By CLAUDIA FELDMAN
Copyright 2006 Houston Chronicle

He's a dog. He guards a vacant ramshackle house in the old Fourth Ward, and he sleeps in front of a door that hasn't opened in way too long.

Maybe he's waiting for the family who used to live there. Maybe he's missing the female black Labrador who used to live there, too. In the old days, they slept side by side.

Neighbors have named the solitary stray Three Legs. He can walk, run and jump just fine, but he keeps his broken hind leg tucked up and off the ground. The injury only adds to his mystique in the gentrifying neighborhood where he is the subject of coffee talk and happy hour chitchat.

People identify with the lame dog, and they fear for him, too.

In the new year, cement trucks will be heading for Rhode Place, the street where Three Legs lives. The house the dog considers home isn't sold yet, but developers are interested in that property and the empty lots next door and across the street. When builders look at the dilapidated, mustard-colored house with the dog on the porch, they see lofts.

The question is: What will happen to Three Legs?

The pint-size, black and tan terrier mutt won't let anybody touch him. He accepts food offerings from generous neighbors only when they're 10 feet away. When people advance on him, testing his boundaries, wanting to pet him, he heads for one of a dozen escape routes and trots away.

There's something about the skittish little dog, however, that keeps people coming back. They figure they can't solve world hunger or bring peace to the world, but surely they ought to be able to save one fool dog.

It's simple, right?

A tug on the heartReal estate developer John Duwaji grabs a half-empty sack of dog food and spills about a bowl full on one of the empty lots near Three Legs.

Even if their interests frequently conflict, Duwaji keeps tabs on Three Legs and knows bits and pieces of his story.

Mostly likely the dog was born within a mile of Rhode Place, and started roaming as soon as he was able. He learned all the good hiding places and sunning spots in the narrow streets near downtown, and he tried several times to adopt a family. Duwaji says the people would cooperate for a while. Then they'd pull up stakes and leave the dog behind.

That's certainly what happened with Three Legs' last family. They didn't have much money to feed and clothe their children, and they couldn't pick up the tab for a 20-pound mutt and his growing circle of friends.

Even folks who don't mind one wandering dog are not pleased to see half a dozen. Unhappy neighbors called the city's Bureau of Animal Regulation and Control. BARC staff paid a couple of visits to Rhode Place, and they succeeded in picking up at least one of the strays.

Three Legs, the black Lab and their puppy would have been taken, too, but they hid under a house on one of Duwaji's lots.

The developer kept their secret.

Duwaji may be the only neighbor who remembers when Three Legs had four good limbs. The dog was hit, probably by a car, about a year ago.

The experience did not break the dog's spirit or even slow him down. What has seemed to bother him is the loss of his family. When the people moved about six weeks ago, they took the puppy and later, the black Lab.

Three Legs was on his own again.

Neighbors say the dog has spent nights crying for his family. Or the black Lab. Or both. They try not to ascribe their human feelings to a dog — they know that's silly.

Maybe Duwaji, who is of Swedish and Syrian heritage, sums up their feelings the best. "He is so cute of a dog. I have a heart for this animal."

A survivor's taleThree Legs trots a couple of miles every day.

In the morning he rises stiffly from the bed neighbors have made for him on his porch. He stretches, and then he's off for a tour of the neighborhood.

Sometimes he heads for the Dumpster at the foot of the dead-end street. There he can almost always find scraps left for him by the staff at Gravitas restaurant. The treats are gourmet. At dinner, pork chops go for $21, and a grilled cheese sandwich is $9.

Martin Gallardo, who works in the kitchen, scans dirty plates for leftover bites of meat.

"No one is taking care of him," Gallardo says. "How is he going to nourish himself?"

Waiter Francisco Rios sees Three Legs as a metaphor for the transformation going on in the Fourth Ward. "The low-income people are getting pushed out."

It's happened already, unfortunately. In the historic African-American neighborhood, most of the barber shops, corner grocery stores, little houses where families lived for 50 years, have been torn down. That real estate has been replaced by upscale apartments and condominiums. Certainly the renters who lost their homes can't afford them.

After breakfast, Three Legs moves on. He wanders up Taft, then hooks a left and heads up West Dallas. That's Gregory-Lincoln Education Center, a fine-arts magnet school, on his right, and gleaming downtown skyscrapers straight ahead.

Several times a day Three Legs actually crosses West Dallas. It's a busy traffic artery leading to and from downtown, but he is experienced at dodging the cars and trucks whizzing past.

Back on the porch, maybe he's ready for a nap, or checking to see if somebody's left him food. Maybe he'll investigate the parking lot of the new lofts behind his house.

Lots of dog lovers live there. On Thanksgiving, one couple gave him the better part of their holiday turkey. Another couple feeds him human-grade dog food, which costs about $2 a can.

"We're dog fanatics," massage therapist Brian Bogolea says.

But all the food, all the sympathy in the world doesn't change the fact that Three Legs' world is crashing in.

His new neighbors feel frustrated. If they call BARC, they figure Three Legs will be put down within 72 hours. Dogs there are sorted into two categories — adoptable and not — and the sick or lame rarely make the cut.

If nobody calls BARC, Three Legs' prospects seem equally bleak.

An uncertain futureDr. Bonnie Beaver, an animal behaviorist and professor in the college of veterinary medicine at Texas A&M University, says there's no hope for Three Legs. He's scared of people, he doesn't want to be caught, and he has no future if he stays where he is.

"The dog loses, period. Just make sure he has food, water and shelter and leave him alone. Back off. Ultimately, the end for him won't be pretty. Happily ever after ain't gonna happen."

But dog trainer Jim Burwell disagrees. He is Houston's own dog whisperer, and he's working with city officials to reduce the high number of stray animals euthanized in Houston every day. When the Chronicle calls him and tells him about Three Legs, his response is immediate. "I'll take him."

Burwell says he's been able to train plenty of dogs on the short list for euthanasia, and at least one of his former reprobate students is living the high life in West University today. This Christmas, that dog probably has little wrapped packages under the tree.

Also, Burwell is friends with Kent Robertson, the new bureau chief at BARC. Robertson is trying to revamp the agency, increase the number of strays rehabilitated and reduce the numbers killed.

At the house on Rhode Place, Robertson sets a humane trap, a huge cage.

"What we need," Burwell jokes, "is some Kentucky Fried Chicken."

Robertson thinks that's a pretty good idea.

Within an hour, Three Legs is inside the cage, chomping on lunch.

A few hours later, Three Legs is on an examining table at BARC. He tests positive for heart worms, he's got that bum leg and he's filthy. Otherwise, he seems to be OK.

Robertson calls late that afternoon, elated.

"He's a sweetheart," he says. "The staff is carrying him around in their arms."

When they're not carrying Three Legs, they're visiting his cage placed in the middle of a main hall. He has pillows and blankets and two stuffed toys.

Three Legs, the dog who raised himself, licks anybody, everybody who walks by.

Still, there's the problem of Three Legs' vet bills. City officials can't fork out hundreds or thousands of dollars on one dog. Robertson estimates there are 50,000 strays wandering the streets, and they all need care and attention.

Burwell calls Dr. Jonathan Cooper at Westbury Animal Hospital, who is known for his charity work. The heart worms don't look to be much of a problem for the 2-year-old dog, Cooper says, and the neutering procedure is simple. But the leg is a different story. The surgeries to repair the break would be painful and require bone grafts. Cooper consults with colleagues, then decides the best route is amputation.

Cooper quotes a vet friend, "God gave dogs three good legs and a spare."

The plan is for Three Legs to spend Christmas at the veterinary clinic, then New Year's Eve at Rover Oaks Pet Resort. Burwell founded Rover Oaks five years ago, and that's where he'll train Three Legs to do all the things good, desirable pets are supposed to be able to do.

Then he and Robertson will find Three Legs a home. A great home.

• Editor's note: We hope Three Legs' story will have a happy ending. Look for more on the stray in the new year.

claudia.feldman@chron.com