Sunday, January 11, 2009

Enter White Dog, October 2004.

The name 'Daisy' implies a certain femininity. A lovely, delicate little flower with a slender stem and petite little petals. Any dog named Daisy should be waif-like. A delicate little lady with a rhinestone collar and a long, well-groomed coat.

Our Daisy is a butch Jack Russell Terrier with a snarky attitude and a penchant for staring deep into your soul, unblinking while you attempt to eat your dinner. She's bulky, all muscle, and while she is white, that doesn't mean she should have been named Daisy. Possibly Thor or Malachi would have worked.

I adopted Daisy while I was still living at my parent's house. We wanted another dog for our Golden Retriever to play with, but we didn't want a big dog. Our criteria was "little dog." But the little dog couldn't have strange eyes because they unsettled my dad. And the little dog couldn't have too much hair because our Golden Retriever had too much already. We probably bypassed a lot of great dogs that way...

In any case, we adopted Daisy. A scared little Jack Russell Terrier who came in to the humane society days earlier. She was huddled at the front of the run with two other terrier mixes. They were harassing her a bit and she was taking it with her tail down. I called my dad while he was at work and told him he should shoot on over and meet her because I think I found our new dog. An hour later he was there and Daisy was gone. He called me to break the bad news.

A humane society worker interrupted him to tell him that the white dog that had been in that run was actually on the news at the moment. She was being featured as the 'Adoptable Dog of the Day' and we could be first in line for her if he wanted to wait around. I was back to the humane society in a flash with our Golden Retriever. They were going to meet first and see how they got along. After they ignored each other for 30 minutes we filled out the paperwork.

While we were getting her tags and paying, people were streaming past trying to find the little white dog that was on the news. I held her a little closer, even though she was already mine. Daisy was scared and limp in my arms. Her whole life had changed. They told us she was three years old and that she had lived outside so she would need house breaking, but that she should catch on fast. They gave us pamphlets and leaflets and a free bag of food. We took her home.

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