AuthorAvokadoReading4 minViews687Published by11.05.2024
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The fact that some people choose to leave their devoted friends behind for the smallest of reasons pains us to the core. Heartless owners have given up on their pets or even attempted to have them put to sleep due to minor health issues or the simple reason that they are “too old.”
In one such tragic instance, the owner of a dog named Marcus decided to put him down because he barked excessively. Thank goodness, a second chance at life has been granted to this lovely canine.
Introducing Marcus, a 2-year-old mix of patterdale terrier and lab, who is currently in the tender care of UK-based NGO Lucie’s Animal Rescue. After barely five weeks, his owner gave him up due to his tendency of barking at people and other dogs.
But it was clear that Marcus’s owner had made no attempt to comprehend or modify his actions. She couldn’t be bothered to give him time or training, so much so that she had even tried to have him put to death at the veterinary clinic.
In a touching Facebook post, Lucie’s Animal Rescue stated, “Dogs communicate and express their fears and excitement through barking.” The owner of Marcus said, “He’s had none,” in response to a question concerning the training she had provided to assist him get over any potential apprehensive behavior.
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Because of his tendency of barking, the owner Obstained and decided to go forward with euthanasia despite the behaviorist’s offer of aid. “It’s disgusting,” said Lucie Holmes, the rescue’s founder, expressing her fury and heartbreak. I’ve been so irritated that I haven’t been able to sleep well. Canines emit barks. They just do it that way.
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Marcus was thankfully saved from such a terrible outcome and adopted by the caring rescue group. He is a kind and kind dog who hasn’t even barked since he arrived, according to his new guardians. “You are cherished and safe, Marcus. I can assure you that you won’t be treated in such a manner ever again,” the rescuer said.
Happily, Marcus has been mingling and making friends with other canines, according to the rescue group. Marcus no longer barks aggressively; instead, he just barks in a playful way, despite his previous owner’s problems. “I assume he’s been barking at other dogs in an attempt to greet and interact with them. Like all dogs do,” the rescue wrote with sentimentality. “It’s great to see him finally enjoying the company of friends and, most importantly, being a dog! He is very nervous and anxious.”
Marcus has been undergoing training since coming to the rescue, and he has demonstrated outstanding response time and command compliance. He is thriving in the rescue setting and adjusting well, though it is unknown when he will be available for adoption.
According to Lucie, Marcus’s tale should serve as a constant reminder to all dog owners that caring for a pet is a lifetime commitment that takes patience. She counseled, “You have to do your homework and give dogs time to settle.” “You wouldn’t bring a toddler to daycare and expect them to be content right away.”
Marcus’s surrender for no other reason than that he was barking excessively breaks my heart. We are ecstatic that he is now in the capable hands of people who genuinely concern themselves for his welfare, nevertheless.
If you love animals, please tell others about Marcus’s touching tale and contribute to the message of kindness and understanding for our four-legged companions. Let’s show them the affection and attention they merit.
After I restored the motorcycle my father had gifted me, he took it back — so I found a way to get my revenge
I caught them effortlessly, but I was confused.
“What’s this for?” I asked. They didn’t look like car keys, and I already had my mom’s old car anyway.
My dad nodded toward a dusty tarp in the corner of the garage. It had been there for as long as I could remember, covering up something that I was told not to touch.
When I pulled the tarp off, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was my dad’s old Harley, a ’73 Shovelhead. It was the stuff of my childhood dreams, the bike that had always seemed just out of reach.
All I had wanted to do when I was younger was steal my dad’s leather jacket and sit on the motorcycle. But he always shouted at me whenever I tried to touch it.
“If there’s one scratch on it, Seth,” he would say, “I’ll take all your spending money away.”
That was enough to keep me away from the dream bike.
“You’re giving me the Harley?” I asked, my voice a mix of disbelief and excitement.
My father shrugged it off like it was nothing.
“Yeah, why not, son?” he declared. “It hasn’t run in years, to be honest, so good luck with that. Consider it a late birthday gift, Seth.”
I could barely believe it.
I was finally going to ride that bike, and feel the engine roaring beneath me, the wind in my hair. It was going to be everything I had dreamt of and more. I was finally going to be like my dad.
I ran my hand over the cracked leather seat, taking in the gift.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said. “I promise I’ll take good care of her.”
The moment those keys were in my hand, that motorcycle became my new obsession.
“Jeez, son,” the mechanic said when I took the Harley over in a friend’s old pickup truck. “There’s a lot to be done here. But I can do the big things for you, and you’ll be able to sort out the smaller things if you’re confident enough.”
I saved every penny from my barista role at the café. I was extra polite to all my customers, hoping for large tips, ready to go straight into the motorcycle restoration fund.
Soon, my nights, weekends, and any and all free time I had were spent outside with the motorcycle. I tore it down and put it back together, better than ever, restoring old parts. I watched countless YouTube tutorials and read every manual I could find.
“What are you doing now?” my roommate, Brett, asked when I was hunched over my laptop on the couch.
“I’m looking at forums online for tips about the motorcycle,” I said.
“That’s all you do these days, buddy,” he said, chuckling.
Fourteen months later, the day finally came. I polished the last piece of chrome, stood back, and admired my work. The Harley gleamed under the garage lights, looking like it had just rolled off the assembly line.
“Good job, Seth,” I muttered to myself.
I could hardly contain my excitement as I thought about showing it to my parents, especially my dad. I imagined the pride on his face, the way his eyes would light up when he saw what I’d done.
I hoped that he would finally be proud of something I had done. But nothing prepared me for what was to come next.
I rode it over to my parents’ house, the engine purring beneath my legs like a big cat. As I parked in the driveway, I felt a rush of nerves. I hadn’t felt this anxious since I was waiting for my acceptance letter for college.
“Mom? Dad?” I called, walking into the hallway.
“We’re in the kitchen,” my mom called.
I walked into the kitchen, and there they were. My dad was drinking a cup of tea, and Mom was busy putting together a lasagna.
“I’ve got something to show you!” I said. “It’s outside.”
They followed me outside, their eyes going wide when they saw the motorcycle.
“Oh my gosh, Seth,” my dad exclaimed. “Is that the Harley? My old Harley? She looks beautiful!”
“Yes,” I said, grinning. “I’ve spent the last year working on it. What do you think?”
Before they could answer, my dad moved closer to the motorcycle. His eyes narrowed as he took it in. He ran his hands along the chrome as though he couldn’t believe his own eyes.
“You did all this?” he asked, his voice tight.
“I did!” I said, beaming proudly. “Every spare moment and extra cash went into this project. And now she’s perfect.”
For a second, I thought I saw pride flicker in his eyes, but then his expression changed. His face darkened, and I felt something change in me.
“You know, Seth,” he said slowly, “this bike is worth a hell of a lot more now. I think I was too generous when I gave it to you.”
I blinked, not understanding.
“What do you mean, Dad?”
My father cleared his throat, not meeting my eyes.
“I’m going to take it back,” he said, his tone final. “And I’ll give you $1,000 for your trouble.”
“Are you serious?” I asked, barely containing my anger.
He nodded.
“It’s only fair, Seth.”
I wanted to yell, to tell him how unfair he was being, how much time and money I’d poured into that bike. But I knew that arguing wouldn’t get me anywhere. My father was too stubborn.
“Sure,” I said. “Whatever you think is fair.”
He looked surprised that I didn’t fight him on it, but I wasn’t done with my revenge. If he wanted to play dirty, then fine. I could play that game too. I just needed to be smarter about it.
A few days later, I saw my father posting on social media about his “newly restored” motorcycle and that he was taking the Harley to an upcoming bike meet with his old biking buddies.
“Now it’s on,” I said to myself.
When the day of the meet arrived, I watched from a distance as my father rolled up on the Harley, looking every bit the proud owner of a beautiful bike. He revved the engine, drawing the attention of everyone in the parking lot.
But what he didn’t know was that I’d made a little modification of my own.
Under the seat, I’d installed a small switch—it was nothing fancy. But it was a precaution in case the Harley was ever stolen. The switch, when accessed, would cut off the fuel line with a quick flick of the remote, which was firmly planted in my hand.
I waited until he was right in the middle of the crowd, basking in the admiration, and then, from a distance, I pressed the button.
The Harley sputtered, the engine dying with a weak cough. Soon, my father’s smug grin disappeared as he tried to restart it, but the engine wouldn’t give.
The murmurs began, making their way through the crowd, and a few of his buddies laughed under their breath.
“Need a hand, Dad?” I asked when I made my way over to him.
He glared at me, but I could see the desperation in his eyes. He nodded, too embarrassed to say anything. I knelt down, pretending to fiddle with the bike for a moment before “fixing” the problem by turning off the switch.
The engine roared back to life, but by then, the damage was done.
The look of embarrassment on my dad’s face was worth every second of the work I had put into the Harley.
He handed me the keys, his jaw clenched tightly.
“It’s yours,” he said, walking away.
I smiled, knowing the Harley was mine, and so was my father’s respect, even if he couldn’t say it.
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