Since I retired from my teaching position in June, my husband has been trying to convince me that our pointer/lab mix dog needs a playmate. For me, one dog and one cat is enough; I’m already playing a lot of fetch and taking trips out to the dog park. I really don’t need another dog.
I suppose it’s my neighbor’s fault that I now have a second dog. Their newest puppy, a Pomeranian, came up to Thom when he got home for the weekend. He was a cute, loving, fluff ball. “I want one,” my husband told me.
“We don’t need another dog.” By that I really mean, “I don’t need another dog.” My husband is an OTR Driver and is gone for two weeks at at time.
But Saturday, we were out on errands. We stopped at the pet store looking to replace a worn out dog toy. A heavy duty purple, rubber pig. It has held up for almost two years while everything else seems to get destroyed in minutes to days.
As we approach the end of the aisle and look at the end cap display, I should have realized that the pair of puppies in a kennel perched on top of other kennels was going to be my caving point. I usually have good resolve not to let homeless puppies completely get to my heart. I don’t want the responsibility of a second dog. I should have ignored them and diverted my husband’s attention a different direction. But it probably wouldn’t have done any good.
We went over to check the little guys out. Luckily, they had both been adopted out to the same person. A couple of other dogs were being adopted as we approached the kennels, but the little guy on the end had the saddest, most dejected look on his face. I sat down in the chair next to his kennel to talk to him and pet him. Little did I know my husband was asking if we could take him out of the kennel. That was enough. He just didn’t wag his tail; he wagged his whole butt.
Then, he put his paws up on my lap and was kissing me. “Ah, looks, he likes you,” from my husband prompted a “We don’t need another dog,” from me.
“He’s really sweet.” The young lady who was part of the pet adoption fair was just as pleading as my husband. “You could foster him for a few weeks and see how it goes.”
Foster care for puppies. It would let me know how Pepper and Spike, the cat, would react.
My husband tried to tell me he’d take him with on the truck. “With 4,200 mile weeks, I don’t think you’d be able to stop as often as you need to for a dog.” I’ve ridden a couple of times and stopping for a dog would not be a luxury.
“I need to get home and let the neighbor’s dogs out,” I told him after I looked at my phone. I was already late. (My neighbors and I exchange dog duty favors when needed.) I was really hoping that would prompt him to hand the dog back to the lady in charge and that we would just go home.
“Go ahead and then come back. We’ll be here,” my husband said walking the puppy down the aisles of the pet store.
As I drove away, I had a brain storm. I called him. “Honey, what about I bring Pepper back to the store with me. That way we know right away if the two would get along.”
Bad plan. I let the neighbor’s dogs out and picked up Pepper. He loves going to the pet store. When we found hubby and the Plott hound, Pepper pulled to get to him. We put the two in the puppy class training ring and took the leashes off to see how they would react to each other. No problems.
So now, I have the Spice Boys: Pepper (a pointer/lab mix) and Nutmeg (a Plott hound mix). Let the fun begin.