Saturday, as I was cleaning my house and preparing for a two-day trip to the beach with my sisters, a knock sounded at my door. I knew from the barks that followed that it was not anyone my dogs recognized.

I dumped a dustpan full of Mason fur into the trashcan and peeked through the window. It was a red-nosed pitbull, and she was hungry. (Side note: yes, I know the breed is American Pit Bull Terrier and that red-nose isn’t a breed, just a color variation. But I live in rural north Florida, and knowing that she’s a red-nosed pit is a lot more important than knowing whether she fits a breed standard set by the UKC (but not the AKC) ’round here.)

I stepped outside and asked her if she had knocked on my door. She crouched low and half walked, half crawled towards me, tail wagging. I told her she was a good girl, let her sniff me, and began petting her.

I’ll admit to judging her situation by her breed. My first thought was that she had slipped her collar and left it chained to a tree in a yard somewhere nearby. That’s considered a pretty good life for a pitbull in my county. I didn’t want to think about other possibilities. I’m vaguely aware of dog fighting going on near my house, but nobody can prove what everyone knows. I’m not sure any dog fighters have ever been arrested here, which is weird, considering the conversations one overhears. Anyway, she didn’t have dog fighting wounds or scars, so I figured, worst case scenario, she was used to breed fighting dogs. I grabbed the spare collar I keep in my truck (I told you I’m a crazy animal lady…who does that?) and asked the dog if I could put it on her.

She didn’t protest as I snapped it around her neck, but when I tell you I was nervous…oooh boy, I was nervous. Visions of bite wounds and rabies shots dancing in my head, I clipped her to the dog run. Mama always told me I was gonna get bit one day, but Saturday was not that day. (To be fair, I’ve been bits lots of times, I just got lucky and got bit by dogs with up-to-date rabies shots, so Mama was/is absolutely correct, as always.) She looked so skinny and trusting. I was gaining confidence in her temperament fast.

I ran inside to get her food. My dogs sniffed me, a look of betrayal upon their faces. I told them they were good puppies. Belle tried to run out the door with me for the first time in months. The good puppy comment was a bit premature, it seems.

Outside, I was puzzled by the dog’s lack of interest in the food, but I knew better than to take it away once it was down, so I left it there and told myself I’d deal with the fire ants later. Next, I offered water, which was accepted much more readily.

I texted my husband, who was at work, and my sister, who was also preparing for the trip. Neither showed the least bit of surprise at my announcement, although I don’t think either believed that she knocked on the door. Pets have “followed me home” so many times, I’m like the boy who cried wolf now.

I called animal control to report her found, but they’re only open weekdays, so I had to leave a message.

When my attention turned back to the dog, the food was gone. I began snapping photos, hoping for at least one good enough to post on the local Facebook lost and found page. I managed three, and wrote out the post with the info I had. I looked at her one more time, noticing with some amazement that she appeared to be purebred, and made a final note on the post that proof of ownership would be required to claim her. I made a mental note to write my representatives about cracking down on dog fighting.

She was crawling with fleas, and I have two dogs and a cat. It didn’t take me long to decide that she would remain an outside dog until after a vet trip. The vet is also open only on weekdays.

I scanned her frail body for medical problems to see if she needed immediate care or if she could wait two days. She had a sore on her butt that would be worrisome if it wasn’t half healed. She probably had worms. She had a complete infestation of fleas and the associated skin problems (missing fur, bloody spots, scratch marks, and her ears looked permanently scarred). Her toenails were too long, but not broken or infected. She had rather pronounced nipples, but not as if she were nursing. I wondered if she was pregnant. She’d certainly had puppies before. I guessed her age as two. I decided she could wait until Monday to see the vet.

My husband was quite sure he’d seen her before, and we have a neighbor who owns lots of pitbulls, so I walked her on a leash down to his house. Nobody answered the door, so I left a note with my number. The dog didn’t pull on the leash, but she walked very slowly and I didn’t want to pull her, so it took what seemed like forever. I kept calling her a good girl, and a sweet baby, and a good little lady. At some point, I accidentally named her Lady, and knew I was in trouble. I shouldn’t name animals I can’t keep. I already have two dogs, a cat, and a newly-spayed stray/outside/community cat. I live in a two-bedroom house that was built in 1942.

I checked the Facebook post. Lots of people shared the post. I was confident that someone would know the dog if enough people saw her picture. People don’t just abandon purebred pitbulls, right? One lady commented a picture of her, which caught my attention, and I thought that she must be the owner, but her comment simply said that she owned the store down the road and had fed her the night before.

Then, I did something I’ve never done before. I trusted the new stray to my husband, and went on the girls trip. Sure, I bothered my husband for updates the whole time, but I actually left town the same day I found a dog (dog found me?). I’m proud of me. While I was out of town, animal control called me, filed a found dog report, and told me that nobody had reported her missing yet. They explained the stray laws to me, even though I know that they knew that I know them. She’ll be legally mine in eight days if no owner comes forward. The neighbor messaged me that none of his dogs were missing.

Monday, my husband took her to the vet and I returned from the trip. She doesn’t have a microchip, to nobody’s surprise. She had a skin infection from all the fleas and scratching, and tested positive for heartworms. Thankfully, her heart and lungs sounded good, so it’s a manageable case of heartworms. She has an underbite, which is a flaw in her breed, which may explain why she was dumped, or could be a total coincidence. She isn’t pregnant, yet, surprisingly, but has definitely had puppies before and is not spayed. They trimmed her nails and looked at several open wounds, all of which are expected to heal on their own with time.

She’s on an antibiotic for four weeks for the skin infection. She can be spayed once those are finished, as long as she’s reasonably healthy then. The heartworm treatment shouldn’t be started until after she’s spayed, because she can’t be spayed while undergoing treatment. The vet mentioned that she needed to put on some weight, but laughed and said that would be easy (he knows me and all my previously-skinny pets). As I left, I asked Lady if she liked bacon, and I heard the vet chuckle as the door closed behind me.

Lady took a flea pill at the vet’s office and is now much more comfortable. She met my dogs and cat, and they seem to all be a little nervous but adjusting nicely. As I type this, all four of them are sleeping soundly. Lady is in the crate until we know for sure that she won’t harm Luna. Luna is safely behind the pet gate in our room, probably sleeping on my pillow because she thinks my sneezes are funny. Belle and Mason are on the couch between me and the door, taking their guarding duties very seriously while snoring quite loudly.

My husband set up an appointment with a fencing company today, so my mind is drifting from blogging to daydreaming about my soon-to-be fenced-in yard. I can’t wait to watch our three healthy dogs play in the yard…