The Dog Blog, Part II

After several months, it became clear that Miele was Conner's dog, not Cary's. She didn't like to be away from Cary or me, but she REALLY didn't like being away from Conner. We’re talking whining, pacing, the whole three-act drama. Soon Cary announced he wanted a dog of his own:

"You have Conner, and Conner has Miele. I want a dog, too!"

Turns out a friend of Cary's had a purebred Black Lab he could no longer keep, so Cary mounted a campaign to convince me that three dogs wouldn't be so bad. I caved and his friend promised we could adopt the dog... then gave him to the bomb squad instead. Cary was disappointed but wasn't about to let all that marketing go to waste. So it was off the Humane Society once more.

A few Black Lab mixes caught Cary's eye, but one sad-looking little pup appealed to me. She leaned against the chain link as if to say, "I know you won't adopt me, but could you at least rub my ears before you go?" I knelt down and started petting her. Cary just laughed, and said that's just what Sassy had done when he saw her at the pound. That was enough to sell me but I stayed quiet; this was supposed to be Cary's dog, after all.

We introduced Conner and Miele to a few dogs of Cary's choosing, but none blended too well. I suggested we let the Sad Little Puppy meet them, but she just curled up in a ball and hid. We took that as a "no thanks," but I couldn't stop thinking about her.

The next day I called and asked about her. It seemed another family had put a hold on her, but the staff member offered to take my name and number just in case they backed out. I gave it, and tried to be happy that SLP had found a home. Not that that stopped me from thinking about her or talking about her or not-so-secretly wishing her adoption would fall through...

A few days later, Cary answered a call from the Humane Society. The people who had put a hold on SLP hadn't come back or even called. Were we still interested, the volunteer asked?

Cary just smiled at me and said, "We'll be right there."

Annye was our 2002 Valentine's Day present to each other. She was (and is) one of the lowest energy pups we've ever met and is forever on a diet -– hence her none-too-flattering nickname of "Big Fat Annye." Plump or not, I adore this dog.

Cary tried hard to bond with Annye. He played with her, held her while he watched TV, the whole enchilada. As much as she enjoyed the attention, Annye kept hanging with me. She would follow me around, sleep under my desk, wait at the door while I went to the post office... basically making it known she was MY dog.

Fast forward another year to 2003, when once again Cary decreed he wanted a dog of his own. He'd been assisting a local Labrador rescue with its website and learned about a chocolate Lab at the Linn County Dog Control in Albany, Oregon. Within minutes the five of us were driving down to meet him. Turns out the chocolate was already gone, but an energetic little black dog was happy to see us –- and was scheduled to be "put down" that night. Nudge, nudge. It may have been a sales job, but we bought it and him.

We started to give Pup Number Four the "Hoover" name, but after one tangled walk we decided Tripper was a better fit! We also were told he was more than a year old and full grown. Wrong. After a few weeks of unlimited food and regular exercise, Tripper grew longer, taller, and then filled out -- to a point. He's still a thin dog, but twice the size of the "full grown" dog we brought home.

All was well (if not quiet) in our household for another four years.

In early 2007, however, Conner -- then 12 years old -- started to have problems with his back legs. Our vet examined him and said he had spinal degeneration, said there wasn't much we could do but watch it get worse. Great.

Sometimes Conner was just a little shaky standing up; sometimes he couldn't stand at all. Sometimes he would turn but his back end wouldn't, other times his back end would just drop out from under him mid-stride. The mix of surprise and annoyance on his face would have been funny if it weren't so heartbreaking. By early 2008, Conner couldn't stand without help and often would fall right back down. Our formerly up-for-anything furball now spent his days whining in frustration and pain. We gave him medication for the pain, but the frustration... Well, that he and we had to bear full force.

We spoiled all of the dogs on Conner's 13th birthday but knew he didn't have much longer. Within a month, we made the painful trip to the Humane Society and held him as a volunteer gave him the injection. I was inconsolable for days, though everyone did their best. Especially Annye, who would lean against me and then snuggle closer as I cried into her fur. Have I mentioned how much I adore this dog?

Whoever said the worst part about having dogs is outliving them was right on. I can't say every moment was bliss with Conner -- we were both too stubborn for that -- but I did and do love him and miss him. It's still odd to not hear that Malamute "woo" greeting when we come home.

Maybe it's because I had Annye for comfort, but I wasn't eager to adopt another dog after losing Conner. I mean, three is more than enough, right?

Find out in Part III...