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To Say Nothing of the Dog
Nov. 2nd, 2016 11:48 pmTonight I cancelled going to look at a litter of puppies because it's extremely hard to say no I don't want one when faced with a litter of puppies.
What happened was, some people down the road from me have two chocolate labradors, a brother and a sister, and they didn't get the boy dog fixed in time and, ahem. And I came up as a person who loves dogs and is a sucker for a good sob story.
It's not that I don't want another dog, maybe, but I got to thinking about not just two sets of vaccinations and insurance, but about possible future vet bills for a dog that's that inbred, and behavioural problems because the mum's just a puppy herself. And if I do get another dog I think I'd like it to be an adult rescue dog, rather than another pup.
Yay for me being responsible, I guess.
Maybe I could just go and look at the puppies? No. No, I couldn't. That's how I ended up with the dog I've already got; someone wafted a basket of puppies under my easily led nose. Actually, the other reason I got her was that I know the woman who owns her dad, and she felt so bad about him defiling the neighbourhood bitch that she was trying to find a good home for at least one of the puppies. Her sales pitch to me was if she's got her daddy's nature she'll be a great little dog. And this has proved to be not untrue, she has grown up to be a cracking dog; there was just a year and a bit there where she was a terrible, terrible puppy. And it occurred to me that it's been a while since I talked about my ridiculous dog.
That is a terrible picture of the dog, but it may be the best one of me that's ever been taken.
-Her name is Freya. She also answers to chicken, buggerlugs, madam, Bruno, and drop it drop it DROP IT.
-She is a Mostly Labrador. Which means she's three quarters Lab, to one quarter *shrug*
-She is 25kg, often covered in mud and things you really want to be mud, and she thinks she is a lapdog.
-She is the friendliest dog in the world. Unless you want to come into my house, in which case she thinks she is Batdog.
-She can't bark. She can manage one bark, but then she chokes on the second.
-She doesn't understand fetch; she does however enjoy having tennis balls kicked directly into her mouth.
A brief list of things Freya has chewed:
-The downstairs curtains up to the height of, like, a small puppy standing on her hind legs
-The interior of a puppy crate
-Two muzzles purchased specifically to stop her chewing
-The interior of my mother's car
A brief list of things Freya has needed to be rescued from:
-Next door's cat
-The middle of a herd of dairy cattle
-An adolescent swan
-Five inches of water
A brief list of things Freya hates:
-Teenagers
-Hats
-Unaccompanied men
-Next door's cat
-Humpback bridges
-That suspicious looking outcropping of rocks halfway down the hiking trail
A brief list of reasons Freya would not survive on her own:
-She walked face first into a rose bush and looked up at me pitifully while I removed a thorn from her nostril
-I sometimes try to give her food in, like, a puzzle toy to keep her occupied and she always ignores it on the grounds that easier food will be along shortly. Sometimes she'll bring the toy to me to get me to fish the food out for her. Why have a dog and bark yourself, I guess.
What happened was, some people down the road from me have two chocolate labradors, a brother and a sister, and they didn't get the boy dog fixed in time and, ahem. And I came up as a person who loves dogs and is a sucker for a good sob story.
It's not that I don't want another dog, maybe, but I got to thinking about not just two sets of vaccinations and insurance, but about possible future vet bills for a dog that's that inbred, and behavioural problems because the mum's just a puppy herself. And if I do get another dog I think I'd like it to be an adult rescue dog, rather than another pup.
Yay for me being responsible, I guess.
That is a terrible picture of the dog, but it may be the best one of me that's ever been taken.
-Her name is Freya. She also answers to chicken, buggerlugs, madam, Bruno, and drop it drop it DROP IT.
-She is a Mostly Labrador. Which means she's three quarters Lab, to one quarter *shrug*
-She is 25kg, often covered in mud and things you really want to be mud, and she thinks she is a lapdog.
-She is the friendliest dog in the world. Unless you want to come into my house, in which case she thinks she is Batdog.
-She can't bark. She can manage one bark, but then she chokes on the second.
-She doesn't understand fetch; she does however enjoy having tennis balls kicked directly into her mouth.
A brief list of things Freya has chewed:
-The downstairs curtains up to the height of, like, a small puppy standing on her hind legs
-The interior of a puppy crate
-Two muzzles purchased specifically to stop her chewing
-The interior of my mother's car
A brief list of things Freya has needed to be rescued from:
-Next door's cat
-The middle of a herd of dairy cattle
-An adolescent swan
-Five inches of water
A brief list of things Freya hates:
-Teenagers
-Hats
-Unaccompanied men
-Next door's cat
-Humpback bridges
-That suspicious looking outcropping of rocks halfway down the hiking trail
A brief list of reasons Freya would not survive on her own:
-She walked face first into a rose bush and looked up at me pitifully while I removed a thorn from her nostril
-I sometimes try to give her food in, like, a puzzle toy to keep her occupied and she always ignores it on the grounds that easier food will be along shortly. Sometimes she'll bring the toy to me to get me to fish the food out for her. Why have a dog and bark yourself, I guess.