If you were a reader of this blog in its early days, you might remember the famous (in our circle of friends, at least) Buster Brown. He was our bow legged, ragged eared, snaggle toothed, food obsessed, questionably behaved adopted beagle. In the beginning, nothing about Buster was fun or easy. On the way home from his foster home (where they let him drink their leftover coffee), he expressed his anal glands in my lap. That was how it all began.
As the weeks went by, Buster destroyed our Venetian blinds in an attempt to launch himself out of the windows every time we left the house without him. He scratched jagged holes in the doors of our house, trying to escape. He moved furniture around our living room in (successful) attempts to get to food. He once ate an entire sheet cake and then vomited it back onto our couch. He bit us. He bit our friends. He was Houdini-esque in his ability to get out of the back yard and was even known to scale fences and then free-fall to the ground just so he could go sniff under the house. I have a clear memory of sitting in the dark, on the ground, in the yard, trying to get him to stop eating the cat poop he had already rolled in and getting bitten for my efforts.
It gets better! Recall was a foreign concept to him and I nearly broke my ankle chasing him through the fields on my parents' farm after a lapse in judgement involving letting him walk off the leash. I have never--before or since--seen a dog head for the hills at such top speeds. Upon my return from a two week work trip, he ate an entire bottle of ibuprofen that he stole from my purse and then had to spend the next week at the vet having his stomach pumped and being observed. His kennel had a big sign posted on it that said, 'Cage Jumper'. He was a great explorer of our trashcan and consumed some things during his time with us that had detrimental effects on his health and well being...and on our bank account. We spent a lot of money on vet bills. He loathed being dressed up as a hot dog at Halloween.
But it wasn't all bad. Buster, despite his naughty behavior, lack of training, terrible breath, and codependency, was a great companion and brought us a lot of joy through the years we had him. He was happiest when we were home and greeted us and the walks that followed our returns from work with great enthusiasm. With a deep and beautiful howl, he would alert us and all of the neighborhood of the presence of a squirrel (usually long gone). He slept, snoring, next to us in his smelly bed with his smelly, squeaky "Froggy." When Jim left for London and I stayed in Texas by myself, Buster slept with me on an air mattress on the floor for a couple of weeks. He howled when my parents drove off with his companions, our two cats, who started their new life on the farm a few weeks before him. He was a constant source of amusement and a constant presence. I missed him the most when we got to London and I was spending long days in our temporary flat by myself. I knew he was happy on the farm with my parents, being spoiled beyond belief, but there was a hole in our lives without him.
So here we are again, almost eight years later. Buster Brown has gone to the proverbial Rainbow Bridge after living his twilight years in his version of heaven on earth and we're starting over with a new, questionably behaved rescue dog: Sonny. A week into his life with us, he reminds me far too much of his predecessor for me to be able to relax. Venetian blinds destroyed? Check. Desperate attempts to escape accompanied by unrelenting howling? Check! Inappropriate growling? Check. Already, I'm spending anxious nights wondering what I was thinking getting a puppy (because, let's be honest here. It was ME who wanted to get another dog.). And Sonny isn't just any puppy. He's a rescue puppy from Romania.
Yes, I adopted a six month old Romanian street puppy who had never seen cars before, had never been around children before, had never lived away from his mom and brothers before, and was, generally, a basket case when we got him. A week and a bit later, he's fatter, bolder, an amazing sleeper, a ferocious barker and can't be left unsupervised around small children. He almost will play. He almost seems to enjoy going for walks.
As a family, we're investing time and energy in this dog, trying to fix the problems that happened before he got to us. We drag him out on his leash for walks when there is traffic, even though he is desperate not to go. We move slowly and quietly around him so that he doesn't get startled and growl. The girls help to feed him and walk him. We shower him with an abundance of praise when he does well and use what we refer to as our 'Buster Brown bad dog voices' when he doesn't. We are careful to only pet him in places that aren't seen as 'dominating' (not on top of his head, not on his back). There are lots of discussions along the lines of 'the puppy doesn't want you to carry him up to your room' or 'hugs and kisses are nice for people, but not for dogs!' We are introducing him to friends and neighbors slowly and calmly.
There is so much psychology involved in having a dog. I sometimes wonder if I should be putting this much effort into my own HUMAN relationships. If I praise my husband lavishly whenever he does things well, might it enhance our marriage and improve our relationship?
Even though I'm feeling haggard and worn out and can't believe how many rolls of paper towels we have used in the past week, Sonny is a lot of fun and to hear my older daughter, who until recently was terrified of dogs, say how much she loves him makes all the trouble worth it. I hope that as he grows up and comes into his own, he will inspire me like Buster Brown did. Here's to rescue dogs, far and wide!
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