By now, readers of my Back Story have probably concluded that what Amy and I need is a dog of our own. Mindless of our oft-violated no pet policy – countless chickens and house birds over the years and frequent overnight visits by our daughter’s dog – we found ourselves making weekly visits to the adoption people at Petsmart, and even went to take a look at Roscoe, a local dog that was being given away.
Our last Petsmart foray was a week ago Saturday, and there were three or four 12-week-old pups we liked, all spayed or neutered and with all their shots. One little fellow in particular caught my eye. We decided to be smart and think about it over night. But it seemed like we had already made up our minds. Amy kept reminding me how having Granddog over for a week had provided me with so much healthy exercise. And on Sunday, she pushed for an early trip to the Caesar’s Creek Flea Market for some inexpensive dog supplies. It seemed like a done deal. I was just concerned that the puppy I liked would be gone by the time we finished in Caesar’s Creek and made it over to the Petsmart at Beavercreek.
On the way to the flea market, Amy reminded me that there are often booths with people selling puppies. I told her, I was not in favor of buying a dog at the flea market for a number of reasons, including the fact that we would probably have to take care of all the shots and the spaying or neutering. I’m sure you can see where this is going. As one fellow told me upon hearing this story, “Cute always wins out.”
Before we even made it to the cheap pet supply store, we came upon some folks who were selling purebred puppies. In one cage were two sleeping fuzz balls.
“Oooh, so cute,” Amy squealed.
And that is how we came to be owned by an eight-week-old Red Heeler Australian Cattle Dog we call Suki. This is not exactly the dog I had in mind for hanging out on the bench in front of Tom’s Market. By the time the weather is good enough for that, she will be about six months and nipping at the heels of passers-by and ready to protect me from any dog that happens along. A little quick research after we got home and I learned that that the breed was originally started by breeding the Australian Dingo with a variety of sheep dogs.
Dingos...? Aren’t they wild dogs..? Indeed. This little bugger growls and snarls and nips our toes. My hands are covered with marks from where she has clamped down with her sharp little teeth. She is smart and athletic. She can escape from just about any enclosure we can devise. She can already jump several inches in the air. But she is our little Dingo and we will manage. First in order of business will be obedience classes. After that there will be lots of long walks to wear her out.
Actually, it’s not all that bad. She sleeps a lot; sometimes in my lap.