Have I mentioned that I wanted a dog? No? Well, that’s weird. Because I have wanted one for a long time. I had one, Bodie, a Siberian Husky who I ended up having to give to my parents. That sucked.
Ok… it wasn’t THAT bad. I saw him all the time, he and my mother had a mutual admiration society going on, he kept my parents young, and Minnesota is a better place for a husky than North Carolina, or Germany, or wherever else I may have ended up. Still… Bo was my boy! He wasn’t a dog that needed to stick by your side all the damned time. He didn’t chew. He knew when you needed love and when you needed space. He was awesome!
Oh… and he shed all over the damned place.
Did I mention that he was a Husky?
In truth, I really wanted a dog but couldn’t quite bring myself to get a new one while Bo was still with us. Even if he was really my mom’s dog now. We lost Bodie In January of 2013 which broke not just my heart, but my parents’ as well. Still… he got a good long walk in the cold winter air, which he loved. He even killed a small rabbit… to satisfy his need to not go out of this world alone, I’m sure. Maybe a canine version of putting his sword, armor, shield, and some gold into his funeral ship… I digress.
Also, I was still living in Europe at the time. Busy all the time. No time for a dog, no one to watch him when I was gone, nowhere to put him. It seemed unfair. It was unfair.
Returning to the States began the unofficial search for my partner in crime. Actually, it had intellectually begun in Europe. I had settled on a Bullmastiff. I like big, I like protective, I like low energy… I don’t like stupid and I don’t like drooly.
Damnit.
Ok well… I began to make a list of the things I wanted.
- Big
- Male
- Low Energy
- Smart
- Doesn’t shed excessively
- Doesn’t drool
I carefully analyzed the list and realized… that breed isn’t a thing.
Shit.
Okay… so… now what?
Well, now what ended up being that I just sort of… existed. If you can call being dog less existing. I talked to breeders, I wrote to the military working dog adoption program, I changed my mind on breed choice about a hundred dozen times a week. I was urged to get a dog by everyone who was close to me (even though I not secretly at all suspected they mostly wanted me to get a dog so they could play with him). Yet still, I hesitated.
In truth, as much as I wanted a dog… I had grown used to not having one. I had grown used to being able to come and go as I please. I had grown used to not having to worry about did he get outside and have I fed him. I had grown used to not having to consider how hot it was outside when I ran errands or whether my partner in crime could come with me.
But something was missing. Something furry. Something with four legs and a tail.
As things in my life began to slide. As the isolation and loneliness began to take a heavier and heavier toll or, more accurately, as the years of isolation, underappreciation, and alienation made me less and less able to bear up under that toll, I began looking again in earnest.
Not a puppy, a rescue. Not a breed, a mutt. Something, anything. A lifeline that would force me to have something in my life that depended on me and that would keep me from falling to the greater demons of my nature. Something that could remind me that all was not always lost and that something cared if I continued to draw breath… a creature without the ability for subterfuge, a partner whose words I could trust because he would have no idea was supposed to be said or not said.
And so… I set out to find him.
Despite how isolated or alone I felt, I didn’t take on such a monumental task by myself. I reached out to the few people I still believed in and asked for their input.
They didn’t let me down.
They found Reggie, or, as I call him, ReggieFace.
Reggie was a longtime resident at the Humane Society in Forsyth County, North Carolina. He is about 7 years and some change old and sweet as can be. He is a black lab mixed with… something…. Mixed with something else. He has markings that are Rottweiler-ish but… he doesn’t really act Rottweiler-ish. His ears are kind of… spanieley… but his tail is all lab. That semi-weaponized appendage that has a mind of its own, or so it seems.
I adopted him on April 2nd, two weeks or so after I got back from Minnesota. The adoption was, if not effortless, then certainly easy. Some things, they say, are just… meant to be. I didn’t have every single dollar but, as it turned out, Reggie was sponsored. Someone had donated his adoption fee...
Talk about paying it forward…
That reminds me… I need to go back to the shelter and sponsor another dog for someone else.
Noted.
He didn’t have that hard a time adjusting. I took him to Mast General Store in Winston-Salem and got him his collar and leash. Mast General Store is dog friendly and he behaved beautifully. He was still stressed out from being in the shelter, from the new environment, and from this new guy leading him around, but he clearly loves the love. As I say, he loves all people in general and everyone in particular.
Still, there were some growing pains. Some rough spots. I learned quickly that he likes to pull… which I find annoying.
Not as annoying as the hippies that look sideways at me for putting a pinch collar on him, however.
He also doesn’t like other dogs… well… that’s not completely true. ReggieFace loves the idea of other dogs. He will stand and stare and wag and act interested to meet other dogs.
Then go all Kujo on you.
I maintain that this is a result of the 6 months in animal shelters…specifically, 2 months in a communal shelter. I don’t believe in pet psychiatry but I really would like to get into his head on this issue.
Other than that… I have learned that he doesn’t like thunderstorms, he doesn’t like either rain or wet grass, and he doesn’t mind long periods of time in his travel box (the ReggieSeat) so long as he gets to come with me on my travels. “ReggieFace”, as it turns out, is old Norse for “Adventure Dog”. I have also learned that he may not chew my things but he will destroy any dog toy in 45 minutes or less. “ReggieFace” is, apparently, also ancient Hebrew for “Why we can’t have nice things.”
He doesn’t need to be right by my side all the time, but he loves to be loved on. If he isn’t getting loved on… he is probably lying on his ReggieBed in his ReggieBox…
Ok ok… I’ll stop.
He doesn’t shed like crazy… well, by Husky standards. He gets very excited at food:30 and he has a bizarre need to be watched while he uses the bathroom.
Yeah… I know… he’s a weirdo.
He hasn’t quite figured out when I really need to be loved on yet, but that will come.
As long as I keep loving on him, that is.
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