Dante's Infernal Knee - the saga

I never wanted a pit bull. Too dangerous. Too many stories and media clips. I believed the lie that was being sold about these marvelous, loyal creatures. So I was just as surprised as anyone when my coworker's wife brought an 8-week-old puppy into the office. She was 8 months pregnant, nearly hysterical, and had ran him over by Inglewood courthouse. He'd somehow flattened himself lower than the oil-pan of the minivan to avoid any injury.  When she picked him up, he peed his thanks all over her. I said I'd hold onto the little thing for a few days while they put up flyers, thinking all the while I'd give him back. 

No one claimed Dante. No chip. No tag. He was delivered directly from the cosmos into my no-dogs-allowed apartment. By day two, we were in love. I would check for the coast to be clear while he sat patiently at the door, then I'd run him out to pee on the fence. It became a synchronized military-level operation. I brought him into work every day, took him on roadtrips, and even carried him into the shower with me when it was time for baths. He was my little dude, but didn't stay little for long.

At his height of health, Dante the Mighty, giver of smelly kisses, peaceful warlord of the High Canine Council, was almost 90 lbs. He's a lot skinnier now, but no less patient. He's guarded over children, protected the household from unknown noises in the neighborhood, and has had indoor accidents enough times for me to count on my fingers. In short, he is a nearly perfect dog. If a receipt is on the carseat, he'll sit on the other seat. If food is on the table, he'll leave it alone. If I have to leave all day, when I come home, he's sitting on the couch and wagging his tail.

Now my friend has a bum knee. His ACL tore on Monday from unknown shenanigans while I was at a meeting Monday night. I left him and his little brother in their backyard (stocked with their own couch under a weatherproof carport), and three hours later his leg was tucked. The surgery and post-surgery exams, tests, and x-rays are looking to be more than 4000. I've covered all I can of it, and would gladly throw myself into debt if not for the 190,000 dollars I lost  two years ago (50,000 of which is still outstanding). I didn't declare bankruptcy and hideout like I wanted to. I've worked hard to pay back that money, but in doing so, almost every cent of my salary and credit limit is accounted for.  

My mother taught me not to be a free-loader, so this is hard to do. No one wants to ask for money. But why not? Helping people has transformed my life. Why should I rob that from others? If you so desire, me and Dante would really love some help. Every cent counts and is appreciated. Please excuse the constant sharing of this page.

I just want this little fart-factory to walk again.


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Author Carson Standifer 
Lawndale, CA
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