Wanting to be more civic minded and give back to our community, my husband and I became involved with the Kansas City English Bulldog Rescue (KCEBR). Shortly after becoming volunteers, we were asked to foster an older dog named “Chunk.” His owner had died in hospice, and Chunk didn’t have any place to go. The KCEBR took him into the foster program, and placed him in a temporary foster home. When we got the call about Chunk, we were told that he didn’t get along well with the other dogs and needed to be an “only child.” We were a perfect fit and had become volunteers just at the right time.
The KCEBR family is fabulous. They brought him to us, and answered all of our questions. He was healthy, but the stress of moving into a new home, and the death of his previous owner was causing hives and hair loss. (Weight loss was never a worry with Chunk.) My husband, although agreeable to being a KCEBR volunteer, had not really bought into the whole thing and when Chunk arrived he was a little ambivalent.
That all changed two hours into Chunk’s arrival.
My husband works from home and has an office that is dark, cool and “cave like.” I had purchased a dog bed and placed it in his office. Chunk sniffed around the house, learning his new surroundings. He checked out all the rooms then went straight to my husband’s office and laid down under his desk. The dog bed was untouched.
Thinking that life was back to normal, my husband went back to work but every time he moved, Chunk moved. Hubs got up to get something from the frig and Chunk followed. Hubs went to the bathroom, Chunk followed. Hubs walked around talking to clients on the phone, Chunk followed.
My husband was hooked.
Hubs: “I think he likes me!”
Me: “No duh. He doesn’t even know I’m in the room.”
Hubs: “That’s because he loves me more.”
Me: (eyes roll) “Yeah, honey. He loves you more.”
Hubs: “We have to adopt him. I can’t let him go anywhere else. He loves me.”
Me: (OMG) “Okay, honey. I’ll tell the rescue we are adopting him.”
That night, Chunk lumbered up the stairs, laid down on the floor on my husband’s side of the bed and went to sleep. In case you didn’t know, English Bulldogs have two particular talents in spades: snoring and passing gas. Chunk was an Olympian at both. (We had to buy a fan. It’s purely a survival thing for us.)
We’ve had Chunk for almost a year now and he still “loves my husband more,” unless I’m cooking bacon. When that happens, my husband becomes an obstacle and not a person. Of course, when the bacon is gone, my husband becomes king again.
We take him on car rides to Sonic (the girls there give him Tator Tots) and when we leave to play golf he wants to come along. I don’t think the golf course would look kindly on having Chunk sleeping on the green. For now, he’s my LPGA crowd, quietly watching as my ball rolls across the kitchen floor into the cup.