The best way to get a puppy is to beg for a baby brother — and they’ll settle for a puppy every time.” ~Winston Pendleton
I have a bone to pick with Pendleton. I begged for a puppy and got a baby brother. I got two actually and a sister thrown in as a bonus. Four kids, no puppy. Mom didn’t want something else to feed or clean up after. But honestly, can you blame her?
I can only fault my parents for three things in my childhood development:
1. Not taking us to Disney
2. Taking us to a Cracker Barrel which I am convinced is what stunted my growth
3. Not letting us have a dog- it’s ok, I had hermit crabs. Better than fish at least.
Luckily I’ve been able to make right on at least one of them. I now have a dog. His name is Caesar. No, I did not give him that name, he had it when I got him and I just couldn’t bring myself to change it. I mean how many dogs do you know with that name. Beats the hell out of Spot. Caesar’s brothers consisted of Marc Antony, Julius and Napoleon. Truth be told, I originally inquired about Napoleon, but he was taken. Don’t tell Caesar. I think I got the best dictator anyway.
I’m not sure quite how I ended up with the little monster. I always wanted a dog and had thought about it for awhile but never mentioned it to anyone. One day I told the Boy I was going to get a dog, looked on Petfinder and the next day we were off to the shelter in Anna, Illinois. I was pumped and so was the Boy, who unlike me was raised by parents who loved him and therefore bought him and his brother a dog
I was excited until about 10 minutes away from the shelter. We pulled up and I was going over an escape plan in my head. Thank goodness the Boy was there or I may have turned right back, around tail between my legs, and headed to Nashville. I sat in the chair filling out the paperwork and the woman said, “Would you like me to go get him?” Could I still say no? Within seconds, Caesar was on the scene. With a head too big for his body and ears that made him look like Dumbo, he ran out to us. You mean from here on out I’m responsible for keeping this thing alive? The only thing I kept alive up till then was a Christmas tree and orchids. Again, thank God the Boy was there because he was the proper kind of excited. You know, the, “It’s Christmas morning and I’m getting a puppy” kind of excited. I was terrified, probably more like the parents feel of said child and puppy on Christmas morning. But after four hours in the car with the little guy sleeping on my lap, I was hooked.
Caesar or C$ (one of his many nicknames) just turned two and my little rat terrier who was supposed to be max of 30 pounds is now 50. Every time the vet looks at his records he shakes his head and says, “That’s the biggest rat terrier I’ve ever seen.” As far as he can guess, my little monster must have some pit in him. He just has the best demeanor. Sure he eats running socks, takes over the bed when you let him up and occasionally makes you run a little faster on your runs when he sees a squirrel but he always brings a smile to
my face with his crazy dinner circle dance, the Simmie shake, his unmatched love of peanut butter, his fear of tiny dogs and the way he curls up and tucks his nose in the crook of your arm when you’re reading. He’s also a fantastic running partner even though it is slightly annoying that I always seem to be the one panting like a dog.He’s the best little monkey I could ask for and he has taught me a lot about being selfless and patient. The boy (or as the instructor from our dog obedience class called him…the dog whisperer) was right, you just can’t be in a bad mood when you have a dog.
Now to work on getting to Disney…