The Best Dog I Ever Had

THE BEST DOG I EVER HAD . . .

A friend came over recently and took some photos of my dogs. I really wanted to introduce everyone to them, since they are quite exceptional. They are, left to right, Ting Ting, the elderly Shih Tzu, and the Wild Indians: Katie (staring suspiciously at you ) and Allie (relaxing before springing into a frenzied run around the house).

I adopted Katie and Allie, Australian Shepherd sisters, last year. I only wanted one new dog, or maybe I didn’t really want a new one at all at the time. I had just lost two Shelties within two months of old age and had a needy, elderly Shih Tzu anxious to receive double attention.

But I was reluctantly -- yet irresistibly -- drawn to a pet rescue adoption and immediately noticed a black and white dog with one blue eye and one brown eye that willed me to stop. She sat patiently in her small cage, looking over the humans approaching her. She saw me and for the first time, said her foster mother, wagged her tail enthusiastically.

I’ve always believed that you don’t adopt animals, they adopt you. They somehow KNOW you are their person and they mentally will you to take them home. In any event, I was a goner.

I had a new dog. But then I learned Allie had a sister. Both had been unceremoniously dumped at the local pound where dogs live only a few days if not claimed. A rescue person happened to be there at the time and took them.

They were about nine months old. The sister wasn’t at the adoption site because she was judged too shy – and too afraid of people -- to make a good impression on possible adopters. In a moment of madness, I said I could take both. The shy Katie came into the house, jumped in Ting Ting's bed and refused to leave.

The next three months were hell. You see those eyes? It’s not all the light. A bit of the demon was in both of them. I quickly learned why their former owner dumped them. They ate my carpet. They ate my computer and telephone cords. They ate my dining room set – table legs and chairs. They ate the woodwork around the window. They terrorized poor Ting Ting. They dug holes under my fence and escaped when they were left out for more than a few moments. Katie, the pessimist, would cringe when anyone bent over her. It was obvious she’d been abused. Allie, the optimist, wanted to smother you with great lunges and endless kisses.

No sleeping on the bed, I told them. Katie said okay. Not Allie. I spent three entire nights tossing Allie off the bed. Off she would go, on she would come. Finally gave up. Now I share bed with three dogs. The one really worrying thing was Katy’s bullying of poor Ting Ting. I had to keep them apart. Worried about Ting Ting, I called the rescue group about ten times to tell them to come pick them up. Then Allie with unerring instinct would come over and put her head on my knee, and look up at me, and I was putty in her paws. I called back and said forget it.

One night I had to go out. In desperation, I put them in a bathroom. Nothing there to get them in trouble. Person of little faith, me. I arrived home and went to the bathroom. Door wouldn’t open. They’d locked themselves in. Had to call a locksmith at midnight and tell them my dogs had locked themselves in the bathroom. The locksmith laughed his way throughout the $200 call.

Ready to tear out my hair, I would remember Ben. Ben was just like the Wild Indians. He was a Benji type dog and had grown up totally ignored in someone’s back yard. A friend of mine lived next door to Ben and fell in love with him. My friend finally convinced the owner to give the dog to him after Ben ate her porch. He, in turn, foisted Ben off on me. Ben didn't eat my computer cords. He ate my sofa. He also ate all my shoes. Shoe companies love my dogs. He was a demolition machine. Then one day he finally decided he had a real home and a real person, and the destruction stopped. Suddenly. Never another chewed shoe. Never another chewed carpet. Never a bathroom mistake. He became the best dog I ever had. After the last best dog I ever had.

I know people who have lost a beloved dog or cat and won’t get another because no other can ever take their companion’s place. I’ve found that no, they don’t take their place. They make their own place. A heart can stretch in all different directions.

But back to my tale. Like Ben, the Wild Indians suddenly and without warning became very good dogs. No more shredded shoes. No more rummaging in the garbage. No more mistakes in the house. No more digging under the fence. No more bullying of Ting Ting. Like Ben, they apparently decided they finally had a home.

And now they, like Ting Ting, are the best dogs I’ve ever had.

And so, I wanted to introduce them to you. Especially since I’ve just discovered how to post a photo on the blog.

I really think it's the best photo ever.