We did it. Yes, we are incorrigible, unruly, and horribly stupid. We adopted yet another puppy from the Humane Shelter. Morris is sixteen pounds of white fluff, part Maltese, and sixteen tons of energy. With our other one year old, Daisy, there are now two Tasmanian Devils living in our house.
Wait, is living in our house the correct term for our present circumstances? Seems to me that playing, chasing, wrestling and howling in delight are more correct descriptions. They both get into that infamous Down Dog yoga position, shake that booty and fling into Mexican style wrestling matches. Best entertainment since Reality TV shows.
So far, Morris has displayed only one major fault. Although both are neutered or spay, as appropriate to their gender, the new mongrel was wholly unaware that the action of humping another canine was fruitless. Plus, it rather annoyed Daisy. Having never been such accosted, she did not know that she should report unwanted advances immediately. The poor babe looked to us in confusion.
After a single day of firm reprimands, Morris has given up on his propagating urges. Good thing. Because us humans are uncomfortable watching a dog attempting to dry hump a leg.
A leg is all that Morris could get to, anyway. Daisy is eighty-five pounds of St. Bermastiff--half St. Bernard and the rest Bull Mastiff. So the little guy is not going to get too far with those kinds of heights.
At the third day in an actual home, he has pretty much adjusted to his new situation. But he does still seem a bit confused and discombobulated. He looks as though he is not one hundred percent as to his new role in life. By the end of the week, I prophesize that he will be completely aware of our expectations: don't pee, chew or in any way destroy the sofa; stay away from my slippers (oh, wait! Daisy chewed those last week, so this is no longer an issue); be ready to snuggle when I am.
I really want to talk with him. You know, the usual small talk that we make with new roommates. This just doesn't word in Doglish--I just don't speak it.
I would ask what was it like, traveling in a tiny cage from a shelter in Monterrey to a Humane Society hours and hours north. Did he have an inner peace, knowing for certain that better times lie ahead? That he was destined to live with a family smitten with their pets? One that could spend hours gabbing away at how unbelievably cute you are? Four people vying for a chance to pet you? A playmate with your energy and zest for life?
Or did you howl away the vast uncertainty and despair that was most certainly dwelling within the hearts of your other homeless companions? Did you cave into depression, anxiety, fear of unknown tomorrows?
The other thing I would really like to know is all about his pre-pound puppy life. He was a stray. There is no information on him beyond his obvious adorableness. Was he abandoned, abused, led astray by some deceitful bitch with big brown eyes and a luxurious tail? Never can tell about these things.
Guess we'll never know about his life before last Saturday. The only thing certain with this pup is that he is our forever dog. We love you, Morris and Daisy!
Two Timed Puppy Lover