I say "one of" because I can't pick between them- both my girls are wonderful in their own way. But I am writing this day in honor of my first puppy ever, Darcy, who came into my life almost 5 years ago.
When we brought her home from the Humane Society she was only six pounds and eight weeks old. She was fuzzy, and still is black with tan markings. She has brown eyebrows on her black face which she twitches up and down when she's listening to someone talk. It makes her look as if she is puzzling out what we're saying to her.
I had moved in with my fiance the week before, the next week I was graduating from college, and the week after that we would be getting married. This particular weekend, however, was our puppy weekend. I had never had a puppy- only a 3 year old dachshund when I was 3 myself who went to my grandparents' house when my infant sister started crawling and eating her food. Other than that barely remembered time I had never had a pet. So fiance and I had made a deal that each of us could pick out a dog. We weren't planning on getting them both at once, and he said I could get my dog first.
I had a misguided idea that I needed a dachshund and, wonder of wonders, the Humane Society actually had a full-blooded doxie waiting for adoption. I was flabbergasted and excited. Then I attempted to move towards the dog's crate. I was met by one of the meanest growls I've ever heard. If that dog had been just a tiny bit nice, it would have had a home. Thank goodness it wasn't, or I would have not only missed out on Darcy, but my dog Chloe as well.
Fiance wanted a German Shepard mix. He'd done a lot of research on them, and had a course of planning laid out for his new puppy. He was specifically looking for a puppy, so he could make sure it was conditioned exactly the way he wanted and trained from an early age to follow his commands. Yet he did not see a single dog he was interested in.
I, however, saw a crate with a couple of German Shepard mix pups. One was male, and his sister was hiding behind him. Fiance wanted a female puppy because he had read somewhere that female dogs respond better to men, and he hadn't noticed this puppy behind her brother (who looked decidedly much less like a German Shepard. Oh, the randomness of genetics in mixed breed pups!) I brought her to fiance's attention, and it was love at first sight.
My relationship with her was decidedly fraught with more difficulties. Oh, she was cute all right. And fuzzy. And sweet, when she was just about ready to fall asleep. But this puppy had her issues. She chewed my ankles raw, nipped at my nose when she licked my face because she was so excited to see me. She was also fairly mean whenever she wasn't exhausted, growling and snapping at anyone who got on her bad side. In addition, the role of puppy-mom fell to me. Somewhat like the mother of a new infant, I was suddenly in charge of getting up with a baby (baby dog that is) in the middle of the night, at five a.m., and every few hours throughout the day, sleeping when the baby slept, and carefully supervising her every move whenever she was awake. I won't say fiance left the care entirely to me, because that would be a bald-faced lie, but I'm sure most mothers will understand when I say I, as mom, got the lion's share of the responsibilities.
When we had had her for about two months, fiance went to summer military training for two weeks and I was left alone to take care of her entirely on my own. She was still figuring out potty-training, still teething fairly fiercely, and still fairly growly. I was in the middle of my first class at graduate school, and had to try my damndest to finish my schoolwork while keeping her entertained. Have you ever tried to read 4 scholarly (long) books over the course of 10 days while a puppy chewed your ankles? Let me tell you, it's not an easy proposition. When she finally grew enough to jump up onto our tall bed by herself, I also lost my last place of respite. I cried.
The funny thing is, by the end of the two weeks I had trained Darcy to ring a bell on the back door when she needed to go outside. Reliably. She still rings that bell when she needs to go to this day, and she is strangely enough, pretty truthful. The only time I have to doubt her rings are when it's snowed outside since she loves to play in the snow. She had also changed into a much sweeter dog as well. She's really quite a giving and laid back dog, completely different from the pup I used to squeeze "growly juice" from just weeks before.
Hubby (soon to be ex-hubby, of course) believed then and still claims to this day that his two-week absence after one of her routine snits the night before convinced the misbehaving mini-pooch that she'd better behave or he'd leave her again. I'm not so sure about that.
In honor of the two best dogs in the world (if you believe yours is one of the best don't be insulted, I am a bit partial) who are both black, adopt a black shelter dog if you are in the market. Black dogs get chosen less than other colors. I'm not sure why- I think it's because people have some instinctual, primal response that makes them fear black dogs just a little bit more. Black dogs can be some of the sweetest, best companions. Just as good as the other colors, and possibly better!
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