Maybellene, Why Can't You Be True?
The blog has been on idle for awhile. The precipitating factor was the loss of my doberman in September. The hole that punched in my life was a surprise. She gave me four months of warning-being diagnosed with congestive heart failure in May and her final ride to the vet in September. Those four months were an exercise in head vs heart. In my head I knew her time with me was coming to an end. I thought I was prepared. I wasn't. She was a quiet dog, so the silent space she left in the house was surprising. My eye was constantly being drawn to the corner where she slept. I kept expecting to trip over her when I got off the couch as it was her habit to plant herself and lay the length of the couch at my feet. I'd wake up in the middle of the night expecting to hear her bark at something only she could hear.
A few weeks after she died, I decided to have my ice maker fixed. It had been non functional for over a year. The holidays were on the horizon, people were coming, so it made sense to finally get around to making repairs. The first time my newly operational ice maker bumped cubes into the bin, producing satisfying thunks after a year of silence I was surprised that no doberman barked to alert me to this new menace. She never got used to the ice maker, viewing it as a clear and present danger to the household, reopening the scab that had started to heal over my heart. The cubes continued to rumble and bump into the bin, greeted by silence. Something had to be done. Even my little dog had been moping for weeks, missing his bigger buddy.
I began searching rescue sites looking for the perfect match to my living situation which also included two cats. Having had two cats killed by a rescue dog once, I am highly sensitive to the fact that some dogs view cats and smaller dogs as prey. Coming home to carnage was stress I didn't need after losing my beloved dobie. There were many dogs available, too many. I had decided that I wanted a medium sized dog. An older dog was okay. Yet, finding a medium sized dog that was compatible with cats, other dogs, and the addition of tolerance of kids to my order, turned into a search on the magnitude for the holy grail. Sadly the shelters and rescue organizations are full of Pitt Bulls, German Shepherds, Labradors, and mixed breed dogs that I had decided were too big for a woman whose balance isn't quite what it was when I was twenty-five. When I found a dog that I thought might pass muster and inquired whether or not the subject did well with cats the response was always, "Well, we don't know for sure," or "All our dogs do well with cats," Having taken that gamble once and lost, I wasn't willing to do it again.
Reluctantly I decided I should adopt a puppy. I considered the downside - the jumping, chewing, accidents, nipping, scratching, middle of the night visits to the back yard. Even so I concluded that the stress would be lower than worrying about the safety of the other animals in my home.
Who knew that every mixed breed puppy is now a hybrid dog of enormous value? Doodles of all sorts abound. Boxadores? Have you ever heard of a Boxadore? Neither had I. Spangles? Even the corgi/chihuahua mix I already owned was now valued at $700 per puppy. ($400 if you chose one with no medical care or vaccinations.) The search wasn't going well. I was damned if I was going to pay $500 to $700 for a mixed breed puppy. Not to mention there wasn't much in the way of puppies in the rescues. The younger dogs were typically large dogs that got too big and unmanageable for their owners.
At this frustrating point my younger daughter entered the search. You even mention you might be considering a new pet and her pet radar turns on and she is on alert looking up dogs all over the Midwest. She decided that she needed to search Tennessee (her home) for the right dog for me. She began by looking at the rescue where she obtained her dog, Wilson Animal Rescue in Memphis. (Shout out ladies of Wilson-you are doing great work!) And there they were - a litter of beagle/spaniel of some type puppies, three black and white, and one blonde outlier. The black and whites reminded me of a dog I had when I was young, a sweet shaggy mix that howled at sirens (and me when I sang) and was never reliably housebroken. I used to joke that he was getting seconds on sweets when the brains were being handed out. He may have even thought he was a cat, I'm not sure. The lights were on, but I sometimes wondered if anyone was home. I loved him just the same, and the idea of the second coming of Clancy appealed to me.
I submitted my application. My daughter attested to my ability to own and care for a pet. My application was accepted and I was allowed the pick of the litter. I had told the rescue I wanted a confident dog. After 9 years of a dog that was anxious and non confident, I wanted a dog that had a good self image. The blonde puppy was suggested. (Her foster mom later described her as bossy-which turned out to be true.) I took her. My daughter drove to Memphis from Nashville and brought my puppy home.
The puppy, now known as Maybellene, in homage to Memphis and its musical roots, not the cosmetics company, couldn't be more unlike the sweet stupid dog of my young adulthood. Confident she is, with a bit of bulldog tendencies, and smart as a whip. Even my veterinarian mentioned that beagles weren't known for their intellect, being 80% nose. But this one-she's a doggie genius, house training in ten days at three months old, and figuring out how to break into anything food related. One night I wasn't quick enough to the sliding doors to let her in, so she let herself in (also letting the cat out.) and strutted into the living room, obviously pleased with the accomplishment.
One night when I wasn't paying close enough attention, I found her ripping up the vinyl in the kitchen. Maybe she doesn't like the pattern I thought. Turns out she was digging for a kibble that had worked its way between the baseboard and the flooring, the 80% nose working overtime.
Some days I look at her and see the wheels spinning in her big brown eyes, assessing, computing, looking for the next thing. She gets bored easily. Puppy preschool, doggie daycare, puppy play group, all activities I had regarded with a skeptical eye, are now staples of my life. A good puppy is a tired puppy I have learned.
I haven't owned a puppy for years so the past months have been a challenge and a learning curve. Much of my spare time is spent keeping a step ahead of her. I had vowed to never adopt a puppy again. Never say never, I have found that with the prospect of an overnight business trip coming up that I am suffering separation anxiety and I haven't left yet. Oh, Maybellene. Thank you Chuck Berry.
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