Malcolm just happened one afternoon. My wife and my then 10 year old grandson went to the Humane Society “just to look”. In my years as a volunteer with that organization, I learned what the almost-always outcome of that scenario would be. Sure enough, there he was, sitting in a cage with a bunch of others, each trying to figure out just how this fate befell them. Brenda pointed at this scruffy face with the simian brown eyes and said “Let’s see that one”. The adoption clerk told her that he’d just been brought to the cages from the sick bay and wasn’t too good at being on a leash. The dog was reluctant to move out of the cage until Stuart started walking . Brenda said, “give the leash to him”. The dog’s head went up and he followed the boy as if this was what he’d been waiting for. Our fate was sealed. I was at the office and got the call to come bring him home and that was that.
He was given the name Malcolm because the shelter had him down as a terrier mix and my wife thought he looked Scottish. One of my heros from motorcycling is the amazing off road rider, Malcolm Smith, so the name seemed doubly appropriate.
Malc was an “owner giveup” who had been in sick bay because he’d had Parvo, a terrible disease with a high mortality rate. He’d finally been pronounced well and put into the adoption cages, as luck would have it, about 20 minutes before Brenda and Stuart arrived to claim him. He was docile and calm, just what two seniors like us needed and for the first few days, he settled right in. He had some residual nasal congestion, so we took him to Boonesboro Animal Clinic and got him checked over and a series of shots of antibiotics.
Then I went off on a four day motorcycle trip. I called home to check on progress. An exhausted Brenda said that the morning after I’d left, she had taken Malc out for his morning walk and a transformation had occurred. His nose had cleared up. He took in a deep sniff of the country air and suddenly, a new animal had taken his place. He felt GOOD and wanted everyone to know it. At nine months of age, he was still puppy enough to enjoy being wild and he had some sick time to make up for. It took another three months to calm him down and get him socialized, but the effort was well worth it. Malcolm now spends several days per week here in the office, where his official duties are to greet visitors and be fawned over for a few minutes, then return to his sleeping place until the next one arrives. Despite being the Office Dog, he steadfastly refuses to answer the phone or take notes.
The Office Dog
