So yesterday I  brought home a new friend. He looks like a 40-pound version of Bishop, down to the wasp waist and the white between his toes and the white patch of hair with black speckles on his chest, but his personality is completely different. He’s kind of a hard-luck case: three years old, heartworm-positive (but being treated), not yet neutered (but that’s happening next week), and already has some hip dysplasia. He is also extremely timid and fearful, at least so far.

At the shelter (where he probably would have been euthanized eventually, had the rescue not stepped in and placed him in a foster home) they named him Patches, because when he arrived he was missing patches of fur. Although his foster father said he responded to that name, he hasn’t so much as twitched an ear when I’ve used it, so I decided to try something else. I’ve tried about fifty something elses (my friend Kristen helpfully found a list of Gothic men’s names online, which led to much mirth — “Dostoevsky! Usher! Radcliffe! Bishop Jr! Knight! Rook! Pawn!”), and I think he’s going to be Rufus.

The rescue and his foster father both said he had been living outside before he was brought to the shelter. I don’t know whether this means he was on the street or tied up in a yard, but he’s obviously received minimal training and socialization during his life. So far, he doesn’t sit or lay on command, doesn’t come when called, and isn’t great at heeling — although he seems to be learning quickly; the foster parents worked on leash walks with him, and I’m sure that helped. He is housebroken, and I don’t think he’s crate-trained per se, but he has definitely fixated on the crate as his safe place. It was a major coup tonight when, with the help of some popcorn, I coaxed him to walk out on his own, rather than having to lift him out. He seems to love being outside, and he isn’t at all jumpy after dark, so I think we’ll enjoy many nocturnal walks together.