I was never a dog person growing up. I had dogs, but they were the family dogs.
Eleven years ago I met a breeder online and my life regarding dogs was changed forever. I knew I wanted a Boxer, I knew I wanted a white one. On October 25, 1998, Apollo was born. The seventh puppy out of a litter of eleven and he wasn't breathing. The breeder gave him mouth-to-mouth and revived him. Her children named him "Lucky" and he became reserved for me. The first week of December he made the trip from Tennessee to Florida in the truck of a stranger. I became a dog person.
"Lucky" became Apollo. Officially, registered with the AKC as "Apollo's Lucky Number Seven" in honor of his birth and first name. He became my heart.
In the last eleven years we have survived together. My heartbreak and stress and happiness. His surgeries and medical concerns. We're a team. He knows when I need to snuggle, I know when he wants to curl up and steal my pillow. And I let him.
Four years ago, my sister, Alyssa, surprised me by flying to South Carolina for my thirtieth birthday. At the time I was volunteering at the local shelter and had to show her how different the surrounding were from back home in Maine. I'd fallen in love with lots of dogs in the months I'd been visiting, my goal always be to find them the perfect home and very often succeeding.
Enter Katahdin, or the no-named, black dog tied to the front porch of the shelter. He greeted us with a smile and lots of wiggles. He had plenty of kisses to give, he was just happy. Questioning why he was tied to the porch, rather than in a pen, the staff told me that he was too little to go in with the big dogs and too big for the puppies. They had no space to put him. He needed a home, or a foster or he was going to be euthanized. It's the reality in the South, where there are entirely too many dogs and not enough homes and no real education regarding spaying and neutering your pets. (And I'll step off my soapbox now.)
I bought him four days, Apollo had just had surgery that morning and I needed to discuss the options with my husband. He came home with me the next week, it was early August and I was determined that I would find him a perfect home.
He was raw, never having been in a house, skittish about everything. He was work. But then one night, I forgot to put him in his kennel for the night and he slept on the bed with Apollo and I. He joined our pack. I honestly tried to find him a home, from South Carolina to Maine, but in November I wrote a check for his adoption fee and he got a home. With us.
And now there is sweet Sadie. Seven weeks ago (wow, it has been that long!) she came to me by way of a cousin or two. She needed a temporary home, until we found her a more suitable situation. And here she still is. She's a full-bred Pitbull, so I'm very leery of her new home. She needs training and love and to be spayed. I'm still looking. For now she's part of our pack and yes, I am falling for her. She's playful and sweet and she brings out things in the boys that I haven't seen for a very long time. She's also a pain in the butt.
I'm awake every morning around 5:30 am. She's hungry. She wants to play. By 7 am, she's trying to jump on the bed and snuggle. She's into everything. She makes me laugh. BUT, three dogs are a lot for anyone. Especially three big dogs. So for now, she still is looking for the perfect forever home...
These are my stinky mutts, I'd love to hear about yours. The first five people that leave me a message about theirs will get a special gift in the mail from me.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
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Do the catz count?!
ReplyDeleteWe got them the day we had to put our old cat, Smoky, down. I swore I wouldn't come home to an empty house, and they were found in one of the vet tech's yard in a garbage bag, so we brought them home. Thirteen years later, we are here to serve them!
I no longer have mine. He was a retired racing greyhound. His kennel name was Fartagh. Sounded too much like Fart Dog. Needless to say, we changed his name. He was so tall and skinny, and took up SO much room when he lay down. He loved to snuggle, he was incredibly fast and incredibly lazy (he was the embodiment of why they call greyhounds "40 mile-per-hour couch potatoes"). He got very excited when you picked up his leash, he loved going for walks (and even jogs with me). He had a fleece-lined waterproof coat (he was very skinny, I didn't want him to freeze when we went for walks in the winter) that my husband made fun of me for buying. My son got very sick and was hospitalized when he was around 9 months old, and we had to return our racer to the adoption agency (as was in our adoption contract). Yesterday would have been his fifteenth birthday. I often think of him, but now I like NOT having to vacuum dog hair three times a day.
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