My last dog was an Irish Wolfhound. Well...actually, the last dog who lived here was Midget, but he was a bitsy little brown sample-dog mutt that belonged to my grandmother until she died -- then he came to live here because I promised her when I gave him to her that I would take care of him (and WELL!!!) if she went first. But he wasn't "mine".
Tibet was mine. MINE. M.I.N.E.
I loved her -- so much more than I ever thought it was possible to love a dog. I had heard people talk about a "heart dog", but I never quite understood the phrase until I had her. She came to me a 7-month-old, gangly, ridiculous pup with a tail injury and dietary AND contact allergies. Shortly after I got her, Dr. Husband left for a job in Utah while I stayed here in Columbus to finish my last year of vet tech school. Tibet went nearly everywhere with me, and I feel safe in saying that she would have crawled through fire if I asked her to. She was the most well-behaved dog I've ever owned, and she managed to change the minds of some of my friends/family who had misconceptions about what dogs could be expected to do. She lived until she was 12 years old and died of lymphoma. I miss her every single day.
Tibet's been gone for about three years now, and Midget's been gone for about two. Since that time, we had thought about getting another dog, See, I'm an RVT, and it's almost unheard of for someone in my line of work to go through life without at least five or six pets, usually some or all of them with something wrong with them. But with the whole mess going on with trying to sell the house and (hopefully) moving into a new place, Dr. Husband and I recognized that adding a puppy to the mix might not be the best idea. But still...much as I loved my Tibet, I really missed having a dog. So I began to think about maybe having a small dog again...just maybe...if I could find the right one...but I knew I'd never feel about any other dog the way I felt about Tibet. And that's mostly because I don't think any other dog would feel about me the way she did.
Enter a good friend of mine. K is an agility enthusiast and has several wonderful dogs. My favorite dog of hers is a spunky little squirt named Honey*, who she was trying to finish and get titled so she could move ahead with breeding her and selling champion-born puppies. K and I go way back, and shortly after we lost Tibet, she told me that when she bred Honey, she would give me one of her puppies. But Honey ended up having some physical issues that wouldn't make any difference to the usual pet owner but could be everything to a show dog owner. So K decided that it would be best to have Honey spayed and put dreams of Honey-puppies to rest.
Then, last fall, I got an email from K -- apparently, before she'd had a chance to spay her, Honey had a one-night-stand with another dog in the house. The resulting litter of three mixed-breed puppies was here, and did I want one. Did I want one? A cute widdle puppy? Are you kidding?
And of course...the bitch sent pictures. Dammit. As if I could even pretend to think about it after looking at the adorable little snausage-shaped bundles of cuteness. But I did the right thing -- forwarded the email on to Dr. Husband and asked him what he thought. And yes -- I sent the pictures, too. Fuck if I'm going to be the only one roped in by that ploy!
Anyway -- long story short, we now have Willow. She is a terrier mix and has all the spunky cuteness and fabulous personality of her mother. She's wicked-smart and adores the kids and loves to play.
And yes...she's a sample-dog. But I'm okay with that; I figured it might not be too difficult to find a new place that accepted small dogs. And besides...I'm honestly not sure I can have another Wolfhound. Tibet was...everything I could want in a dog. She lived for 12 years, and that wasn't nearly long enough. But it was extraordinarily long for a dog of her breed -- they usually only live to be about eight years old.
But one thing Tibet did not do is fetch. See, she was a chaser; she would obligingly run after anything we threw for her for as long as it would keep going. But when it stopped, so would she. And then she would look back at us with this perplexed look on her face, then come loping back, her work done. Willow, on the other hand....*sigh*....
"Infinity Fetch" is her favorite game. She has a red tennis ball that I picked up at some pet expo or other. She will fetch that damn ball...forever. Or at least, that's what it seems like. When she's in the mood to play fetch, you'd better be, too, or she'll make sure you play anyway. If you don't pick up the ball yourself when she drops it, she'll pick it up again and flip it to you. And if you try to "hide" the ball, hoping she'll forget about it and leave you alone, she'll frantically search the house (or yard), acting like a coke addict needing to do a line until you give up and give it back. Then "Infinity Fetch" starts all over. She's a tenacious little thing -- all ten pounds of her.
And she's so well-behaved. She appears to love me with all of her being.
And I think she's found a little room in my heart.
*name changed
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