Our previous puppy, Jerry, lived only until 2 1/2 years old. He had a chronic inflammatory bowel disease, probably since birth, that worsened faster than the vets could treat it and we finally had to make the difficult decision to just let him go. It was a valiant fight, but when it became clear that we were not going to win, we made the decision that we were not going to make him suffer. As long as he maintained a level of devilment and playfulness we'd keep on fighting, but one day he began failing very fast and we took him in to Surrey Vet and had him peacefully released while we held him in our arms. We requested his cremains but we don't know yet how we will memorialize him.
Immediately, people came out of the woodwork offering to give us the dogs they wanted to be rid of! I don't know how many such offers Wild Bill fielded, but I had 7 in one day last weekend! I am all about "recycling" pets, having adopted my beloved Cooper from a rescue group in western Michigan, but I just wasn't ready. Cooper was really enjoying being an only dog, and I'll confess I was enjoying the "freedom" from life with a problem child. But Bill came to me Wednesday night and told me, "I know what my problem is."
"Which one?" I asked, knowing full well what he meant, but being unable to resist the opening for a jab. "Haven't you noticed how depressed I've been lately?" he persisted. And yes, besides my own bouts of inconsolable weeping and deep pangs of loss, I'd noticed he was even quieter than usual and smiled even less than what was normal for his grouchy self.
But I'm proud of him for admitting to his sadness and weakness, and for being willing to step right up and fill that void with a new dog right away. Happily I skipped off to the Clare County Animal Shelter to see if there were any guests of the county that might interest him. There weren't, but new dogs come in all the time, plus there are several other county shelters in a 50 mile radius.
But there was a breeder in Coleman who had one purebred German Shepherd little girl left, and we drove out to see her. They called her "Pinkie" because she was wearing the pink plaid collar, and she and her litter-mates turned 6 weeks old that day. Normally I don't like to pull a puppy from their mother until 8 weeks or so, but these pups were all fully weaned already; healthy, fluffy, active little darlings! Pinkie attached herself to Wild Bill's legs and feet immediately; she accepted my presence and my holding her but it was clear from the moment she caught Bill's scent that HE was her Daddy, and she was going to be Daddy's Little Girl!
So this is Annie:
The first night was a mess. Bill is temporarily working the overnight shift, and we put Annie in a crate for the ngith with cuddly things, a little chow and a bowl of water. SHE NEVER SHUT UP ALL NIGHT LONG! Poor Cooper's nerves were just shot! So last night when she fell asleep next to Bill's recliner, I just let her lay there and snuggled up next to Cooper on the spare bed in the office and fell asleep watching some special-effects movie. She did fine! A few piddle spots in the kitchen and a big healthy poop on the chair mat (thank you for not doing that on my floor!)
So as we start another chapter in our lives, I thought it was time to start up my animal-loving, non-productive, no-income, lopsided and crippled diary. Again. Now with (hopefully) less bitch.
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