On: The Crazy Mystery of Dogs

On:  The Crazy Mystery of Dogs

Colleen Rogers

Last night our dog was crazy.  We took him along to someone’s house for a visit, and he was literally the kid who ultimately gets kicked off a plane. We were given the okay to bring him to the family’s home, and he had been at the house before without incident, so we foresaw no trouble.  The family had two dogs of their own, with whom our dog had always gotten along with swimmingly, but this time he was the proverbial Hound from Hell. 

His infractions included humping their family’s dog, attempting to snatch a near fatal piece of chocolate cake, and eating the host-dog’s food.  He never once sat down, and he acted like a fourteen-year-old boy in a hooker den the whole evening.

He is our second family dog, another beagle, and most likely a rescued lab dog.  All dogs have that “how I found my master” story.  In his case, my sister-in-law lead him to us.  Our first dog had crossed the rainbow bridge, and raw grief did not enable me any active search for a “replacement” pet.  My husband, on the other hand, had a more wildly ready heart. 

My sister-in-law, a dog rescue volunteer in another state, had sent my husband the now infamous “you gotta see this dog” video.  I could not bring myself to watch, but my husband could not get over the charm of the most bow-legged beagle on the planet.  What else could he do but pack the car and drive four hours to greet the little guy?  In one of his rare moments of illogical whimsy, he indeed traveled the four plus hours to meet a seventeen pound canine. 

I knew as soon as I waved to him as he pulled out of the driveway that I should have gone along with him.

Sure enough, I got the call later that evening—my husband was coming home, picking me up, and we were going back together for an all-inclusive family meet and greet.  No sense fighting it.  It was a done deal.

In the car, I felt a bleeding, tearful sense of disloyalty to our first pup—we had had him as a puppy, he was named by the students I taught, he went with us on every vacation and he celebrated each holiday with us.  No dog on the planet could ever meld into our hearts with such princely devotion.  I gave the idea of any new dog the Simon Cowell “no” vote.

When we at last got to the center to finally see the dogs, we were denied admission.  There had been a bit of a heat wave, and for three rough days the staff had been trying to keep the dogs as calm and non-agitated as possible until air conditioning and power were restored.  We explained, in a hard sell, that we had driven four hours plus, etc.  They acquiesced and snuck this beagle dog, whose name my husband couldn’t remember, to see us outside.  Of course, this little bow-legged cowboy waddled up gleefully to my better half.  I still wanted to think about his adoption overnight.

We spent the evening at my sister-in-law’s and discussed his adoption.  But, when we left him there at the kennel, I felt like a Mom dropping my abandoned baby off on the first day of school.  Even so, I still craved some kind of otherworldly sign that we all were an irrefutable, undeniable family match. 

In the morning we went to pick up our new addition.  When we arrived, and with the great flourish of sudden memory, my husband confidently announced,  “We’re here to pick up Cosmo.”  Like a lightning rod and all at once, the power and air conditioning units began to hum with efficiency, and then I knew…

my Rainbow Bridge First Boy had given me the sign, and gave us the patience to embrace our newest dog baby, whose name remained the supremely celestial Cosmo.