I would like to adopt!
Number:
5
Picture:

Name:
Tyson
Species:
Domestic Dog, Boxer/Great Dane
Personality:
Tyson has most of the typical large breed traits; happy-go-lucky, loving, gentle, a bit clumsy, etc., but he has the energy of a three year old. His favorite form of energy burning is running. He could run for hours down the endless trails in the back woods. He's not particularly fast, but he loves it so much, he couldn't care less whether he got to where he was going first or not.
He has a habit of butting into work or play to join in. Usually his large, hyper self gets in the way more than he helps, but he's got such a lovable attitude that it's pretty hard to be mad at him for it. He also has some attention issues so he doesn't stick around for long anyway. After a bit, he'll be taking off to go find something else to do or someone else to play with.
He very much dislikes being in enclosed spaces. Generally, simply being inside the house wont bother him much, but he gets antsy if he's confined in just one room.
I can very much see him just chilling out on my back porch, a yellow bandanna around his neck, after a long run along the trails. <3
(I wanted to add the bandanna for two reasons. For one, it'd look adorable on him <3, and second, since he's such a runner, he'd be very likely to overheat in the summer. Putting wet bandannas around a dog's neck is a good way to keep them cool. The preferences state that this is okay, but I can remove it if there's a problem with it.)
Likes:
Running mostly. All that energy has to come out somewhere and for him, it's his paws. That, play and food are really the only three things he focuses on, but subconsciously, he's very grateful to have the life that he does.
He also loves thunderstorms. He'll often sit by the windows and watch them with curiosity as they pass through.
Dislikes:
Small, enclosed spaces are his biggest dislike. Being trapped beneath the table during the earthqake that took his old family from him rooted that fear deep.
He also doesn't like negative feelings; anger, jealousy, hostility, sadness, fear, etc. They make him nervous and withdrawn. He's very sensitive to emotion.
Background:
The sound of glass shattering. Another glass breaking as it hits the tile floors. Plates begin to fall next. The heavier ceramic breaking mixing with the delicacy of the finer glass. The tremor intensifies and a little girl holds tighter to the young dog by her side beneath the table.
Cabinets, small tables, the television, even the walls themselves begin to crack. Dust is flying, debris is falling, and tighter the two huddle together.
Car alarms sound, barely noticeable above the deafening roar of the quake, yet it continues, unaware of the fear and destruction.
A final loud crack is heard before the building comes down. Beams, boards and furniture rain down from above their hiding spot and Tyson hears that little voice for the last time crying for her mother.
Tyson jerks from his sleep. Every night the same memory of the event that took his family away and brought him to this shelter, replaces any pleasant dreams. Every morning he wakes up in this place. Small and cramped, the sounds of countless other dogs pleading for someone, anyone, to free them. He curls up again on his mat, submitting himself to the anxiety it all brings and waits.
He's a good dog. He doesn't bark at the visitors, he lets his eyes do the talking. They all see the fear and longing in those startling eyes, but they want puppies. Cute, small, fluffy puppies. Everything Tyson is not. He's been here for almost two months now.
The shelter workers take pity on him and sneak him out for play dates after visiting ours end. The second he's out the door, he becomes something else. Suddenly, he has energy and all the fear melts away. He tugs at his leash, eyes sparkling. It takes two of them to hold him back as they approach the fields. They stop in the middle, unhook the lead, and in no time, he's running his heart out. Up and down the long side of the field, chasing nothing and everything all at once. The workers smile and laugh at his antics. They've brought a ball this time and they have a laugh throwing it for him and watching the big clumsy dog fall all over himself to pluck it from the tall grass.
All too soon, it's time to return. He knows he'll be taken back to his prison, but he follows them obediently. Pleading with his eyes not to make him go back. By now they know not to look him in the face. It only hurts that much more.
An hour later he's back on his mat. He's eaten his dinner and a treat snuck by one of the workers. Tired and full, he slips back into his memory to wait for the next day.
"Tomorrow!? Are you sure?"
Tyson opens an eye, awoken before the cries that usually jolt him from slumber.
"Says so right here." Two of the workers were standing outside his cell reading a notice left by someone else earlier that morning. "He's been here two months. It's just normal procedure. At least it's scheduled for after visiting hours. He'll have today and tomorrow before . . "
"Damn . . . Are you sure Lucy can't take him?" They sounded worried, but Tyson didn't understand. He didn't recognize the name they spoke or why she sounded so important. Their body language and the tones of their voices showed panic and sadness, but they offered no suggestion for what he should do to help them.
"She can't, he's too big and has too much energy." That one shook her head and concealed a tear.
Tyson didn't know much about human communication, but he knew about tears. He stepped up to the chain link door separating him from them and pressed his great head against the hand she had rested there.
They took him out again that afternoon, but this time they didn't laugh. He ran and ran, chasing a rabbit, the ball, a crow. When he'd run out of things to chase, he just ran in circles until he collapsed in a heap of worn-out, happy dog, tongue lolling out of his great gaping, smiling mouth. He rolled in the grass, enjoying it's cool feel against his hot fur, and kicking his legs, as if trying to push himself further into the green mat below him. Life was good when he wasn't cooped up.
They took him back later than usual. It was dark by the time he was back in his cell. They fed him an extra serving topped with an extra treat and said their goodnights.
The next day, none of them would look at him. They'd hurry by on their way to help families with their dogs. Only a few of such families stopped by him. He'd raise his head and give them his plea before the parents would say 'No sweetie, we don't have the space for him.' he took that as a signal to lay back down and wait for the next ones.
Then, there was just one. A young woman, about 20, staring down at him. He raised his great head to star at her and she stared at him. There was no 'Please Mommy' or 'Not him', just a kind, soul-searching stare.
One of the workers noticed her standing there.
"Can I help you ma'am?" It was one of the workers who'd been talking in that very spot yesterday morning, the one who he'd pressed against.
"May I see him?"
She was taken aback, no one had shown so much interest, aside from the children of less willing adults.
"Uh, sure, sure you can" She ignored the usual rule against letting visitors into the cells with the dogs. Tyson wouldn't make a break for it, he knew better.
The woman stooped to take a look at him and smile as she reached out to scratch behind his ears.
She stayed there for a moment and Tyson was glad for it. Her hands were soft and gentle and her presence was calm. She put him at ease. He whined quietly and closed his eyes, enjoying the attention while it lasted. His tail wagged furiously, causing his entire back end to wiggle violently. She giggled a bit at his enthusiasm before standing again to leave the cell and follow the worker away.
Before he knew it, the two women were gone and he was left alone again. The whole thing was baffling. Nothing like that had ever happened before and they had both seemed so happy, yet here he still was. He wasn't sure what to think of it, so he set himself back into his normal routine, pushing away the confusion.
Another couple of hours passed before he saw the woman again. This time, she was carrying a collar, leash, and a yellow, specked cloth. She once again stepped through the door and knelt beside him. Without a word, she slipped on the collar and hooked the leash, saving the cloth for last. She wrapped it carefully, making sure the pattern showed. She the gave him another scratch behind the ears before beckoning him to follow her.
"C'mon Tyson. Let's go home boy."
(cliche story is cliche =P But I wanted to make him just a normal dog and that's how it happens with normal dogs, so~)
A picture you drew:

I tried to get that 'So excited and happy I'll explode if I dun chase this!' expression, but I dun know how well I did with that. XD I'm so unpracticed at boxer/GD type faces.

And a second, just cause I got inspired picturing him rolling in the grass. o3o
I apologise for any wonky grammar or spelling. I'm doing my once over on my old computer that has neither a browser with the features nor Word on it so I'm sure to miss a few things.
Number:
5
Picture:

Name:
Tyson
Species:
Domestic Dog, Boxer/Great Dane
Personality:
Tyson has most of the typical large breed traits; happy-go-lucky, loving, gentle, a bit clumsy, etc., but he has the energy of a three year old. His favorite form of energy burning is running. He could run for hours down the endless trails in the back woods. He's not particularly fast, but he loves it so much, he couldn't care less whether he got to where he was going first or not.
He has a habit of butting into work or play to join in. Usually his large, hyper self gets in the way more than he helps, but he's got such a lovable attitude that it's pretty hard to be mad at him for it. He also has some attention issues so he doesn't stick around for long anyway. After a bit, he'll be taking off to go find something else to do or someone else to play with.
He very much dislikes being in enclosed spaces. Generally, simply being inside the house wont bother him much, but he gets antsy if he's confined in just one room.
I can very much see him just chilling out on my back porch, a yellow bandanna around his neck, after a long run along the trails. <3
(I wanted to add the bandanna for two reasons. For one, it'd look adorable on him <3, and second, since he's such a runner, he'd be very likely to overheat in the summer. Putting wet bandannas around a dog's neck is a good way to keep them cool. The preferences state that this is okay, but I can remove it if there's a problem with it.)
Likes:
Running mostly. All that energy has to come out somewhere and for him, it's his paws. That, play and food are really the only three things he focuses on, but subconsciously, he's very grateful to have the life that he does.
He also loves thunderstorms. He'll often sit by the windows and watch them with curiosity as they pass through.
Dislikes:
Small, enclosed spaces are his biggest dislike. Being trapped beneath the table during the earthqake that took his old family from him rooted that fear deep.
He also doesn't like negative feelings; anger, jealousy, hostility, sadness, fear, etc. They make him nervous and withdrawn. He's very sensitive to emotion.
Background:
The sound of glass shattering. Another glass breaking as it hits the tile floors. Plates begin to fall next. The heavier ceramic breaking mixing with the delicacy of the finer glass. The tremor intensifies and a little girl holds tighter to the young dog by her side beneath the table.
Cabinets, small tables, the television, even the walls themselves begin to crack. Dust is flying, debris is falling, and tighter the two huddle together.
Car alarms sound, barely noticeable above the deafening roar of the quake, yet it continues, unaware of the fear and destruction.
A final loud crack is heard before the building comes down. Beams, boards and furniture rain down from above their hiding spot and Tyson hears that little voice for the last time crying for her mother.
Tyson jerks from his sleep. Every night the same memory of the event that took his family away and brought him to this shelter, replaces any pleasant dreams. Every morning he wakes up in this place. Small and cramped, the sounds of countless other dogs pleading for someone, anyone, to free them. He curls up again on his mat, submitting himself to the anxiety it all brings and waits.
He's a good dog. He doesn't bark at the visitors, he lets his eyes do the talking. They all see the fear and longing in those startling eyes, but they want puppies. Cute, small, fluffy puppies. Everything Tyson is not. He's been here for almost two months now.
The shelter workers take pity on him and sneak him out for play dates after visiting ours end. The second he's out the door, he becomes something else. Suddenly, he has energy and all the fear melts away. He tugs at his leash, eyes sparkling. It takes two of them to hold him back as they approach the fields. They stop in the middle, unhook the lead, and in no time, he's running his heart out. Up and down the long side of the field, chasing nothing and everything all at once. The workers smile and laugh at his antics. They've brought a ball this time and they have a laugh throwing it for him and watching the big clumsy dog fall all over himself to pluck it from the tall grass.
All too soon, it's time to return. He knows he'll be taken back to his prison, but he follows them obediently. Pleading with his eyes not to make him go back. By now they know not to look him in the face. It only hurts that much more.
An hour later he's back on his mat. He's eaten his dinner and a treat snuck by one of the workers. Tired and full, he slips back into his memory to wait for the next day.
"Tomorrow!? Are you sure?"
Tyson opens an eye, awoken before the cries that usually jolt him from slumber.
"Says so right here." Two of the workers were standing outside his cell reading a notice left by someone else earlier that morning. "He's been here two months. It's just normal procedure. At least it's scheduled for after visiting hours. He'll have today and tomorrow before . . "
"Damn . . . Are you sure Lucy can't take him?" They sounded worried, but Tyson didn't understand. He didn't recognize the name they spoke or why she sounded so important. Their body language and the tones of their voices showed panic and sadness, but they offered no suggestion for what he should do to help them.
"She can't, he's too big and has too much energy." That one shook her head and concealed a tear.
Tyson didn't know much about human communication, but he knew about tears. He stepped up to the chain link door separating him from them and pressed his great head against the hand she had rested there.
They took him out again that afternoon, but this time they didn't laugh. He ran and ran, chasing a rabbit, the ball, a crow. When he'd run out of things to chase, he just ran in circles until he collapsed in a heap of worn-out, happy dog, tongue lolling out of his great gaping, smiling mouth. He rolled in the grass, enjoying it's cool feel against his hot fur, and kicking his legs, as if trying to push himself further into the green mat below him. Life was good when he wasn't cooped up.
They took him back later than usual. It was dark by the time he was back in his cell. They fed him an extra serving topped with an extra treat and said their goodnights.
The next day, none of them would look at him. They'd hurry by on their way to help families with their dogs. Only a few of such families stopped by him. He'd raise his head and give them his plea before the parents would say 'No sweetie, we don't have the space for him.' he took that as a signal to lay back down and wait for the next ones.
Then, there was just one. A young woman, about 20, staring down at him. He raised his great head to star at her and she stared at him. There was no 'Please Mommy' or 'Not him', just a kind, soul-searching stare.
One of the workers noticed her standing there.
"Can I help you ma'am?" It was one of the workers who'd been talking in that very spot yesterday morning, the one who he'd pressed against.
"May I see him?"
She was taken aback, no one had shown so much interest, aside from the children of less willing adults.
"Uh, sure, sure you can" She ignored the usual rule against letting visitors into the cells with the dogs. Tyson wouldn't make a break for it, he knew better.
The woman stooped to take a look at him and smile as she reached out to scratch behind his ears.
She stayed there for a moment and Tyson was glad for it. Her hands were soft and gentle and her presence was calm. She put him at ease. He whined quietly and closed his eyes, enjoying the attention while it lasted. His tail wagged furiously, causing his entire back end to wiggle violently. She giggled a bit at his enthusiasm before standing again to leave the cell and follow the worker away.
Before he knew it, the two women were gone and he was left alone again. The whole thing was baffling. Nothing like that had ever happened before and they had both seemed so happy, yet here he still was. He wasn't sure what to think of it, so he set himself back into his normal routine, pushing away the confusion.
Another couple of hours passed before he saw the woman again. This time, she was carrying a collar, leash, and a yellow, specked cloth. She once again stepped through the door and knelt beside him. Without a word, she slipped on the collar and hooked the leash, saving the cloth for last. She wrapped it carefully, making sure the pattern showed. She the gave him another scratch behind the ears before beckoning him to follow her.
"C'mon Tyson. Let's go home boy."
(cliche story is cliche =P But I wanted to make him just a normal dog and that's how it happens with normal dogs, so~)
A picture you drew:

I tried to get that 'So excited and happy I'll explode if I dun chase this!' expression, but I dun know how well I did with that. XD I'm so unpracticed at boxer/GD type faces.

And a second, just cause I got inspired picturing him rolling in the grass. o3o
I apologise for any wonky grammar or spelling. I'm doing my once over on my old computer that has neither a browser with the features nor Word on it so I'm sure to miss a few things.