Apple-Obsessed Author Fella

We Have Dog. Repeat: We Have Dog.

And so, it happened.

We have dog.

It did not happen like we anticipated. We’d been hovering around a specific set of dogs for a week or so  — two got ruled out by one local shelter because they won’t adopt non-puppies out to people with kids. That left us with a couple pit-mix puppies, a mastiff mix (2-years-old), and a German shorthaired pointer (4-years-old). All of them shelter dogs in some capacity (the pointer was taken out of a shelter by the shelter trainer for rehab, as he broke his leg; his rehab was complete).

We met the pointer first.

We really liked the pointer. It wasn’t that “love at first sight” thing you ideally want to have — the pointer wasn’t precisely affectionate because the pointer, above all else, has job to do. SNIFF SNIFF RUN RUN BIRDS I KNOW THERE ARE BIRDS HERE I WILL GET THEM FOR YOU HOLY CRAP BIRDS.

That sort of thing.

Still — the pro’s were all there. The con’s, quite few. The toddler and the pointer got along. Our taco terrier, at least outside, got along with him pretty well. He was an active dog, but I was excited at the prospect of having a gun-dog. So, we kinda thought we had a decision. We were actually dreading going to see the others because, well, we didn’t want to be swayed by OMG PUPPY LOVE IS THE BEST LOVE or OH NOES THEY ARE IN A SHELTER WE HAVE TO SAVE THEM ALL LIKE SUPERMAN.

We arrived and they said, “You’re here to see Bridget, Belinda, Bowser, and Peaches.”

And we were like, “No, we know nothing of this ‘Peaches’ you speak about.”

And they said, “She’s a lab mix puppy.”

And we said, “Whatever. She probably sucks. But we’ll see her anyway just because she’s on the list. Go. Bring out this dog so that we may dismiss her swiftly! Chop-chop!”

And they brought out this dog.

Lab-mix? Maybe. She’s very red. Very lean and rangy. A narrow dog, if you will, narrow like a fox. She was (is) six-months-old, and was… fairly calm for a puppy. Happy to sit. And lay. And follow us around. And play, but not in an over-indulgent “puppy” way. She was great with B-Dub. And B-Dub dug her in turn.

My wife, I think, had already fallen in love, and I was fast on the way.

Still, we said, “Yes, yes, she’s very nice, bring us one of the other puppies. DO SO NOW.”

Then came Bridget (or Belinda or one of the other Go-Go’s, I forget), a pit-mix puppy. Very sweet. Very rambunctious. Three-months-old. And the first order of business was jumping into B-Dub the way a shark hits a seal and sending him flying backwards onto his ass. He wasn’t hurt — it was just grass (AND BROKEN GLASS HA HA HA HA okay no), but it was enough of a shock. He wept. They took the dog away.

We knew we had to have Peaches meet our current dog, the insidious taco terrier.

So, we went home. Got the chi-fox.

She and Peaches did not have an immediate love for one another (Tai, the taco terrier, was out of her element) — but soon they both fell in lockstep behind us as we walked around the play-yard, as if they had always known one another.

We told ourselves that there was no way we were going home with a puppy that day. Not gonna happen. Needed a night to sleep on it. That, after all, was the prudent decision.

But we knew, too, that Peaches could go away lickety-split. She was sweet, lovable, and huh, a shelter puppy. Shelter puppies always go first. Always. It’s the law of the concrete jungle. Totally adoptable, this pup.

My wife said it was time. This was the dog.

I agreed. Out of all the dogs we’d seen, she was the one I could see us having to the end of her days.

And now she’s home.

She has the official name of “Peaches,” or “Miss Peaches,” or “Princess Peach,” but that may change. We’re noodling Kismet, Pumpkin, and Lula. Kismet is nice, because hey, it was indeed kismet that we met her. Though, Kismet also sounds like a stripper name? (As do Destiny and Karma.)

Her first night was mostly good. Slept first half of the night away, I took her out, then she crashed out on my legs as I slept the remainder of the evening on the couch. She snoozed there the rest of the night.

So, welcome home, Princess Peach, Ye of Kismet, She of Pumpkin Color, Lula the Lordess of the Wendiglands.

We bought a puppy.

Oh, fuck.