I've always considered myself a cat person. We had dogs in the family when I grew up, but I honestly couldn't tell you the name of any of them. But my cats...I remember every one.
After I left home, I decided that I'd like to have a dog of my own. It was the late 60s, and my boyfriend at the time found me a puppy for my birthday. I named her Lark. It was tiny, and as time went on, it didn't get much bigger. When I asked my boyfriend what kind of dog he'd gotten me, he said, "The woman said it was a toy fox terrier." Whatever that was, Lark sure was cute...and impossible to house break.
In Lark's defense, I lived in a highly irregular environment — an urban commune, where people came and went as they pleased. Shoes left in the wrong place were chewed and sometimes filled with something disgusting. Things folded up in pants pockets were ingested. Lark played by nipping with needle-sharp teeth. There was no regularity, and unless I took the poor little thing with me, I often didn't see her all day.
One fine spring morning, Lark escaped from our fenced-in back yard. I spent days looking for her to no avail.
I tried to console myself with the thought that Lark must have found a more appealing home, or else she would have returned. For all her lack of discipline, she was bright, and could have probably have found her way back. Although I looked for her for days, I never found her, and it broke my heart. But the episode did teach me that dogs were too high maintenance for my lifestyle, and I didn't expect I'd ever again feel the urge to own one.
Since then, I've had only cats. Cats are clean, independent, and very good company when you need them. They are a snap to housebreak, are easily amused, and amusing. They are calm, and aren't easily riled.
My brother's wife, on the other hand, is very much a dog person. She always has two or more dogs, and even had a wolf for nearly ten years. Early in their marriage, her pets were miniature poodles. That was one breed that never appealed to me at all. I found them yappy, high maintenance, and generally annoying.
Over the past few years, I've made several extended visits to my brother's home in Virginia. My sister-in-law has graduated to a dachshund and has a chihuahua that looks more like a miniature pinscher. Both dogs are energetic, affectionate, and a joy to be around. In fact, they convinced me that it might be time to try another dog.
I visited shelters, looked in the want ads, watched shows on Animal Planet to try and determine which breed would be the best fit for me. The breeds I liked didn't fit my lifestyle. Those that did were unappealing. I didn't feel a sense of urgency, so I decided to wait for something that felt right.
One Saturday afternoon three weeks ago, I walked into a local pet store to pick up a specific kind of food for my cats (I have two of my own and one I inherited). The local SPCA was holding an adoption clinic. As I went past the crates with labrador and shepherd mix puppies, a young, small dog with sad eyes sat in a crate. His white fur was stained gray from the newsprint lining his cage, and although he didn't tremble, he was clearly shy.
I asked to see him, and spent a half hour holding him in my lap. Something had clicked, and I was hooked. I asked questions, and was told that he was a Chihuaha/Pekinese mix brought north from a kill shelter in Kentucky. I made arrangements to pay his adoption fee and pick him up
The adoption was not without difficulties. The dog, renamed Gus, is eight months old and has never been in a home — I'm really hoping that the adage about older dogs and new tricks is an old wives' tale. We are still working on his toilet habits, and contrary to the information provided by the shelter, it's clear that there's a large portion of terrier in his heritage, based on his jumping ability, his propensity for chewing, and his desire to play tug-of-war with the leash. My cats are only now beginning to forgive me for bringing a dog into our midst, and have still not accepted Gus. It's like living in the DMZ between South and North Korea.
My lifestyle now is considerably more staid than it was in the late 60s, and I live alone now. It's much easier to meet a dog's need for exercise, stability, and companionship. I have enrolled Gus in obedience school, and I'm confident that he will become a great addition to the household.
The plan is to stick to it, and with patience, teach both of us some new tricks.