(posted to Woot’s forums originally)
My husband and I rescued a beagle from the pound, after he had been hit by a car. We named him Humphrey as I thought it was a cute name.
When we got him home, of course he was nice and quiet, he was hurt. We took care of him, loved on him, got him settled in.
Now, at this time we were 22 and 23 years old, just engaged and first living together. We were broke and lived in a trailer
As he got better, he got crazy. Literally, crazy. First of all, he lived up to his name. If you sat still he humped you. I don’t me just playful humping, but wrapping his legs around your leg, and holding on so tight it would take two people to remove him.
We first tried him in a kennel in the laundry room while we were at work, somehow this small dog tip the kennel, tore the bars open with his mouth and was chewing on my husband’s $150 razor.
That was just the beginning though. Next we tried leaving him out, just picking up everything. Yeah right, he at my chair. My vintage red velvet chair. (see below
As I said, my vintage chair, he ate. I cried.
The next day, we tried putting him in the bathroom, and this is where he ate the wall. Seriously, he ate the wall. An area 3 foot wide and 4 foot up. There were shreds of paneling every where. Obviously, we couldn’t leave him in the bathroom.
If we left him out while we ate, he would jump all over us, trying to get our food, and then when he didn’t get it, he would eat whatever my husband had out, as Humphrey hated men. Seriously, he ate anything of my husband’s he could get a hold of: shoes, clothes, razor, hairbrush, CDs, movies, part of his Star Wars collection.
Now, we figured he was a hunting dog prior to living with us, and had been abandoned when he got hit. The vet was pretty sure that he had been abused prior to coming to us.
We kept on with him, trying to train him, nothing worked.
The final straw was when he tore down our Christmas tree and ate the lights, while they were plugged in. He ended up going to a rescue farm.
This organization took him after I called them and begged them to do so. My husband (who was actually my fiance at this time) was at the end of his rope, and it was either the dog or him. I choose him.
I still wish we could find the former owner of Humphrey and find out why he was so crazy.
Oh, I forgot that he also ate most of the carpet in our living room. And, a pile of styrofoam plates that we had for a picnic. I cannot even list the amount of money we spent on vet bills every time he ate something scary.
Humphrey was one crazy dog, but he settled in while on the farm, and lived many more years out there (we kept in contact with the organization until he passed about 10 years after he went to the farm.)