We returned home without much fuss. My family was excited about having a dog, even though it would be Gramma's dog, it didn't matter.
Before we went to the shelter, Gramma had some rules about the type of dog we could pick out:
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1. It had to be small - no more than knee height.
2. It had to be an adult, none of this puppy nonsense. 3. It had to be female. |
So we packed off to the shelter about a week after we returned from Virginia. We found a lovely little spitz type dog the shelter called a Keeshond. They processed our paper work and approved us. When we went back, they reviewed our information again and then noted that Gramma had the most horrible thing imaginable... a cat.
Oh how they carried on! Apparently the dog was cat reactive and they were so upset that they had missed that initially and almost let the dog go home with us (we were there to pick her up). My Gramma, in her plain sensible way, asked, "May we at least try it and see if she's reactive with my cat?"
They hemmed and hawed and carried on some more while Gramma and I stood by. They were a very dramatic bunch (and still are, but I may be biased. I don't particularly like their practices or policies. That is much of the reason I am buying a dog... but more on that later!).
They said no. Gramma was upset. I mean the cat hid all day under the bed and came out twice a day - in the morning for food and the box and in the evening or night for the same. Once in a great while she would deign to be touched by human hands, but only for a few seconds each time. After many, many years Gramma convinced the cat to like her and the cat would crawl on her lap while she watched a ball game. The cat (Snookers) really would have been in no danger.
I was secretly happy that they had said no, because I hadn't wanted a five or six year old dog, I wanted a younger creature.
We went to another shelter in our county a few weeks later to look at a spaniel mix with a funny eye. We took her out and she ran around a bit but was really excited to get out and run around with a person (me) at the other end of the leash. She was a cute dog and really sweet, but bigger than Gramma was looking for. I didn't much like her either. As we were putting her back, we spotted a pug and asked about her. She was on hold.
Gramma turned to me and said, "What about that brown one that was out front when we came in?"
I made a face. I didn't like the brown one either. It was so plain. "Are you sure it was a girl? It looked like a boy," I said in hopes that she would give up on it and move on.
To my dismay she shook her head and said, "No, it was a girl, I saw when she jumped on the fence. Let's ask this worker right here."
They gave us the leash with a little brown mutt attached. They told us she was about 9 months - the very limit for my Gramma's 'no puppies' rule - and wasn't expected to get bigger. We took her into the yard and did the same thing we had done with the spaniel. Gramma stood and watched while I got dragged around by this energetic little thing. After while Gramma said, "I think she's tiring out, she isn't too high energy. What do you think?" I knew Gramma was going insane or something. That dog wasn't tiring out at all, but I couldn't breathe so I just shook my head.
We headed inside and Gramma paid for the little brown mutt. We got to bring her home that very day.
Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four
Today I am feeling nostalgic and so I am grateful that we did take a chance on that dog. Even if I didn't want her to begin with. I was pretty picky for a girl who was desperate for a dog, and I'm grateful I didn't get my way.
Until next time,
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