Pelusa means "hairy" or "furry" and it's an apt name for the little rescue poodle I took in to foster last Friday. Unfortunately, her abundant fur was matted, so when I took her to the vet for grooming, health evaluation and shots I asked for a "puppy cut," an all-around short cut.
From early on in life, Pelusa's furry coat got her in trouble. She was owned by a Mexican family who said their children were allergic to her, so they tied her out in their yard for six years and pretty much forgot about her except for feeding her and getting her shots. She behaves as though she has never been petted, never been offered a treat, never been exposed to other dogs, never cuddled in a lap. If you throw a ball for her, she flinches as though she's accustomed to people throwing rocks at her. Her perpetually worried expression makes me want to hold her and reassure her, make her feel safe. She's frightened of my other three dogs and carefully avoids them, especially the Yorkie and the Dachsund, who chased and barked at her at first.
Sometimes having four dogs in the house reminds me of Middle School.
But day by day she is getting braver. Yesterday she barked once at the Yorkie, as though to say "Back away, b**ch!" That was the first and only time I heard her bark. This is not a yappy little dog.
She sleeps on the floor next to my side of the bed at night and during the day on a cushion under my desk, and follows me everywhere I go. Walking her is a bit of a challenge. Because she was tied to a tree all her life, she runs in circles. But she loves to be walked, and I'm convinced she'll "straighten out" (pun intended) eventually. Whoever adopts her is going to have to watch where they walk so they don't stumble over her.
If I had my druthers, I'd place her in a home with only a couple of humans and no dogs. Let her be the adored one after all those years of neglect, with someone who'd never think of tying her to a tree in the yard and forgetting about her.