Dogs I Have Known

You know, there are two types of people, and I happen to be a dog person. Besides being allergic to cats, I can't stand the little bastards. I'm not quite sure why anyone does, but before this develops into a rant about cats, I'll try to recover a rave about various dogs from my life.

First there was Sandy. Sandy kicked ass. She was my step-dad's dog when he married my mom, but she wasn't really anyone's dog. Sandy had a cat-like independence, but the loyalty of a dog. There wasn't a single trick she could do. Wouldn't come if you called. Wouldn't sit. Wouldn't roll over. In those aspects, Sandy was quite boring. But she could be let out the front door of the house and left to wander the neighborhood all day. She'd come home when she felt like it, but most-likely she was seen in various yards and fields near our home. During the school year, Sandy would follow us to the bus stop in the mornings and be waiting for us in the afternoon. A mutt through and through, Sandy had a fucked up underbite and a curly tail which exposed her brown butthole. As far as companionship went, Sandy set the bar pretty high. I remember crying and crying in the office at junior high when my mom called to say Sandy, who had been missing for several winter days, had been found but was in bad shape and may have to be put down. Sandy wanted none of it. She was Cal Ripken Jr. and trudged on for a few more years. This dog really set the bar high.
During Sandy's riegn, came Peaches. Peaches sucked and made Sandy want to dig holes in the back yard to escape. We got rid of Peaches because Sandy ruled so much.
After my parents killed Sandy, I went quite a few years without a dog. Then along came Korby. No, Korby wasn't a dog, but a college roommate. He loved dogs and tried to get one in college a couple times. His first attempt was Jazz. Jazz was a black lab that I happened to be allergic to. Kindly, Korby got rid of Jazz before he could get too attached. Later, Korby brought home Cecil. Cecil was an energetic and intelligent dalmation. I nearly feel bad for Cecil being raised among a group of college guys. Any time we let him out, he took off - who knew it was probably because he needed exercise? Go figure. The last I knew about Cecil, he could balance a treat on his nose until Korby gave him permission to grab it. Presumably, Korby and Cecil are living a happy life somewhere.
Next dog - Kramer. Kramer was my parent's idea of a great graduation gift for me. A puppy Bassett Hound is all a 23 year old living in an apartment with a crappy job needs. This explains why my parents wound up raising Kramer. Still, Kramer was not short of personality - short on discipline? Yes. Personality? No. Kramer's impressionable years were shaped by a cat named Bob. From watching Bob, Kramer learned how to climb across the back of the sofa and sit on top of the kitchen table. Kramer probably thought he was a cat. Boy what a rotten dog. Didn't do a thing that he didn't want to do - he barked, he tore things up, he crapped in the house, but did I mention his personality? He thought he was tough (which he wasn't) and owned the place (which he did). When my folks moved into a home without a yard, Kramer had to go, and not to me who was still living in a rental.
Timing is everything. Now that I'm married and have a house, my wife and I have adopted Macy. The adoption took place less than a week ago, but there's already a real fondness for her. She's a lab/collie mix who is pretty well trained. While she requires a bunch of exercise (you'll understand if my blogging isn't as frequent as I'd like), she sure pays back in affection and good behavior. From what we can trace, the poor girl has had 4 homes in the past few months. We feel pretty good that she's found her final home with us. It's amazing none of those others have wanted her but, at the same time, it's lucky for us.