For months, I begged my husband for a dog. He said, “Absolutely not.” I pleaded, I promised, I cajoled, and finally, about two years later, he said, “Okay.”
So then I started the rounds at the local shelters, but to my surprise, I found that most dogs offered for adoption were Pit Bull mixes. My husband the lawyer advised, “There’s one dog I will not have in my home: A Pit Bull.”
After a few weeks, I went with a little Sheltie puppy that I purchased in North Carolina. She was so gentle and docile when we had our half hour together on the farm. I named her, Theodora or “Teddy” for short.
Within 48 hours of arriving home in Norfolk, she turned into a wild beastie. She ate things, she chewed things, she bit people and furniture and rugs. She considered the upright vacuum to be an exceedingly dangerous appliance and did all within her six pounds of puppy-power to annilihate the Hoover.
She also considered the Swiffer a personal enemy, and invested a lot of energy desperately chasing the ruthless appliance as its head swiveled and swung around the floor. She’d snap at (and occasionally bite) the head and the wand. When she managed to wrestle free the white cloth on the head, she’d take off running through the house with a slightly dusty swiffer pad dangling from her puppy mouth.
When she was in the yard, Teddy dug enormous holes and ate English Ivy (which is bad for dogs) and literally, ate herself sick. She thew up a lot. We practiced the “drop it” command many times, but that command had no effect whatsoever when Teddy discovered the joys of a slightly decomposed squirrel in the backyard.
She also barked and growled and growled and barked. She barked all the time. She barked at people. She barked at squirrels. She barked at the trees. One day, I caught her barking at the azalea bush. The azalea bush got off light. The gardenia bush committed some doggy crime, worthy of capital punishment. She pulled it clear out of the ground, root ball and all, and went running through the yard at 120 mph, with its poor root ball still dripping dirt clots hither and yon.
More than a few times I thought to myself, “This is worse than having a toddler!” It was, in fact, like having an especially agile and fast toddler with extra-sharp teeth, and a penchant for antique furniture.
The experts said, “Provide plenty of chew toys.” Didn’t matter. She’d walk over the mounds of chew toys in the house to go chew on my mother’s favorite wooden chair.
“Keep your household calm and quiet, and you’ll have a calm and quiet puppy,” the experts advised. Our household was calm and quiet, until we took in The Wild Beastie.
I read books, we did puppy training, I consulted with smart people and did all the things I could think to do. And there were times I considered giving the little dog away. She was too much work, too much effort and caused too much damage. She was spayed at four months old, but that didn’t calm her down, either. The day I brought her back home after the spay surgery, she slept peacefully in my arms for two hours.
“This is what it’s supposed to be like,” I thought to myself as I nuzzled her soft fur and gave her a little hug. Her big brown eyes looked up at me and then she’d sink deeper into my arms, happy to lay still and soak up the love and attention.
And then she woke up and took off running. Literally. Twice, we went back to the vet because she ripped her stitches and they became infected.
And then sometime around one year, it was like a switch turned off. She calmed down. The chewing stopped. The incessant barking slowed. The non-stop digging completely stopped. She no longer attacked yard tools, and she stopped eating toxic things in the backyard, like the tulip bulbs around the oak tree.
Best of all, the nipping and “play biting” also slowed way, way down.
She’s still a busy little dog and there’s still much to do in our backyard, but the destructive tendencies have disappeared. She’s become a delightful little companion and is a very sweet-natured dog. She actually sulks if we yell at her. Yes, she sulks. One year ago, you could stand in front of that dog, and rant and rave and she’d toddle off to find a new thing to destroy.
Now we have our routine. When the sun goes down, Teddy curls up on the couch, next to my husband (the one who didn’t want a dog), and falls asleep. When he sits in the backyard and smokes his pipe, she sits at his feet and keeps him company. When we eat breakfast and dinner, she sits quietly at our side and if we dont’ slip her a little treat, she’ll rest her head on our thigh, as if to say, “don’t forget about the little dog here.”
Update: In May 2010, she chased away miscreants who were getting ready to break into my car! An amazing story! Click here to read.
In short, I’m glad I stuck it out. She’s a good dog and a delightful companion. And she’s such a gentle little soul.
For more pictures of Teddy the Dog, click here.
To read about the amazing collection of Sears Homes in the Midwest, click here.
To read about the kit homes in Virginia, click here.
Teddy, about eight weeks old, with Wayne
Teddy today, at about 16 months old
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