Illustration by Jan A. Igoe
The plea wasn’t unusual. It’s the same one I’d seen hundreds of times: “Foster desperately needed for two homeless pups. Let us know if you can help.” There were a zillion reasons to keep scrolling and forget I read that post, but my fingers typed three little words before my brain could apply the brakes. “I can help.”
This particular rescue group usually ignores me, so I was surprised to get a text begging me to pick them up right away. Sonny and Cher were brother and sister terriers with no known history, just some crazy rumor that mom was a German shepherd and dad was a Yorkie who owned a ladder.
The pups were scrawny, maybe 7 pounds apiece, and only a few months old. They had pointy ears, unruly tan coats and skinny little faces, like wolf cubs. No one knew if they were housebroken, but Sonny left a personal puddle in the hallway before I could wrangle them into a crate. So now we know.
“Mom, what have you done?” my grown daughter asked, referring to our new houseguests. “Can’t you ever say no?” Since she’s living with me, too, that must be a rhetorical question.
I’ve come to the conclusion that nature made puppies fuzzy and adorable because otherwise, you might strangle them. Cher liked to start her day by ferociously gnawing on a tasty power cord. Suicide attempts take priority, so while I prevented her electrocution, Sonny would seize the opportunity to scramble up on my desk and eat the mail. Between the two of them, my house looked like the home team won the Super Bowl and the ticker tape parade cut straight through my living room. A champion shredder, Sonny was more efficient than any high-speed cross-cut machine. At least he kept my identity safe.
But Sonny never stopped barking. He barked for food. He barked to go out. He barked to come in. He barked for the toy that Cher snatched. He barked in his sleep.
One day, Sonny was adopted by a very nice lady with five young kids. She was “so happy to get an older dog that was already housebroken, calm and quiet.” Before I could admit to a monumental mix-up, Sonny started howling like a madman and peed on her shoe. Her kids were already hugging his neck and quoting studies that children with vocal dogs get more scholarships, so she couldn’t retreat.
“Sonny will want to sleep with you. He has never been alone. If you crate him, you’ll need earplugs,” I told her. “He’ll pitch an 85-decibel fit.”
“No problem,” she assured me. But the next day, Sonny was back. Guess what? The family couldn’t sleep with all the racket coming from his crate. Sigh.
That’s how rescue goes. There are happy marriages, but also one-night stands and brief honeymoons that end in bitter divorce because some folks just aren’t ready for a dog. In a perfect world, you’d have to prove a guppy would thrive in your care before you got anywhere near a puppy. The law would require you to practice on a starter fish and work your way up to a turtle. Assuming the turtle gave you a letter of recommendation, then we might talk puppies.
Meanwhile, if you can handle mischievous mutts, you know who to call. Don’t forget to ask me about the Thanksgiving special on housebroken daughters.
Despite the high cost of tennis balls, elk antlers and premium food, Jan A. Igoe believes there is nothing better than canine companionship to sustain you during a pandemic. Animal antics are always welcome at HumorMe@SCLiving.coop. Happy Thanksgiving and stay healthy.