B and I have finally made the progression from aquatic turtles to a four-legged, land-dwelling companion. Both of us have been getting some serious puppy fever as of late.
My experience with dogs growing up, much to Mom’s dismay, involved bringing home any stray that came along. Dad acquired two pit bull mixes from the flea market once, and in college I adopted an abandoned runt from my chemistry lab TA.
Mom, being ever obsessed with a clean house, refused to let dogs inside. She probably associated them with the filthy street dogs that roamed the refugee camp, or the mangy strays that crawled under our old house to die. Although she tried to act like she despised them, I’ve caught her conversing with my dearly departed Max, while feeding him table scraps. When he died, both Mom and Pa Boun cried.
Much like marriage, babies, and moving to a foreign country, it’s never really a “good” time to get a puppy. We both have busy schedules and, of course, pets aren’t exactly cheap. But when B found Merle’s profile, randomly one day during Thanksgiving break, it was love at first sight.
His story touched our hearts. We learned that he was the lone survivor of his litter, and that his mother died shortly after giving birth. After countless infections, Merle continues to fight.
When we met him over the weekend, he seemed lively and happy to see us. We knew his weirdness would mesh well with our weirdness, when a low-flying jet flew over the backyard and startled him. First, he ran into the back door (which was shut) and, not knowing where else to go, took a headfirst dive into my bicycle planter. Plants, soil, and a bit of puppy pee went everywhere, as he dangled upside down from the planter.
Yep, he’s a keeper.
The planter incident could have ended in disaster, but we were deemed suitable puppy parents after all. We still have to wait another week and a half before he can come home permanently. I don’t know if I can wait that long!