy. The bill totaled about $300 — much less than the initial cost of just “buying” a dog.
Of course, I had been thinking about names and had a list. As I read it, the fourth or fifth name out of about 15 was “Hank.”
“Hank. I like Hank,” my husband said before I even finished.
Hank is only a nickname. His full name is Henry Harold, after our paternal grandfathers. I need a formal name to call him when he is in trouble.
I haven’t used it yet. This shelter d0g came to me house trained and chewing only things a dog is allowed to chew. He calms down and naps as well as the basset hounds do. But Hank and the 9-year-old basset hounds continue to debate some personal space issues. Hank, an 11-month-old puppy, gets so excited that he runs over them. Dogs teach each other by nipping. The basset hounds nip, and Hank nips back. And Grace has issues with almost anyone sitting on the couch or sleeping on the bed.
My household is settling down, though.
Hank likes to run around and around the couches while the basset hounds stand and bark at him — well, it’s my kind of settled, anyway. Hank seemed mystified until I told him that’s how basset hounds play. And Hank readily crawls into my lap for snuggles — but he ends up sliding to the floor because he just can’t sit still.
Now Hank and I tackle obedience school. In Joenks tradition, the first night didn’t go well. Seems we all have problems with basic obedience. And Hank does have some dog-aggression issues that Robert Sanchez promises we’ll work out.
I don’t know the history of Hank other than he was a stray and had been at the shelter for about three weeks. A worker told me somewhat sadly that plenty of visitors looked at Hank and another heeler mix, named Storm, “but the people always ended up going some other way.”
I’m glad they did. They (and those who let him stray) missed a great dog! Many other wonderful dogs (and cats) are always available for someone with a great home to offer.
LAURINDA JOENKS IS A FEATURES REPORTER AT THE MORNING NEWS AND HAS LIVED IN SPRINGDALE SINCE 1990.