And They Call it Puppy Love?

My father died when I was 18 after a long illness.  I don't have a lot of memories of him, but I do remember the three things we had in common: We were both lefties.  We both loved baseball.  And most importantly, we both loved dogs.

When I was in grammar school, my mother took a weekend job at the local hospital leaving me and dear old dad to our own devices.  He would let me do things like watch the Three Stooges on Saturday morning while enjoying an icy cold coke.  I was also allowed to ride my bike three miles to a friend's house even though he had never met her parents, did not have their telephone number nor any idea where they lived.  He was the one you went to when you knew mom would say, "No."

I am not sure how we started our weekly puppy quest, but every Saturday we would scour the classified section of the Newburyport Daily News in search of Golden Retriever or Labrador puppies.  Dad would circle the most promising ads and call to get directions so we could go, "take a look."

In the beginning we truly did just go to, "take a look" sometimes driving two hours to another state for a chance to play with a litter of pudgy little pups. Dad had the same story for every breeder.  He wanted to start breeding puppies himself and needed to investigate the puppies lineage before committing to buy.  He'd be in touch. In reality, we were both just scared shitless of what my mother would do if we brought home a puppy.  Soon though, we just said fuck it and decided to bring one home.  How could mom be mad once she saw how cute the puppy was and how happy it made us?  Pretty mad is the answer.

There were a few she made us take right back and a couple she let us keep.  We even convinced her to  let us start breeding Golden Retrievers.  Dad and his mother found a beautiful little golden puppy named Molly.

Everyone was sure she was a champion who would produce Best in Show puppies. Unfortunately, like many Golden Retrievers, she suffered from hip problems and insanity.  We couldn't breed her but we could all end up in the emergency room as a direct result of her "love."  Dad had a broken bone under his eye from Molly running like a steam engine straight into his face while he was bent over trimming a hedge.  I broke my front teeth after deciding to literally harness her energy to pull me on my skateboard.

My memories of Molly either influenced or scarred me depending on how you look at it.  I have never been interested in owning another Retriever, thus the non-guarding livestock guard dog we now have.

The husband had the boys start making their Christmas lists last week and top of Prince's list was another puppy.  The husband put his foot down and refused to entertain the idea.  Prince and I strategized to develope a convincing argument.  We tried the Noah's Ark argument that we needed two of every animal.  Didn't work.  Prince was lonely and needed another dog who would play fetch.  A little wiggle room there, but still not budging. A true guard dog that would protect us during the class war (more on that later).  That did give him pause, but seeing how the livestock guardian spends his nights sleeping in the house, the husband was skeptical that any puppy we get would actually be used for its intended purpose.   Finally, I used the same argument I am imagining my father used on my mother when he convinced her to breed puppies... making money.

The husband is all about making money off of our farmette.  There are some pretty decent tax benefits from having a working farm, though to actually make it your sole source of income is a struggle to say the least. Since some purebred puppies can sell for over $1,000 each I show him how we could make $15,000/year breeding puppies.  Plus, it will be such a great experience for the boys to witness the miracle of birth.

"Isn't that why we have a pregnant rabbit?" he counters.

 I am wondering if we will be able to find one of those stickers for the back window of the van?.  You know, the ones with the stick figure family that reflects the makeup of the car owner's family?    I haven't seen one yet with 100 rabbits.

The husband sighs and walks away leaving me free and clear to start my puppy search.

I have a friend in Italy.  I could have her find me a Maremma or Italian Spinone breeder and I could take a trip over to Italy to pick up our little money maker.  The problem is, then I need to find a male in the states to breed her with.  Maybe we get a male and female?

I finally come up for air one afternoon after an extensive online puppy search and ask Prince what kind of dog he wants. After all, this is supposed to be his puppy.

"I want one that will play fetch and be a friend for Pepper."

Shit.  This kid needs a retriever, but there is no way I am getting a purebred.  The husband will divorce me for sure when he falls victim to the unbridled affection and slobber of one of these beasts.  I shift gears and start looking at mix breeds.  I need to combine the hyper activity of a lab with the mellowness of a giant dog. Unfortunately, there is no way of knowing what mix most of the pound puppies have in them.  I always love the photos of the pitbulls on Petfinder that are labeled, "lab/shepherd mix."  Sorry to any of you pitbull lovers out there. That is one animal I will not be hoarding.

I find out from a guy at the Y that someone who works there just had a litter of puppies.  He was attempting to breed his female lab with a male lab, but the labradoodle snuck in there first.  So now he has labradordles.  This isn't the ying and yang Golden Newfoundland I had envisioned but we decide to go "take a look."

The whole way there I feel my feet getting a little chilly.  I tell Prince repeatedly, "If this isn't exactly what you want, we don't have to take it."

What moron thinks a ten year old boy who wants a puppy is going to walk away from a three month old lab?  Oh yeah, me.

So, Friday we came home with a new puppy.  A couple of months sooner than anticipated, but we get to cross that one off the Christmas list.  It may be a problem that Scrappy Doo has a puppy on his Christmas list as well.

The one good thing about bringing home a three month old puppy is that you actually appreciate your other dog.  Pepper doesn't cry all night in his crate.  I don't have to get up at 4 in the morning to take Pepper out to pee.  Pepper doesn't shit all over his crate twice during the night so I have to spend my entire Sunday cleaning bedding and washing poopy puppy.

When Prince asked what we were going to do yesterday because he was bored,  I nearly jumped across the table to tear his throat out.  Go play with your pain in the ass puppy that kept me up all night while you slept!!

It is Monday morning.  I am tired and unshowered because I had to use all of the hot water to clean the puppy after Pepper decided to "play" with her stinky ass outside thus sending her sliding across the muddy yard into the runoff from the sump pump in the basement.

As I sit here trying to figure out how I will ever be able to leave my house again since I don't think Athena (that is her name)  in an Ergo will be allowed in Hannaford's Supermarket, I am suddenly aware of why my mother never wanted a puppy. But when I look at her chunky little wiggly body and long silky ears, I also know why my father did.