Or I should say was terrified. He has come a long way from the starved, half-hairless rescue I agreed to foster and then adopt. Since Bug was picked up as a stray with no history, I can't account for his fright. I do know that the past year brought two changes. This spring when he lost his winter coat, he started getting gray around the mouth and eyes [I have a feeling he is a good bit older than the six and a half he should be]. He also relaxed one stage further. Rescue people will say that a basenji needs six months to grow accustomed to a new home. Bug has taken [in little increments] four and a half years—and still has a way to go.
I love Bug a great deal [as does Yo-Yo on the days Bug isn't bucking for alpha], but I'm not sure I would adopt another rescue. There are too many unanswered questions. I don't know if Bug's anxiety is a result of fears he learned at the harsh hands of his original owner or acquired after he escaped. I don't know if he was deliberately dumped or lost by a loving owner who just couldn't find him. [Bug does have a peculiar habit of going out of his way to smell cigarette butts, as though he is hoping to find one tossed by a particular person.]
Since I live in the tourist capital of the world, I can imagine that a family traveling by car might have opened the door at the wrong moment, and since everyone was unfamiliar with the locale, people and dog just couldn't find one another. I can also imagine one of the many apartment dwellers in the city letting the poor boy "escape" as a way to avoid any more chewed furniture. Unfortunately, God doesn't grant video check-out privileges as Blockbuster does, so speculation is all I have.
Whatever his story, this year Bug walked all the way around the lake without anxiety about the celebratory noise coming from all sides.
Bug, who always looks worried
