When Pat and I first got married, he was still finishing up college (he took a little time off to have a real job at one point) and I had a job teaching near Montgomery. We still lived in Troy, and that first year really was a great time even though we hadn’t realized it.
We spent a lot of time on the weekends in Montgomery, and one of our favorite places to go after dinner was Pet Land. I was sure all the puppies in there were products of horrible puppy mills from Missouri, and it was my job to save them all.
So one night we went in to visit the puppies like normal, but this little wolf caught our attention. I’d never even heard of the breed she was, and when they brought her into the little cubicle, we decided she was deaf.
She had to be saved.
We were the ones to save her.
And she was $1300.
We left to talk about it, went to another pet store on the same side of town to find a book about Cairn Terriers, and rationalize how after being married an entire month and half meant we were totally ready for a dog. I’d always grown up with animals, but it was foreign to Pat.
I made a good sales pitch to him, and we went right back to Pet Land before they closed to negotiate. We ended up walking out of there with a puppy kit and crate, a few vet visits, and her for a nice, round, $1000. Such a stupid decision. One we should have been slapped in the face for.
But we brought that cute wolf-pup home anyway, and I got straight to work on potty and crate training. I walked around in the middle of the night and early mornings in my green house coat like the old married lady I was in our college student filled trailer park, and made the minimum payment each month on a dog who’s claim to fame was being “like the dog from Wizard of Oz!”
She eats her own poop, barks at nothing, kills flies in the air, digs holes like it’s her job (it kind of used to be and all), HATES cats, can’t keep her tongue in her mouth, and has developed an incontinence problem in her older years.
She likes to roll in gross stuff, drips water off her beard all across the kitchen floor, and feels like bristles on a broom.
She also likes to leave little piles of vomit around the house. You know, her gift to us.
One plus is that any of those lists that come out about which types of animals would do best in a zombie apocalypse puts her right at the top. Gyps can take care of herself, we’re sure.
Her favorite spot at our old house was the front door, laying on any one of the many rugs she’d torn up. She also does well as baby sitter. That’s her with the first three babies at around the same age watching all of the neighbor lady’s 35 cats.
At the new house, we have a lot of lizards. We THINK that’s why she keeps watch on this bush whenever she’s outside. Like, maybe it’s the happening lizard hangout, and she’s their bouncer or something. I don’t know. It’s weird. She’ll watch the bush for a bit, then head towards her favorite pooping spot for a snack, roll in an ant bed, and head back to see if they’ve left the bush.
We are VERY happy she knows the command Dropped One, because otherwise, I’d be having to sweep way more than I do (which is pretty much never). I also really believe she adds something to our lives. She’s been neglected a bit since all the babies keep showing up at our house, but she’s earned her keep. She teaches the kids responsibility, gave us some practice for keeping something alive before we started having kids, and saves us money with all that poop eating she does.
Oh… and we have these other 2 guys that live outside. They showed up as puppies to that first school I taught at. Some parents were threatening to kill them, so like the sucker I am, I brought them home to “foster” and they’ve been with us through 3 moves, 2 towns, and almost 9 years.
Simon, Lord Lovat from my favorite books is the black eared one, and Suze, as in Orman, is the white faced one. Both White English Bulldogs who also hate cats (death toll stands at around 12), eat entire Gardenia bushes because they can, and prefer to dig tunnels fit for the boarder between Juarez and El Paso.
We’re praying they never meet the chickens. I don’t know that it would end well. If you’re interested in some great farm dogs who love to lay around in the sun, keep your cat population down, and will love you no matter what, call me. I know 2 PERFECT candidates.