My then partner Eric and I were ready to have a pup. We had tried to adopt one a few months earlier, but the young prospect showed not the slightest interest in us. This time around, I was taking no chances.
The breeder had told me that she had a puppy who met the criteria I had specified. He was a mellow, over-sized English cocker. They called him the Philosopher.
“He sounds great,” I said. “But if, for whatever reason, he doesn’t take to us, could you bring a back up with you just in case?”
“I don’t have any others like the one I’ve picked out for you,” she said. “I just have a couple of little crazy ones from a different litter left. They were fathered by the same sire as the older pup. I’ll bring one of them.”
She flew into the Bay Area, where we lived at the time, on Friday of July 4th weekend. We drove out to Hayward where she was staying with a friend who also showed English cocker spaniels, and made our way to the backyard. English cockers of every age, size and color bounded across the grass, ears flying with each leap. I’d just entered doggie heaven!
We met our two small black prospects, then sat down cross-legged on the deck to see what would happen. They returned to play, periodically coming back to check in and get petted and lick us. They didn’t do it at the same time or in the same way, which made the idea of choosing between them even more difficult.
Finally, we couldn’t put it off any longer.
“Which one do you want?” Eric asked.
Impossible to choose. So I made the only logical decision. I was going to write a check anyway. I would just change the number and take both. Why choose when you don’t really have to?
“You can bring one of them back on Monday if it doesn’t work out,” the breeder said as she handed over a puppy care package that just happened to have two tiny red collars in it along with kibble, a can of dog food, a toy and a blanket.
Right! Who’s actually going to ever return a cute puppy once they’ve taken it home?
From the first, Eric and I realized that our tiny new fur babies had completely different personalities. The larger 12-week-old puppy with a broad snout and large, doe-like eyes who we named Hoover (as in Hoover It Up) wasn’t the type to engage right away. Instead, he sat back and watched whatever was going on before tip-toeing toward the fray. The nine-week-old pup, with sharper features, almond-shaped eyes and a skinny tail cropped just a little too long plunged right in.
Dashiell (as in Dashiell Hammett, one of the finest mystery writers of all time) made it clear that although he was three weeks younger and half the size, he was the boss—until a ball he wanted rolled behind a scary piece of furniture. Then he would whine pitifully until his older half-brother would lumber over to the rescue.
I nicknamed Dashiell the Baby Alpha. Ten years later, he still lives up to his moniker. He growls to make sure no one tries to steal his spot. He growls to alert his blind half-brother Hoover (or anyone else in the vicinity) not to step on him. In short, he announces himself to let everyone around him know that he’s there and in charge. Snuggle time usually lasts about 90 seconds with Dashiell. After a quick visit, he’s off to the next adventure or to his favorite spot for a nap. That changes when he’s tired, hurt or sick. Then he climbs in my lap, buries his head on my chest and settles in.
If Dashiell were a writer, he’d insist on forging ahead without counsel or concern. But he’d also call for writing help the second he realized that things weren’t working or when he needed encouragement or perspective.
It’s taken me a long time to learn how to ask for writing help or any other kind of help. A woman of the seventies, I was determined to do everything on my own. When I moved to a tiny Sierra ski resort called Bear Valley after college, I would have to dig out my snowmobile every time I got it stuck, which was often since that snowmobile was my transportation during the snowy winters. Had I picked up the phone, my guy friends would have had me out in ten minutes. But no! I had to do it on my own.
These days I try not to make the same mistake. Watching my Baby Alpha is a good reminder.
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