After weeks of waiting, my dog finally came home today.
We went to meet her a few weeks ago based on a brief PetFinder ad that said she was smart and showed her in a kiddie pool nest with her twelve puppies suckling, staring at the camera with a “holy crap, get me out of this hellhole” look on her face. The woman fostering her and the pups said she was the sweetest, smartest dog she’d had in a long time, and she’d had hundreds of dogs; we went down to meet her the next day, without Oscar. We loved her.
She didn’t love Oscar. When we took him down to meet her that weekend, everyone was in a sort of weird mood, and she was being protective of the pups (across the street, but still, the instinct is strong) and she snapped at him a few times. It scared him — he tends to be pretty beta anyway, and here was this dog half his size and with enormous boobs going for his throat. I was sad but G. and the foster lady didn’t think it would be a problem, so we made arrangements to bring her to our house the next weekend for a few hours. When we went to put Oscar in the car, she hopped right in and wouldn’t get out for several minutes. She seemed very disappointed to have to get back out.
By Thursday, the foster lady said she hated the pups and didn’t want to be around them and could stay with us for the whole day if we wanted, as long as she could nurse in the morning and at night. She came for the afternoon. She sniffed everything and then she went to sleep: no snapping at throats. She hates those damn tiring puppies. I said, “This is my dog.” Oscar didn’t say anything.
And now she is here. Her boobs are getting smaller (but she is still called “Tits” McClanahan) because the puppies have been weaned for several days. I have bought her a leash and ordered a red collar with stars on it, because a Ruby June is a rock star and needs a red collar with stars. She has a bowl for her special food to which I add special powders and oils with vitamins and things so her dandruff goes away. She had a bath and she only hated me for about thirty seconds.
She is happy to be home.
(song: “At The End of Your Leash,” Bobby Bare Jr.)