Championship

As I watched the dogs go first in the puppy class.  They bounced all over the ring wanting to run on the leash or play with the other puppies instead of walking at the normal pace.  I felt so much better and told myself this was just a “puppy thing” and that the instructors from our puppy school were way too serious. This was merely meant to be a fun thing for Vixen and me. 

The border terrier community is very supportive. I had already met a few folks through Teri and felt right at ease with them. They are a down to earth group, much like the dogs themselves. Very unpretentious and genuinely friendly souls they are.  They would freely give advice if asked, but only if asked.  It was wonderful.  

Thankfully, they also let me know when I was to go into the ring.  There are different “classes” for judging and then the winners of each class compete as they narrow down the field to the ultimate, “best of breed” title is awarded. I don’t think I ever did get the order right, but, thanks to the border terrier community, I never missed being in the ring when I was supposed to be.

I learned from them how to tell the difference between a Norwich and a Norfolk Terrier and much more about different breeds.  And, man, are there tons of different breeds, each one special and unique in their own way. Each one has its own gait and mannerisms, bred for different tasks and different grooming needs. For a dog lover, it’s pure heaven to watch.

Vixen wasn’t the problem in the ring, Mom was.  Thankfully, most judges tend to take the handler’s incompetence into consideration and actually judge the dog on the merits of the dog, e.g. how well the dog meets the standards for the breed. Most judges were very understanding and patient with this nincompoop of a handler. One smirked as I clumsily lifted Vixen to the table for inspection and told her I was new to the show ring. “You don’t say?”  she grinned as she removed my hands from petting Vixen’s head so she could check her bite and coat.

Early in our conformation experience, we entered the ring and I was instantly intimidated by the judge.  She was an elderly woman with silky white hair and a bright red, blue and yellow outfit adorned with schnauzer buttons and a hat that looked like something from the Kentucky Derby. She didn’t smile and that made me really nervous.  

I whispered, “This is one of our first times in the ring,” hoping she’d forgive any handling mistakes I might make.   

She just looked down at Vixen and said, “You’ve got her collar on backwards.” 

Smiling, I said lightly “I told you I was new to this,” in a tone that I hoped would lighten the mood.

She just glared at me. 

“Do you want me to fix it?” I asked.

“Yes” she said rolling her eyes and impatience in her voice.

I knew we were doomed and thought about just bolting out of the ring without even trying to finish the rest of the exercise. But, we made it through and it was one of our first shows together.  

Conformation Dog Shows is serious business.  Those shows take place in the mud, the rain and heat. People drive hundreds of miles, some of them in expensive RVs, all for a few short minutes in the ring. 

One week-end we got up dark and early to hit the road heading for Ocala for a show. We had to be there by 8:00 am to meet up with Teri and some other border terriers for a show. Ocala, Florida has a huge, nice showground and all the rings are outside.

It started pouring down rain halfway there.  The rain was so heavy that I thought a few times about pulling over to wait it out. When we got there, I realized that my shoes were in no way going to survive the mud and muck. I noticed that the pros at this were prepared with over-sized umbrellas, boots and covers for their shoes. Thankfully, Teri was prepared and even had an extra pair of overshoes for my feet. 

I was still a nervous handler and let Vixen set the pace for our “down and back” for the judge.  This is not a good idea. We trotted, no, ran down to the end of the ring and back, mud slopping onto the back of my legs and skirt. The judge said that would be great if we were auditioning for the Boston Marathon and would I please take my dog down and back again at a much slower pace.

I got better at handling Vixen and we did win points to get the coveted Championship Title added to her name. We even beat professional handlers at a few shows and, let me tell you, that is the pinnacle of pride right there.  The pros are practically invisible in the ring.  All you see is the dog, the perfectly behaved, impeccably groomed, properly paced dog. The pros know how to make even the mediocre dog look and act like best of breed. I wonder, though, how much they enjoy what they do; too many seem angry, stressed and downright miserable.

Conformation

Once we got the basic obedience commands consistent I was ready to start conformation training. One of the instructors at the school thought Vixen was way too hyper and I was too inexperienced to start conformation training yet.  I can be rather stubborn so I signed up for conformation classes anyway and, yes, Vixen did want to play with the other dogs in line instead of standing still and pretty for the judges. We continued anyway.

Entering the grounds of the dog show was like walking into a whole new world.  There were dogs of every shape and size, many of whom I’d never seen before.  There were tents everywhere offering all things dog related: grooming supplies, treats of all kinds, toys, breed related jewelry, art, clothing… you name it, if you can put a dog on it, it’s for sale by these vendors.  There is, of course, the popular food vendor selling everything from funnel cakes and deep fried candy bars to chicken salad sandwiches.

One room or section of the show grounds is packed full of dogs in crates, standing on tables and peering out of x-pens. Strange contraptions and hair dryers buzzed with the barking and talking while people worked feverishly combing and cutting coats; putting ears in these strange sock looking things; trimming nails. Every so often we’d have to jump out of the way as a dog and handler came rushing by.

At our first show we saw this strange little dog with no fur save the tufts of white, cotton like hair sticking up on his head and around his feet.  Also with this breed was the same dog covered with the cotton like hair and looking like something out of a Dr. Seuss book. We were so curious as to what this was that we approached one of the tables where this curious little dog was and asked what kind of dog it was.  

The gentleman wheeled on us, glared and yelled, “Get away!  She’s about to go in the ring!” 

“Ohhhh kayyyyy”  I said as we backed away slowly, now afraid to turn our back on the little man.

We retreated to the safety of the border terrier community and found out from them that it is a Chinese Crested.  They come in two varieties, hairless and “powder puff”.  Some of these little oddities have won “Ugliest Dog” contests, but the dogs at this show were regal and adorable.

We learned quickly that it’s just not safe to approach people inside the ring areas and reserved our “meet the dogs” questions for those who seemed to be relaxing and in no hurry to be anywhere.  Approaching a handler who is in the middle of grooming, heading to the ring or otherwise occupied is not wise. A good eye for body language helps to identify those who don’t mind questions and people petting the beloved show dog. 

It’s important to always be cognizant of where your dog is and what she’s doing, even though you are tethered to each other by a mere twelve inch leash. I was standing, watching the dogs in the ring and felt a tug on the leash. I turned to see Vixen on her back legs, little body stretched as far as she could go straining to smell the Great Dane’s arse directly in front of her.  Thankfully, she hadn’t actually used the Dane’s legs to support herself for this endeavor.

Training

I was tickled to pieces to finally have the dog of my dreams and she was smart. (I know all owners say that, but it’s true!) This was also my first AKC registered puppy. I was about to learn about a whole new exciting world that I never knew existed. Teri said that Vixen is “show quality” and that she wanted Vixen to participate in conformation shows to earn her Championship.  This is what culminates in The Westminster Dog Show here in the US and Crufts in Great Britan. Most dogs, obviously, never make it to that level.  The competitions are generally on a smaller scale and the dog wins points at the conformation shows based on whether it wins or not and how many other dogs it had to beat to get the coveted purple ribbon.

We signed up for puppy classes at one of the dog training facilities in our area. At our first class I felt like a total idiot.  Everyone else had relatively calm puppies compared to our little bundle of dynamite. They seemed at ease and as if they had been coming to puppy classes for years.

During “play time” when the puppies were allowed to run around off leash and play with one another, Vixen would run around as fast as she could inviting the larger puppies to chase her. Then she would jump in their faces, catching them completely off guard. I began to think she had been a kamakazi pilot in another life due to the way she would plow, head first into the sides of the larger puppies startling them. She became the master instigator strategically causing other puppies to be put in “time out” for bad behavior. Our furry daughter was the class clown. 

It didn’t take long for everyone to know Vixen.  As soon as we got out of the car she would jump up and down excitedly, smelling every blade of grass, every rock in the parking lot, tugging me toward the door. Once inside Vixen barked that extremely loud bark that caused the whole building to go quiet and look over at us. “Vixen is in the house!” She announced her presence with all the pomp and circumstance of Paris Hilton.

Occasionally I would fret that she just wasn’t “getting it” and just when I’d reach the height of frustration with my inability to communicate with her, she would do whatever lesson we were on perfectly. Almost like, “Oh, is that what you want?”  I think, too, I was the most animated human in the classes.  I don’t recall anyone else acting like they’d just won the lottery every time the dog learned a new command. 

Once she learned a command, Vixen was eager to do it over and over again. She would go so far as to run through her repertoire of commands in an effort to obtain the treat that was supposed to follow. This provided no end to the amusement during training classes. A “sit” would quickly turn into a “down” and then a “bang” (roll over) and then Vixen, pleased as pie looking up at me for her reward.

It was at one of these classes that we learned about a dog who was trained to ring a bell when he wanted to go outside. Vixen had learned that “outside” is where one goes to “go potty”.  When she wanted to go out she would quietly go sit by the sliding glass door and could go unnoticed longer than her bladder would hold out. We decided this bell trick was a wonderful idea and decided to try it.  We bought a package of Christmas bells at a craft store and hung one by a string next to the back door.  We then had Vixen ring the bell with her paw every time we went outside.

Vixen picked up on the idea rather quickly and, once she was fully convinced that ringing the bell was a command for Mom to let her into the back yard, she delighted in ringing the bell, even when there wasn’t any full bladder involved. Occasionally, Vixen would ring the bell while I was in the middle of something, so I’d tell her, “just a minute” and continue whatever I was doing.  Vixen might wait patiently or she might pull her paw back and hit the bell with all her might.  Then she’d turn her head and look at me, “I want to go outside, NOW!” Well, who could argue with that? 

We also learned how to “link” natural behavior to a command. One of our favorite tricks is “recon”.  This trick comes from Vixen’s fondness for stretching her back legs out behind her and pulling her body along the carpet with her front legs, head held high, grin on her face and tongue wagging away.  

Lessons

I took two days off from work to help our little bundle adjust to life with her new pack. At the risk of sounding silly, I was nervous.  This was only the second puppy I’d ever had in my whole life and I was completely responsible for this “clean slate” and making sure she became well trained and a dog that others enjoyed being around.  I had to make sure she got the right amount of exercise, mental and physical.  I had to keep her healthy and happy for, hopefully, the next twenty years.  It seemed to be a daunting responsibility.  Little did I know what Vixen had in store for me.

House training a dog can wear down even the most excited dog owner. Those little bladders can only hold so much.  The good thing is that potty habits are easy to predict for the most part.  Every time the dog eats or wakes up from a nap it will have to go to the bathroom – immediately! If a dog plays hard, it will have to go to the bathroom.  If a dog gets the “zoomies”, you can rest assured that at some point during the “zoomie”, the dog will pause, squat and pee. A dog who is not being watched will pee.

Every morning the alarm would buzz and I bounded out of bed, rushing at the first note from the radio alarm clock to the back yard with Vixen where I would give the command, “go potty” and then cheer like a banshee when she did.  This delight in her potty habits rewarded me with an excited, proud little bundle dancing around my legs. 

“I peed!  I peed, Mom! I’m such a good girl!”

Then, because puppies aren’t the only ones who have to go to the bathroom as soon as they wake up, we’d turn around and sprint to the bathroom with me calling, “My turn!” where Vixen would supervise my morning pee. She didn’t, however, get as excited about that as she did that it meant we would then be heading to the kitchen for breakfast.

All the literature on border terriers will tell you that they are extremely food motivated. This is an understatement. Border terriers live to eat, it seems. If a border terrier does not have an appetite, you can rest assured that it is either sick or very abnormal. Vixen could scarf her breakfast down in record time. This then meant another trip to the back yard for another “potty celebration”.

I have since learned that those little toys that hold kibble and require the dog to “work” to get the kibble out so they can eat are the most valuable inventions ranking right up there with the wheel and coffee makers. Border terriers can still work those toys like nobody’s business and it doesn’t take long for them to empty the toy, but it does buy some time for making my own coffee before the demand for a rousing game of fetch is bouncing between my feet.

After scarfing down breakfast, Vixen would follow me around the house like a shadow until I was ready to leave for work. She was fascinated with the shower, but not fascinated enough to enter the shower.  She’d poke her head in while I was showering and wait for me to put a foot out where she would then lick the water from my ankle and then look up at me as if asking for the next leg.  After drying the leg first I would then put my other leg out for the same tongue inspection.  This is how Vixen acquired the first of many nick-names.  “Inspector” was her persona anytime we were in the bathroom together. She inspected the ankles for cleanliness, the cabinets for toilet paper, the garbage can for empty toilet paper rolls or something else to play with, the shower for, well, I don’t know what she was looking for in the shower since she wouldn’t ever set foot in it….

Before leaving for work I’d put her in her crate, as we’d decided to crate train Vixen. She’d look at me with those huge, watery brown eyes and whine and whine and whine. Then she’d bark, obstinance reverberating in her whole body, ordering me to let her out of that metal prison.

This, I learned, is where buying an AKC registered dog from a responsible breeder comes in handy. I don’t know if there is already a patron saint of patience, but if either Teri or I were Catholic, I’d certainly nominate her for the title. This was only the first of many frantic calls to her about what turned out to be the most insignificant thing.

“Teri, I’m so upset.  There’s this problem.  Vixen hates the crate.  She’s threatening to turn me in for puppy abuse.”

“Tough love, Sonya.  You’re doing the right thing and it’s the safest place for Vixen to be when you’re not home.”

“But Teri, she’s whining and barking and I feel so bad.”

“She’ll get used to it.  I promise.  One day that will be her preferred place to rest. You’re being responsible by crate training her.”

We didn’t really question Teri.  She has so much experience and breeders like Teri take a great interest in their litters.  She is just as concerned about the safety, health and happiness of her puppies as the owners of those puppies. Teri said to do it, all the training material I read said to do it. I wanted Vixen to be safe and my carpet clean and dry so I toughed it out and, much to my surprise, Vixen did get used to it and now she can be found on lazy afternoons curled up in her crate.

Puppies!

Finally, the call came.  “We have puppies!” 

Billie gave birth to four little critters, one male, three bitches, two grizzle colored and two blue and tan.  We got to first meet the little buggers when they were only one week old.  They looked like miniature Rottweilers with their dark, round little bodies. 

Every week-end for the next ten weeks, we drove up to Teri’s house to play with the puppies. It was a treat we Iooked forward to all week long.  Every week they had learned something new or developed new skills and silly antics that kept us laughing the whole time we were there. The inquisitive nature was already very evident as they checked us out from head to toe, climbed in the camera bag, pawed at my purse, found a way into the entertainment center and bounced their way around the living room.

The puppy breath, ahhhhh, the puppy breath… Would that someone could figure out a way to bottle that sweet, sweet smell.  We took pictures every week of the puppies and it was a delight to see their little personalities emerging. 

The smallest was a grizzle bitch with the tenacity of a tomboy.  She always wanted to play rough, well, rough for a puppy. Her favorite games involved tug of war or stealing the toy from another puppy.  The grizzle male was calm, cool and collected. He preferred to survey the activity and would follow the lead of the two blue and tan bitches. 

The two blue and tan bitches were like peas in a pod. They were sweet, silly and the ring leaders of the escapades into bags, around furniture and all over the house. They were fearless and relentlessly crawled all over us as we lay on the floor absorbing the puppy breath and border kisses. 

Teri talked to us about names and entertained us with stories about some of her other litters and the names of the dogs.  I was fascinated with the creativity and thought that goes behind those long AKC registration names we always hear. 

The first part of the name is the kennel the dog comes from. The rest of the name usually has some significant meaning that ranges from something associated with where the breed or the kennel comes from to the hobbies and interests of the breeder or some of the new puppy owners.  Then there’s the “call name” which is the name the dog actually goes by, in addition to the nick-names one picks up along the way like, “Wiggle Butt”, “Squirt”, “Punkin”,  “Miss Priss”, etc.

One owner appreciates fine coffee so one of the litters Teri had consisted of coffee related names.  From that litter we have met Kona and Java.  Another litter was all court room related: Beverlea Secret Agent, Beverlea Molly Malone, Beverlea Key Witness. Billie’s registered name is Beverlea Blue’s Singer.

One of my favorite names is Dixieland Whirlwind Romance.  “Passion” was born on Valentine’s Day during a tornado, hence her name. Another favorite didn’t actually make it to the AKC registrar because the new parents weren’t thrilled with the name. Beverlea Blue’s Singer bred with XXXX Ben Nevis (Ben Nevis being the highest mountain in Scotland where border terriers originate). Beverlea Mountain Music would be a puppy from this litter with the call name of “Banjo”. 

We tried to come up with something equally ingenious, but our imaginations failed us. When we went to pick up our new puppy we still didn’t have a name. We were getting one of the spunky blue and tan bitches and wanted something equally energetic and playful sounding to match her personality. As we sat there playing with the two blue and tan bitches, Teri and John were brainstorming names with us. 

“You live in Fox Hollow, border terriers hunt fox and a female fox is called a vixen.  How about Fox Hollow Vixen for a name?” suggested Teri.

“Perfect!  We’ll call her Vixen and the innuendo is priceless!” we agreed.

So, Vixen it was. We took our little Vixen home, grinning all the way.

Before we left, I and said to Teri, “She is really going to miss playing with everyone.”

She just smiled and said, “You’re her pack now.”

Gulp.  So much responsibility packed into that short little sentence.

SOLD!

I was shaking, I was so nervous as we stood there at the front door waiting for Teri, the breeder. I noticed the border terrier wind chimes, sign plates and decorations around the entry area and hoped that soon I would, too, become a collector of all things border terrier. 

A cacophony of barking followed the doorbell ring. Teri answered the door with a herd of dogs at her heels. They were adorable and it was hard to believe these were full grown dogs.  They looked like they were grinning from ear to ear and jumping around as lively as puppies. 

When we entered the living room, V, my husband, and I promptly settled onto the floor where we were greeted with a bevy of border kisses and wiggle butt dances. The dogs were so friendly and funny.  Totally uninhibited and eager to climb all over us. We were quick to realize that someone who doesn’t like to be licked all over would not like owning a border terrier. 

The dogs settled down rather quickly and, Bud, the man of the house, quickly endeared himself to us. He curled up right next to my leg as Teri showed us a video on border terriers.  We learned about “show dogs” and the different activities AKC offers for dogs and their owners. We learned that a fenced yard is essential to border terrier safety and what it’s like to live with the mischievous, inquisitive, bold and daring nature of a border terrier. This was definitely the kind of dog for us.  

We were in love. It was music to my ears to hear that Billie, one of Teri’s blue and tan bitches, was pregnant and that we could buy one of her puppies. The price was way more than I had dreamed of every spending on a dog, but I wanted one of these dogs. My husband wasn’t too sure about spending so much on a dog and didn’t think we could afford it. 

I immediately set to work figuring a way to pay for the little bundle of fur.  It was decided that this puppy would be our birthday, anniversary and Christmas gift to each other. I was ecstatic.  The border terrier information booklet we had ordered was covered with pictures of border terriers, puppies, adults, grizzle, blue and tan, with their families, etc.  I kept that booklet on the kitchen counter and looked at it all the time dreaming of the day we would bring home our very own little ball of fur.

I adored Teri and her husband, John, from the very beginning and we kept in touch throughout Billie’s pregnancy.  Teri loaned me many books about border terriers, breed information books, books on training, earthdog trials as well as books about the antics of some special border terriers.  I devoured them with the anticipation of a kid on Christmas eve.

For the dog enthusiast, and I was quickly becoming one, it’s exciting to learn of the history of “your” breed. I learned that the border terrier comes from the Scotland – England border country.  Farmers and shepherds selectively chose certain characteristics of several other breeds to develop a dog that would be good at keeping foxes out of the area so that their sheep would be safe.  This is how most breeds came into being, through selective mating.  Once the breed characteristics are defined, the specific breed clubs and organizations strive to maintain the integrity of the breed.

During the 19^th century as fox hunting developed into a sport, the breed became a vital part of the foxhunt. The mission of the border terrier is to “bolt” foxes when they “go to ground”.  In other words, when the fox flees from the hunters into one of its underground lairs, the border terrier hunts the fox underground and either chases the fox out and back above ground or corners the fox and barks until the hunters locate the border and dig down to the quarry.  This means the border terrier has a very, very loud bark.  It is a bark designed to be heard from ten feet underground and, though I have never tried with Vixen, there is no doubt in my mind that I could hear her should we be in that situation.

This kind of job makes the border terrier a fierce, fearless little bugger. It also makes them extremely prone to chasing any critter it thinks it should be hunting. Once a border terrier takes off after a quarry you can forget the dog remembering any obedience training it may have, even the most obedient of border terriers will instantly become single-minded in pursuit.  This is why breeders insist that a border terrier always be on leash or in kept within the confines of a reliable fenced in yard.

I wanted a dog....

I wanted a dog.  I wanted a dog in the worst way. I would daydream constantly about walking around the block with my dog; I would see us playing in the park; throwing the ball; curling up on the couch; running toward each other in the meadow like you see in those corny commercials that parody love scenes in old movies. I wanted a dog.

My husband wouldn’t let me have a dog.  So I asked for a cat. He still said, “No”. The religious cult we were in called those “serious pets” and pretty much forbid anyone from having a pet. They also wouldn’t let us buy a house.  “Owe no man anything,” it says in the Bible, so that meant we couldn’t take a mortgage on a home. But that’s a story for another day on another blog.

I pestered my husband to no end about it.  I tried every strategy known to woman.  It wasn’t until after the President of the cult got sued for sexual harassment and resigned from his position that the rules started changing.  Finally, he gave in.

“Fine. You want a dog, we’ll get a dog.  Since we’re renters, it will have to be a small dog.”

I was elated. “Great!  Want to go to the pound this week-end to get one?”

“You want a dog, you can get a dog but it has to be a small dog since we’re renting and it’s hard to find a place to rent that will take a big dog.”

“Great!  Okay, wanna go to the pound this week-end and pick something out?” I wanted to do this before he or the cult changed the rules again.

“Oh, no, no, no, no…. we’re not getting any mutt from the pound.  You don’t know where those dogs come from, what health problems they might have, if they’ve been abused or anything else about them.  It has to be a purebred dog from a reputable breeder and a healthy breed. Nothing with a history of serious health problems.  I’m not spending a bunch of money to keep some pathetic animal alive.”

“Uh, okay. I’ve always liked Pomeranians.  I’ll look at the health of the breed.”

“NO!  No prissy dogs like that. I want something I won’t be ashamed to walk down the street.  Nothing froo-froo like a Pom.”

This went on and on until I thought I had a grasp on the impossibly long list of qualifications for this dog he was finally going to let me buy:

Small

Not froo froo or emasculating to walk in public

Not yippy and whiny 

Not needy or one of those dogs that always has to be in the owner’s arms/lap and will pitch a fit until it’s picked up

Quick learner / easy to train

Does not shed much

Does not snore (we learned that lots of breeds snore)

Healthy breed

Does not require professional grooming

Does not require much grooming at all

Sturdy, strong – no fragile legs/bones

Able to go on long walks / athletic

Gets along well with lots of people

Not a one-person type of dog

Able to live in a home where the people are gone during the day, e.g. not under constant supervision

Not overly exciteable

Not prone to doggie death breath

Not prone to doggie smell

I think there was more, but this is all I can remember at the moment. Anyway, I spent every work break and lunch hour combing through the internet trying to find this impossible breed that would appease my husband and allow me to have the pet dog I’d been wanting for years. Six months later I was still looking.  It was like being stuck in a bad Seinfeld episode:

Pugs – adorable but they snore, shed like a mother and have a tendency toward yeast infections in those precious little wrinkled faces.

Italian Greyhounds – Sleek, smart, delightful but with bones like balsa wood and a fondness for jumping off high places.

Chihuahuas – Yippy and too popular

Dachshunds – Yippy, too needy and we had a bad experience dog sitting one.

Bichon Frise – Too froo-froo, too much grooming.

Poodle – Too froo froo and he’s known too many that are skittish or schizo

Papillon – Too froo-froo like the Pom

Miniature Schnauzers – Doggie Death Breath at its worst, at least with our neighbor’s dogs and that was enough for my husband

Jack Russell (now called Parson Russell) – very energetic and best suited to homes where someone is home most of the day to focus that exuberance

On and on….. no matter what breed I brought home information about it was shot down for one reason or another. I was becoming greatly discouraged but kept on looking.

One day I found an online test for selecting the right breed.  I took the test and the number one answer was a Border Terrier.  What’s a Border Terrier?  I had never heard of this dog.

It’s cute.  Has a Benji-like face and kind of mutt looking. Looks to be about the right size…not froo-froo…so far, so good. Generally a healthy breed, smart, energetic, friendly. The more I read, the more excited I get.  This could be it! Finally!

I do more searches on this little fellow and my excitement grows with each web link. BINGO!  I find the Border Terrier Club of America’s website, order the information packet they offer and then find that there’s a breeder not ten miles up the road from where we live. Even more exciting, she’s been breeding Border Terriers for over twenty years and is very well respected in the Border Terrier community. I e-mail her right away and ask if it’s possible to meet a Border Terrier live and in person, then proceed to watch the clock, anxious to get home with the bevy of information I’ve collected thus far. 

This dog seems to meet every criteria on my husband’s checklist. There’s absolutely nothing I can find that he could use as an excuse not to get this dog, except, well, the price.  I figure if he’s the one insisting on something other than a $50 dog at the pound, then he’s going to have to be willing to pay whatever it costs for this elusive perfect dog.  I’m perfectly willing to fight that battle.

I couldn’t park the car fast enough when I got home. I came rushing in the door, printed Border Terrier information and pictures in hand ready to shove them at my husband. Before I could speak a word he was right in front of me,

“Honey, I saw the coolest dog on tv today. It’s short and scruffy looking with the coolest attitude. The tail is this thick, carrot-like thing and the dog bounces in the pluckiest sort of way when it walks.” 

At the same time we both say, “A Border Terrier!” 

The little shit.  I’d spent over six months coveting time on the internet, pouring over web pages and reading detailed descriptions of what seemed like every breed known to man. All this dictator did was decide, on a whim, to turn on a dog show and within minutes had seen the kind of dog he was willing to live with.

Sigh. Oh well, at least we were on the same page, I thought.

The day we were to meet Teri and her border terriers I was both thrilled to the bone and nervous as all get out. I had been reading up on the breed, the AKC and the process of buying an AKC registered puppy. It seemed we were going to be required to fit a certain checklist ourselves before anyone would allow us to buy one of their puppies.  I was pretty sure we’d be wonderful ‘parents’ but that didn’t mean the breeder would think so.