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.