This is Indy (as in Indiana Jones). He has actually been Bartholo and Marley within the last month. I won't blame him if he starts having an identity crisis soon.
This little one and a half year old was found by the NGO my husband and I help. He was named Bartholo by the director, taken to an adoption fair and promptly adopted by a sweet lady, who began calling him Marley.
The problem is, she has had another dog for nine years, and Marley wasn't exactly welcomed home. Even though the owners kept trying, things got worst and the other dog started getting sick and refusing to eat. So finally, she decided to return the dog.
I must be honest, I judged her. I thought who in the world returns an adopted dog? I was thinking all sorts of mean things about how selfish she could be, until I saw her on Sunday. Her anguish was splattered over her face, running amidst the salty tears. This was pure pain for her. And the fact that Marley was so oblivious about what was happening seem to sting even more.
We promised we would get him and keep him, until he could be placed in adoption. That lasted a whole half an hour. After coming home with us, he smelled everything, showed a pure joy about a sunny backyard and got his belly rubbed a lot.
And then, he began to cry. He was desperately seeking his owner, crying. Looking at me, crying. Smelling his bed, crying. It was the worst thing I have ever seen. The feeling that a creature could feel so abandoned, so unloved.
We live in a small house, and three dogs seems like two dogs too many in there. But that moment I knew we could't keep him, let him become attached to us, only to let him go. So we do what feels right in our hearts regardless of what other people think. And we name him Indy, for good.