When we left the house on the first Sunday in February, I had no intention of adopting a puppy. I mean, we’d talked about getting another dog, but always said, “Zorro would kill us if we brought a dog into the house.”
But I erred, you see. I allowed Fuzzy to go to Petsmart unsupervised while I went to buy sewing notions for my mother’s birthday.
“You have to come here,” he said.
“Why?” I asked – this was via text. “Are there dogs?”
As most Petsmarts do, our branch of choice was hosting a rescue group, Shelter 2 Rescue, and they had dogs like crazy, mostly medium and large dogs, and one sleepy, mouthy baby boy.
“I’m busy,” I said. “We’re not getting another dog right now, remember? Zorro’s sick, and…”
“I know,” he said, “But he’s cute. You have to see him. Here, I’ll send a picture.”
So he did. It looked like this:
Fuzzy said, “He looks like Cleo. Come see.”
So I went, and saw. And a few minutes later I had my arms full of squirmy puppy, all scented of baby shampoo and corn chips (puppy feet smell like corn chips). And after Max tried to eat my earring, I knew I liked him.
We weren’t sure though. A puppy is a lot of work, and we had Zorro and Cleo already. We signed up to be a foster home, and set up an appointment for a home visit, and I kept thinking about the puppy.
A few days later, friends came over for coffee, and I kept saying, “I think I want him.” I’m not sure if I wanted to be talked out of or into it, but I emailed the shelter folks, and said, “If the black and white puppy hasn’t been adopted yet, we’re interested.”
And so, the next week, we took home BLUE, who was a foster blue heeler, and Max, the puppy. (He came with the name, and I’d always wanted a dog named Max, so we kept it.)
That was a month and a half ago. Max the Monster PupTM, is now almost 20 pounds of dog, is bigger than Cleo, and is eating everything in site. We’re not quite sure what he is – some people have said pit bull / heeler, and some said Boston terrier / heeler. Our vet agreed with the latter – he’s too lean to be a pit mix, and at nearly four months and not yet twenty pounds, while he seems big to us, he’s small for that breed. (While some have said they don’t see heeler in him, that’s the one part of his lineage of which we’re certain. His mother was a blue heeler.)
Sadly, he’s not the brightest of boy puppies. Cleo was doing tricks at his age, and Max is still learning his name. He’s not cuddly, but will “check in” with me every few minutes, and greets me with kisses, when he’s not smugly carrying off my slippers.
He doesn’t take the place of Zorro, of course, but he has made the transition easier.
Tags: Adoption, Dogs, Intro, Maximus
