(This is a continuation: see chapter one right here.)
Her name was Marsy. Not Marcy, the way normal people would spell it. No, Gramma spelled it Marsy and it stuck. I wanted a flashier name, but she came with it and Gramma insisted that was her name. She did offer to let us change it, but none of us could think of anything better. (I was reserving what I considered the best name of all time for when I got my own dog: Champion.)
First thing, we took her to the vet to have her check up and schedule her spay. He took one look at her and pronounced, "Now this here dog's only about four months old!" He looked at Gramma pointedly. "How old did the shelter say she was?"
"Nine months."
"Well, see her teeth here?" He lifted up her lips. "These are her puppy teeth. She hasn't gotten her adult ones in yet. She can't be nine months! I'd say only four!"
Hoo boy. Gramma pursed her lips and rubbed them in that way that means she's not happy. She scheduled the spay, though a little further off than we were expecting. The pup jumped off the table, happy as could be, waving her tail and smiling at us.
So we did the puppy thing. Marsy was an exceptional dog. I know everyone says that about their dog, and then follows it with a 'but', and I'm no different. Marsy was exceptional, and everyone says that about their dog, but she really was.
She was a pit bull dachshund cross. She had the long and low body, but the bully type head with the big ol' jaws. She had the little rosebud ears to match, none of that long dachshund nonsense! When she got moving, she had the bully roll to her gait. Both of her legs on the same side of her body moved at the same time (think of a cat or giraffe), and it gave her quite the look! She was a brown dog with a very faint black mask that started off very dark, but faded significantly as she grew up. White patches on her chest and toes completed her. My best guess, as I got to know the breeds of dogs was Staffordshire Terrier - Standard Dachshund mix.
We didn't know much of her past, except she was found on the streets either traveling with her siblings or not, the story was never really clear. After a time, her past didn't matter at all. We began to learn about her. The first thing we learned was that she was very lady like. Very dainty, but not haughty or stuck up. She (after potty training) would sidle to the door and bark the most feminine, graceful bark you'd ever heard. If you didn't let her out in the amount of time she deemed appropriate, she would bark again - louder and with an annoyed look.
She was spoiled too. She cleaned off the plates before they were washed - same for the cooking dishes. She got every toy she ever could have wanted. She got four kids to play with. It was doggy bliss.
Today I am grateful for the beauty in people's souls, despite their outward appearances, and the ability to see it.
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