A dog named Callum
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Sean of the South
Sean Dietrich
His name is Callum. He is a Labrador. He is brown. He has a little white developing around his snout. All the best dogs have white on their snouts.
Callum is blind.
He was found walking along the backwater highways of rural Alabama, lost, staggering headfirst into obstacles.
Imagine being completely blind and being a stray.
You are alone in a midnight-black world. You are nameless. You are unwanted. You are nothing. No – you are lower than nothing. You are trash. You have no value on this earth. At least that’s how you feel.
You stumble along, trying to feel your way through life. You wander through dangerous intersections, avoiding speeding vehicles. It’s a wonder you aren’t already dead.
You walk facefirst into guardrails on highway shoulders. You search for food and water and shelter wherever you can find it, but rarely find anything more than a discarded McDonald’s wrapper.
You sleep wherever. Anywhere will do. Anywhere warm. Anywhere safe. Anywhere you can eke out another day.
That was Callum’s life. He was starving to death, of course. What he needed was nutrition. Hydration. Calories. Fat. Sodium. What he needed was love.
When they found him, love was what he was most deficient of. He was emaciated. The gaps between his ribs showed. He could barely stand up. You could see the joints of his bones.
Moreover, he had the hangdog demeanor most strays have. I have a blind stray. I remember when I first met her. Don’t ask me how I knew this, but I could just tell that she had the knowledge that someone thought she was better off dead.
Nevertheless, none of Callum’s previous life matters. Not anymore. What matters now is that he’s not suffering.
A New Leash on Life program, in Huntsville, has been helping him get back on his feet. He’s been in a foster home for months. A place where people love him. A place where affection is given freely. Lavishly. Endlessly.
As a result, Callum has made HUGE medical recoveries. He’s gained 15 pounds. He’s been healing. You can’t see his ribs anymore – at least not all of them. And most of all, his personality has emerged.
Turns out, Callum is a fun guy. Likes to party. Loves walks. Even though he’s no spring chick, he enjoys snuggling like one.
Callum is probably six years old, they say. And he’s what you’d call the quintessential boy dog. Kind of big. Slightly uncoordinated. Goofy. Way too trusting. Silly. Loves to play. Loves to sleep. His favorite food is whatever you are currently eating.
“Callum is absolute love,” his fosters say.
He loves kids. He loves cats. He loves puppies. He loves other dogs. He loves babies. He loves anyone who wants to touch him. He loves taking a stroll on a leash. He loves being alive. He loves breathing.
In short, Callum loves each small, tiny, seemingly insignificant joy which you and I take for granted in this life.
So if you have a moment today, let’s figure out a way to get him adopted.
