We had a bad thunderstorm last weekend, so my dog spent the night in the garage. We also opened the side gate because it sits too low to the ground for water to move quickly under it, which makes the water back up and seep under the side door of the garage.
I let Pepper out of the garage the next morning. A little while later I went out back to fill her food and water bowls, but when she didn't come running like she always does, I said "Oh, shit." I walked around the corner of the house and, sure enough, the gate was standing wide open.
My dog was gone.
I paused a moment to reflect on how I felt about this. And, honestly? I hate to admit it, but it didn't bother me much. Not much at all.
And then I threw some jeans on, grabbed the leash and a picture of Pepper, parked Britt on my hip and headed out to look for her. The neighbors across the street were having a garage sale, so I started there. Yes, they had seen her; she was in my next-door neighbor's backyard, so I went and fetched her and took her home.
So I still have a dog. Dammit.
Seriously, y'all, I have tried. I've tried and tried and I'm
still trying, but I just don't feel the love with this dog. I pet her and scratch her and talk to her every time I go outside, and I brush her just about every day, but I'm just not bonding with her. This is not the dog I wanted.
I first started wanting a dog when Kitty was still alive and before Britt was born. My kids had left home and my arms were empty and Kitty wasn't much of a cuddler. So I spent hours and hours looking at pictures of dogs at local shelters, but they were always too big. I wanted a little dog, an armful of love, like the miniature dachshund I grew up with.
Mikey nixed the dachshund idea. Also chihuahuas, anything with bulging eyes or a pug face and any dog from a shelter. He told me to decide on my top three picks and he'd see what he could do. So I did. I studied on it and finally told him that I wanted a silky terrier, a Westie, or a cairn terrier.
We tried for a silky, but they're pretty rare around here and every time we tried to get one they were already sold out. That Christmas, we were over at his parents' house for the family gift exchange when his brother came through the door with a tiny Bichon puppy. I said, "Oh, is that for me?" and everybody laughed. No, it was for my brother-in-law's kids. Later, I cried. Mikey said, "Oh, did you want a puppy?"
He finally told me that if I really wanted a dog, then I should just go get me one, but I could tell he wasn't on board with it and adopting a pet is such a huge commitment that I couldn't bring myself to do it without his support.
And then Britt came and my arms were no longer empty, so the whole issue went on the back burner until this winter, when Britt became mobile and we thought it would be nice for her to have another living being to interact with. Plus, I still really wanted a dog. A
little dog.
So I started looking at the shelters again but, still, the dogs there were always bigger than what I wanted, plus they didn't want to adopt dogs out to families with very small children. So I looked at breed rescue sites. Same thing. No families with toddlers allowed.
So I studied the breeds available in the classifieds and circled likely candidates. And showed them to Mikey. And nothing happened, except that he started talking to his customers about dogs and then coming home with reasons why I couldn't have this one or that one. Finally, he told me that I couldn't have any kind of terrier at all because somebody told him they were "nippy" and if a dog ever bit Britt he'd probably hurt it.
By this point, I wanted to scream and claw my face. Instead, I found a website that rated breeds according to their compatability with children, cross-referenced it against what was available in the classifieds, and that's how we got our keeshond. I told myself this was a compromise dog but now I realize that this was a desperation dog. It was a dog and I could have it.
But it isn't the dog I wanted.
She is a beautiful dog and it's true that she has never snapped or growled at Britt, but sometimes she gets too excited and knocks her down or scratches her. She has completely destroyed my beautiful garden and she chews on every damn thing she can get her teeth on, including me. I can't hardly pet her without her latching onto my hand or my arm, and she has nipped the tender inner part of my thigh while trying to chew on my pants and also my boob when she tried to chew on my shirt. And she bit a button off a brand-new pair of capri pants, and
ate it.
I read and printed lots of stuff about how to train her but, you know what? Training a dog takes lots of time and diligence, and all my time and diligence is devoted to Britt right now. She is a smart dog and I think she would be a great pet for someone who knew how to handle her, but that someone is not me.
Mikey, of course, has had almost nothing to do with her; he never goes in the backyard. He did today, though, and when he came in he told me that the condition of our yard and patio made him feel very depressed. He's ready to put her up for sale.
I think I am, too.
