When my parents’ sweet dog Bootsie died a few years ago, they said she’d be their last dog. This had me thoughtful. Are you (my parents) done with living? Yes, of course, one needs a certain amount of energy and agility to care for a dog. When a year went by and they started talking about missing having a dog around, I told them “Get a dog. If you need me to take over, I can take over.”
They started their search. I believe it was a year ago that they started looking. I hounded them about getting an adult who was more chill. A young, energy-filled dog would be demanding and need exercise that my parents might not be able to provide. Get a smaller dog, I told them, envisioning a dog bigger than 40 pounds being able to easily knock either of them down.
My anxiety would swirl; the dog will knock them down and they will break a hip and then they’ll die from some hip-fracture related infection? Then I’m taking care of a dog who sort of killed one of my parents.
Catastophizing or just planning? You be the judge.
When I looked around on PetFinder for dogs to adopt, I would never search for a dog younger than five years old for them. I’d eliminate any pup over 40 pounds. This filter was not utilized when my Mom searched, clearly, because the dog they gravitated to was a one to three year old, weight-unclear aussiedoodle named Polly. From what we learned, she was rescued by animal control from a (likely backyard) breeder. The vet with Final Victory Rescue estimate her at about one year old, which is tragic since she’s already had one littler. Wildly unethical. Much too young. Poor girl.
Final Victory had her groomed, and accepted Mom and Dad as Polly’s forever owners. My parents had a zoom with Polly’s foster family, the match was locked, and Polly was shipped up from the Carolinas last weekend in a stinky van packed with rescue pups. Upon arrival, Polly ran straight to my parents. Dad promptly called me to report that “she stinks to high hell” and could I come by and help hose her down?
I was shopping at Target at the time, so I hung up and started scrambling to get dog shampoo and whatever other items I went there for before hustling to the car to get to them. As I sat in the car it occurred to me that no one is bleeding. There is no emergency. A dog smells. This is not a crisis. I stopped scrambling and returned home at a normal pace, collected up other things I’d bought for the new one – an airtight kibble storage container, a snuffle mat, a leash – and headed over.
She is so sweet, and a very nice size. Fingers crossed she is done growing. The thought of someone breeding her when she’s not even done growing is disgusting but I know it could have happened. She is affectionate and very smart. And she stunk, we suspect from riding with some many other dogs. Probably lots of pee and other things moving around in the van.
Am I worried she’ll trip my parents? Yes. Am I worried they’d trip over a dog toy? Yes. but I worry about lots of things, like if my new car will ever be drivable again (long story).
What I do know is my Mom thinks this dog is the bees knees and in the few hours I visited with them, Dad told Puppy Noname “I love you, yes I do!” about four times and he met her not 24 hours prior.
I think she’ll keep them young. And I’m not far if she gets into something stinky again which, if she’s a dog in our family, she’s bound to do!
BEAN'S BABBLETORIUM 