Picture Sunday

Hello, end of weekenders, and welcome to another edition of Picture Sunday.

You know, I've been thinking about dogs for a long time. I've always had them, up until the beloved Petster passed away some 15 years ago. Everyone told me, "Get another dog immediately," but I just couldn't do it, losing her was too painful. And so I never got one. I'd think about it, though.

And every once in a while I'd go to the local animal shelter's site and look at pictures. As you might remember if you've read my blog for a long time, a few years ago a friend told me about a West Highland Terrier (Bill and The Petster's breed) that had been rescued and was at that shelter. I called and made arrangements to go pick him up in two days. In two days I arrived, only to be told the dog had been adopted out to someone else.

And that was it for me. I couldn't stand the heartbreak.

But for about the past year, I'd go to that animal shelter website about once a month, just to look at doggies. And a couple of weeks ago, I saw a picture of a little guy I thought was adorable. He was a terrier mix, looked like he had a lot of Jack Russell in him, and for some strange reason last Saturday on my way to B'burg and Mr M's, I thought I'd just go visit him.

I got there and was told small dogs were down one hallway, bigger dogs down another. I took the small dog hallway and walked all the way to the end, where I saw the doggie. He was curled up in the corner, and he was a trembler. I patted his nose with my finger, and he gingerly took it in his mouth. I raised my finger through the cage until he sat up, then more till he stood up, and more till he was on his hind legs. He was cute. A girl who came by asked if I'd like to play with him in the "orientation room," and for some reason I said yes. And off we went.

But alas, it took me about three minutes in the room with Little Trembly to realize this was not the dog for me. He was extremely young and was all puppy. He peed several times in the room, a nervous peer, he he had no attention span, was skittish, and worst of all, shed like crazy. My blue jeans were white. I excused myself and thanked the people at the shelter and turned to leave.

And I've no idea why, but instead of going out the door, I headed down the big dog hallway. I walked along and saw many Pit Bulls and Eskimo Dogs, and dogs of no fixed breed, and I walked by a cage with a small shepherd and a fluffy-looking dog, who was curled up asleep. I said, "Awww," and kept walking. And I reached the end and turned around, but when I passed the cage again I decided to give a quick "tk, tk!" to try and wake the sleeping doggie up.

And I came face to face with this.




And it was love at first sight. I ended up asking if I could play with this fella too, and was told sure, and off we went. And this doggie was just a doll-face. He was so sweet, playful but not rambunctious, and when I picked him up he ate my whole face off. I wanted him.

I was told he'd just been brought in that day and so he wouldn't be available for adoption till the next Monday, over a week away. He had to get his shots and the like. And that was good, because it gave me time to go home and brood over it and think of all the reasons I didn't need a dog and how I was stupid to even consider it again.

And so I thought about all those reasons, working, traveling, expense, worry. And I thought of something else, too. I want a dog. I miss a dog. I need someone in my life to depend on me, to take care of so I'll stop being wrapped up in my own problems and have a little responsibility. I've been much happier with dogs in my life. And speaking of life, life's too short not to have one.

A problem, though - I noticed that very day that my little guy was the only dog in the shelter who was wearing a collar. I wondered if he was a runaway, if he'd be claimed as soon as his owners realized he'd ambled off.

I called Monday to find out. They didn't know, but said it was very possible. I asked if I could call back to see if he was still around through the week (of course, if I hadn't convinced myself against the whole idea), and they said sure. I called Tuesday and he was there.

I called Wednesday and they said they thought he'd been claimed; they couldn't find his paperwork. But they found it, and told me the dates were wrong, that he would be available Friday, and that there was a woman calling about him every day. I had a feeling that was me but didn't say anything, but they suggested that if he was still there Friday, I should come first thing. They couldn't reserve animals for people, so it was first come first serve.

I called Thursday and he was there, so I went to visit again. We played and I was besotted, and I got him to stand on his hind legs for a treat. The lady I spoke to that first Saturday was there, and she came in the room several times to watch us play.

On the third time she closed the door behind her. And she said, in a low voice, "Listen. If you want to pay the fee now, I'll hold him for you on Friday. You just have to understand that if the owners claim him, we have to give him back."

And I said yes. In fact, she didn't make me pay the fee that day. She said, "I know you'll be back."

I went home Thursday with a stop by the store to buy about $100 of doggie goods. (Expense!) I came home and looked at my house, which is so full of stuff a dog can get into it's not even funny. I had a lot to do. But you know what? There was no nervousness, no hinkiness, not a second of regret. I was so excited to get this little guy I could have exploded right there.

I had to work all day Friday, but Mr M had a plan. I'd get him at lunch, bring him home, and then he'd take him to B'burg and watch him, walk him on a leash, start with housetraining, assuming he wasn't. We were assuming that, as his estimated age was four months old.

And so I went to get my doggie!

He was nervous, but we made it home just fine, and I had to hand him over to Mr M while I went back to work. After work I headed to B'burg to get him, where he was pronounced by Mr M A Good Doggie. He'd been outside to use the bathroom, had taken some walks on the leash, and when I got there, they were watching a movie. He said when we put him in the crate to send him away with Mr M, he cried for about five minutes then was as good as gold.

So I headed back home Friday night, just me and doggie. And Mr M was right. Five minutes of crate crying, then as good as gold. We got home and the first order of business was a bath. Was a sweetheart in the bath. After the bath, we took a picture. He wasn't even camera shy.

























Shortly after his picture was taken, he stole a piece of pizza from my plate. It was funny, though, my fault for getting up to get a paper towel, and I got it back from him so he didn't get sick.

I had to record the podcast Friday, and Mr Doggie, who was still unnamed, sat at my feet the entire time. I was juggling several names. When I first met him my immediate thought was Webley. The second time I met him, he didn't seem much like a Webley. Cooper was in the mix, as was Shelly, my sister was lobbying for Moon Pie, but somehow I kept going back to Milo. And so somewhere during or after the podcast on Friday, he was officially named.

Hi, Milo!





















And so we've spent the weekend together, and it hasn't all been a bed of roses. There are a couple of problems, but they have nothing to do with Milo the Sweetheart. On Saturday he started coughing, and it's gotten quite bad, and from all I'm reading online, I'm thinking he might have a case of kennel cough. It makes me cringe every time the boy coughs, cause, you know, I'm a mother now. And he's also either got fleas or skin problems. He scratches a lot, and the fur at his back legs is all matted. It's matted because he scratches and bites, and his skin and fur is very dry. So even though he's had his beginning shots, I'm making appointments tomorrow with the vet and the groomer (Expense!) so we can get him fixed up.

Other than that? It's all good. I'm not kidding, folks - this little doggie is a mother's angel. He is so good. Friday night when I put him in the crate and went off to bed, he cried his heart out - about ten minutes. Then he was as quiet as a lamb. Last night he didn't even cry. And he doesn't get into the things I've yet to find a place for so he won't get into them.

He's only had one accident in the house, and that was the first night, a pee on the kitchen floor, which is vinyl tile anyway, again my fault because I wasn't watching him. Everything else has been outside, and today he's even started doing a new trick.

























Yep, he goes to the door when he wants out. That's after two days!

We go out a lot, he loves the outdoors. I've made something of 5700 laps around my house so he can walk, and this morning we took a walk down the street through the lot beside my house, then back home via sidewalk. The cars didn't bother him, in fact, he loves to just go outside and stand, while I sit on my front steps holding his leash, and watch cars go by. We've been practicing our leash walking, or as I call it, our Fancy Pageant Walkin', and I'm not doing so good there. I seem to have lost the Alpha Dog designation when it comes to being the leash holder. But I'm working on it.

We love to bark together, we just get together and bark like nobody's business. And yesterday, ladies and gentlemen, after I came home from the store with a couple of new toys, he took a liking to Green Dog, and - he fetched! After one day, my Milo was fetching!





















And best of all? He's a cuddlebug. Boy, does Milo like to cuddle. We cuddled for two hours tonight and watched VH1 Classics' "The Seven Stages of Rock."

In fact, the only worry I have is that he'll get too big. As you can see, this boy has some whoppin' big feet. I imagine two years from now after I've added the Milo Wing onto the Poderosa and I'm riding him in the yard. (Well, there is the worry about tomorrow, when Real Life starts and I have to start leaving him several hours at a time. I left him for about 2 ½ today, and he did all right.)

But I don't even care. Growth is gradual. I'll get used to whatever size he ends up being.

Hi, Milo! Who's a good boy? Who's a good boy? You are!

























Oh, and he doesn't mind being held.

























Happy week.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* This is important! Please remember that this Saturday, the 25th, Stennie and I are doing the Hucklebug Podcastathon to raise money for the American Cancer Society. We need your pledges! We'll be doing 48 podcasts in 24 hours. We did this a couple of years ago and it was a great success - help us keep it going. Any amount at all you want to give would be welcomed with appreciation. All you have to do is go here, to the Hucklebug website, and you'll get all the instructions on how to pledge. Thank you!