My dog

I have written about my friends, my children, and my favorite things.  Today, I blog about my big, doofy dog.  About two years ago, I had to convince my husband to let me get a dog.  I begged and pleaded until he finally agreed that our home and family were canine ready.  I had people say, "Just go get a dog.  Once it is there he cannot tell you to take it back."  You do not just mistakenly come home with a dog.  It would have been easier for me to accidentally have gotten pregnant than to have accidentally gotten a dog (but there would have been just as much explaining to do since my husband was "fixed" years ago).  I was not going to purposely bring a puppy home unless I knew everyone in the family was going to accept it.  So, once the husband said o.k., I started the search. 

Finding a new dog can take several different routes.  There are those who find a stray dog in a parking lot, take it home, and they instantly have a new family member.  There are those who are pure-breed specific.  They know what breed they want, the specific breed standards, and they have their pet's family tree on paper.  We kind of looked for a dog the way we looked for a car:  it could be used, but the newer the better, low miles, not too big, not a compact, it didn't have to have all the latest options, but short hair and no drooling was a bonus.  I looked at websites for rescue groups, the Humane Society, and on Petfinder.  Every night, I would pull up dog pictures.  Pictures of puppies and pooches that needed homes.  Some had skinny bodies, others looked plump and wiggly.  There were sad eyes, droopy eyes, black noses, pink noses, and even spotted noses.  I would find several candidates, sit next to my husband every night after our daughters went to sleep, and get his opinion.  He would look at each picture, read the description given, and then say what he thought.  I must have shown him 100 dogs, so I do not know what caused him to look at picture #101 and say, "That one looks good."  I asked, "Really?  Can I contact the rescue group?"  He agreed, and I was thrilled.  I emailed the contact person.  I filled out my application and faxed it over.  I had a phone interview and my veterinarian was contacted for a reference.  There was an adoption event at a local PetSmart.  The plan was that I could meet the pup I had seen on-line (my first and only experience with meeting a male on-line), and if I wanted, I could adopt him. 

I went to the store that Saturday afternoon.  I walked towards the back where wire kennels were set up.  There had to have been at least 20 dogs looking for homes.  Nineteen dogs were watching me, barking, wagging their tails, some shaking nervously, others spinning in circles, and one dog was asleep in his crate.  One dog was snoozing through all the commotion and all the doggie excitement.  I quickly glanced at all the dogs and realized the guy I had come to meet was the one whom was sleeping.  I knelt down and stroked his head through the bars of his cage.  After a few pats, he opened his eyes, lifted his chin so he could see who was touching him, and his long tail started to thump.  I met the woman who ran the rescue group.  We had spoken over the phone just a few days before.  She opened his kennel door, put a leash on him, and asked if I wanted to walk him around a bit.  This new puppy and I had just met, and we were already on our first test drive.  We cruised around the store, walking up and down the aisles.  His little pink and black nose sniffed every bag of dog food we passed.  He did not seem to really notice me at all; he was glad to stretch his legs and sniff some dog butts.  I walked him back to the adoption table.  I told the woman he seemed like a good dog, and I would like to take him home.  After the papers were signed and the check was written, my new dog and me got in the car and drove home.  He was a three-month-old mutt that was found in a barn with two litter mates.  The DNA test done on the pups showed five different breeds:  boxer, staffordshire terrier (pit bull), shar pei, akita, and beagle.  I was not sure if a DNA test could be more vague!  If his mother dog was on, "Maury," she would have had a lot of boy dogs to test for paternity.  The day I brought him home, he weighed 22 pounds.  It was kind of a blind guess at how big he was going to get, but the boy did have big feet.  I would not say he really looked much like the breeds listed on his test sheet, but I would say he looked like at least five dogs pieced together.  We would just have to see what he turned into as time went by.

Two years later, I can tell you what we ended up with.  "Dalton" (named after Patrick Swayze's character in "Road House") is about 80 pounds of love.  He is a sweet, cuddly, couch potato most of the time.  He does like to run, and he loves to play with doggy toys.  He is a bit skittish around new people (especially men), but once he knows you, he will share his side of the sofa with you.  Dalton can perform commands like sit, lay down, and he jumps up on his back legs when you wave your hands in the air.  He was house broken in about a month, and (I am not lying) he even throws-up outside when his belly is bothering him.  When I had my surgery last year, he would lie in bed with me all day.  He would bring me a dog toy so we could play tug-o-war and fetch from my bed.  Both my daughters adore him, and he has never bitten or seriously growled at a soul.  I never worry about him when other children come to play for he is used to hugs around his neck, kisses on his nose, and little girls squishing up his face because, "He's just soooo cute, Mommy!" He is never going to win an award for, "Watchdog of the Year," and I do not know if he would alert us if someone was trapped in a well or an old mineshaft.  That is alright.  When we adopted a dog, we were not looking for an employee; we were looking for a faithful companion.  That is what we got.

Oh, and even though my husband was resistant to get a dog, guess who plays hide-and-seek with Dalton every evening?  Yep.  Mr. "We-don't-really-need-a-dog" loves that mutt so much.  The first night Dalton stayed at our home, we were trying to decide where he would sleep.  My husband said, "Well, he is lying in his dog bed, so why don't we put it in our room?"  That dog bed has been on the floor next to our bed (on my husband's side) for two years.  Sometimes Dalton sleeps downstairs on the couch, but most nights he is snoozing there by his master's side.  I walked into our bedroom one evening to find my husband lying on the floor, his head on the dog's head, giving only what I would describe as, "doggie lovin's," to Dalton.  They both looked up at me when I walked in and witnessed the man/dog affection.  I pointed at my husband and yelled, "Dog Lover!!!!"  He could not deny it.  He loves Dalton as much as the rest of us.

If you do not have a dog, you need to ask why not.  You do need to make sure you have the time and space for a dog.  They are very much like having a baby:  very cute and a lot of work at the beginning, but as soon as they learn where to pee, everything else gets easier.  There are so many dogs (and cats, do not forget about the kitties) that need good homes.  If you truly believe your heart and  home have room for a pooch, go find your new best friend.

My next goal is to convince my husband to let us get a second dog.  His arguement is, "Then you'll want a third dog, then a fourth dog."  My rebuttal is, "I only made you give me two kids!"  I'll wait a little longer, but I think think Dalton needs a brother.