Last March my 13 year old pitbull mix, Harley, passed away. Just like every other dog we had, Harley was a rescue dog. Time went by so quickly since I took her home when she was only a few months old. So we buried her in her favorite corner and planted a beautiful weeping cherry tree over her grave to honor her. My mother and I knew we wanted another dog when we lost Harley, but it just seemed too soon to even think about it. That is, until we spent the day babysitting 3 of my nieces at my brother's place. My father met us there after work and I had a few errands to run, so I left shortly after he showed up. It wasn't until I walked through my front door to that eerie, total silence that her death had hit me. It just didn't feel like home without a dog. I wasn't the only one who felt the same way that night.
The thing about Harley was she was a very stupid dog. She was the sweetest, gentlest, cuddliest (even at 80+lbs) dog you would ever meet. She was also very protective of my mother and I, but vicious is the absolute last thing I would ever call her. And she was afraid of just about everything--ceiling fans, rustling plastic, thunder, vacuums, men in uniforms, the opening and closing of windows, anything that made noise, men in uniform...just about everything. Yeah, a real mean pitbull, right? But, like most stupid dogs, she was very easy to train.
My mother agreed that maybe getting another dog wasn't such a bad idea after all. The house was pretty empty without one, but she wanted a smaller dog than Harley since having an 80+lb dog in our smallish house makes things a bit crowded. She also wanted another beagle mix (something about that racing stripe that gets her every time, I guess). Then I found Gracie online along with her sister. Her sister looked more like a German Shepherd, but with floppy ears, but Gracie had that stripe. So I went down to the adoption drive to check both of them out. And I fell in love with both of them.
Gracie's sister was just this furry little laid back ball of mush. It didn't matter what chaos was going on around her as long as she had someone's arms, lap, or shoes to lay on. Gracie was a bit of a different story. She demanded attention from everyone. She had absolutely no problems letting me pet her or hold her, but no other dog was allowed to get a treat without her getting one. She was pretty vocal about that, actually. Unfortunately, I was only allowed to chose one and my mom wanted Gracie. I did find out Gracie's sister did find an wonderful home, though.
After a day like today, I miss the days of having a stupid dog. I've taught Gracie all kinds of tricks to do (although I kind of regret teaching her to speak...she's definitely vocal enough!), but she only does them when she feels like them, or when she's in trouble and doing cute tricks might just make you less mad at her.
When Gracie first came home, she was a bit insecure, underweight, and deathly afraid of car rides. A year later is a totally different story. Sometimes I wonder who really rules this house, us or her. She weighed in at a whopping 42lbs today at the vet (mom definitely can't keep saying she's just fluffy because of her husky type fur now!), and LOVES my car. Sometimes she'll even run up the street just so that she'll get a quick ride around the block in my car since neither my mom nor I can run, jump, or climb fast enough to catch her. She also knows where we're going when we're in the car. She knows the way to Dunkin Donuts and the deli because I always buy her a little something when I'm picking up my cigarettes or coffee, knows the way to the bank and the pharmacy because the drive thrus give her puppy treats, knows the way to the dialysis center because that's where we pick up mommy! And of course, she knows the way to her favorite place in the world--Petsmart!
So about a half hour after I had to give her benadryl for her vaccine (which put her into hyperdrivex10), a split lip, chipped tooth, and a black eye just to get her into her harness, she goes flying into the car and starts to settle down. Until I made a right hand turn where I'd normally make a left to go get her treats. Instantly, she knew something was up. And she went from a pretty calm, curious dog to an antsy paranoid one. It was kind of funny that just with that one turn she knew this wasn't a normal trip for something good... something was up. In less than 5 seconds in the waiting room, she managed to start a riot in the back kennel with her barking and was immediately moved to an exam room where I'm sure some poor technician is still cleaning up excessive amounts of her fur and drool. I don't think she left a square inch of that room untouched by either. Where she didn't pace, she shook herself as if to make sure to make the biggest mess she possibly could. And all for less than 10 seconds of work by the vet. Go figure. And now tomorrow I get to clean out my car because yep, I was right... it looks like a dog exploded in it, so unless I want to show up to Easter dinner on Sunday looking like I'm wearing a fur coat, it looks like I'll be on my hands and knees with a shop vac and a LOT of armorall. And, naturally, one day next week it looks like a trip to Petsmart (after we get mommy from dialysis) just to make sure she'll get back in the car again since her next booster is due in 3 weeks... but this time I get to use twice the amount of Benadryl so hopefully it'll calm her down a bit. Hopefully.
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