Gilligan is dead; long live Gilligan

Doing my best imitation of the psychic hotline, I named the latest stray I found at Melton Hill Lake “Gilligan” a mere two days before Bob Denver went off to that deserted island in the sky.

We took the whole pack up to the park on Saturday, including Mully. While we were walking around, a timid dog was lying under a tree near the entrance. But when we approached, he ran off.

I didn’t think much of it until Sunday, when Xena, Ozzy and I went back to the park. There he was again, under the same tree. He was terrified of us, but Ozzy managed to run him down and make friends. He growled meekly when I tried to pet him, so I left him alone and he started following us, frolicking with Xena and Ozzy along the way.

By the time we got back to the end of the truck at the end of the walk, he was letting me pet him and being very friendly. The poor thing was pretty emaciated, so I decided to put him in the truck and take him to the pound later that morning.

But it was a holiday. No one was answering at the pound. And although I’ve been holding steady at three dogs for fear of divorce court, I started calling this guy Gilligan because he’s such a goof. Once he had a name, he was part of the pack. Forget the pound.

So we’ve taken him to the vet. He’s mostly hound, and actually looks a lot like Smokey, the University of Tennessee mascot. He’s about two years old and has a skin rash and hookworms, but he’s OK otherwise. Just underweight. He’s very sweet, but he’s also very horny. He’s been following poor Xena everywhere, and she’s not impressed. Ozzy isn’t, either. There’s been a little scuffling, but nothing serious.

On Tuesday, he’s going to get neutered, so I’m hoping that after that everything will be much better. The longer he’s around, the more his personality comes out. Definite Gilligan.

I posted some photos of him on my Flickr site. Click here to see them …