I am a dog person. So is my husband. We love the paws, the licks, the daily walks, the big dark eyes, but especially the unconditional companionship. If loving my dog is wrong, I don’t want to be right.
So when Tim and I got married, it was just a matter of time before a canine child came into our lives. The breed we wanted was the breed his parents own (and adore). A shih-tzu was definitely in the cards. I’m a sucker for the underbite—and the upbeat personality.
In the fall of 2012, I got particularly aggressive/obsessive. I made sure to regularly check the pet section in the Classifieds. I searched dog rescue sites like it was my job. There was an unfortunate ordeal with one of the rescue organizations where I expressed interest in a dog based on one cute picture. We did the application, home visit and the whole bit based on this one stinkin’ picture. Then—when we actually met the dog for the first time—it was just so clear that this was not our dog. Poor thing, it had no life in its eyes; it had been rescued from a sad situation, after all. Didn’t respond to calls, claps or petting. The pup’s name was Pringle. It was particularly awful and awkward because—while we thought we were going to meet, greet and then go home and make our final decision—the rescue group thought we were meeting this dog and taking him home. They assumed it was a done deal. Errr….
But I digress…
We went (read: I dragged Tim) to Saturday morning puppy events at PetSmart. We visited a pet shop where I was convinced I’d found “the one.” There were only two issues standing in my way to puppy paradise:
1) Price. The dog was almost $700. Have you met my husband???
2) We had a weeklong honeymoon to Maui coming up quick.
I think he thought that Hawaii could make me forget about a hound.
Not bloody likely. We got back, and the pursuit resumed. One day, scouring the World Wide Web, I came upon a new shih-tzu site. The breeder was from a small rural town in Iowa. There were a few pups on the site that caught my attention. One of them was this guy:
They called him “Huxley,” and his eyes were what really drew me in. The upturned eyelashes were just too much. Anyway, after some nudging, Tim agreed to drive me to the breeder’s house in this tiny town. It was Friday, November 2, 2012. We were just going to look; no commitments would be made. We were not coming home with a puppy. To make sure we stuck to that plan, Tim said he wasn’t even going to bring the checkbook. Couldn’t get a puppy if we wanted to.
It was about an hour drive. I was all keyed up; I couldn’t wait to see these pups. Sure, I wanted a dog, but I also just like dogs, so however this night turned out, it was a win for me. We drove through a few small towns on the way to our destination. We remember driving past an old-school movie theater on a town’s Main Street, the kind where they only show one movie at a time. Both of us were in a good mood.
Then it got a little strange. It was November, so it was starting to get dark outside a little earlier. Around 7 p.m., it was pretty dusky and we realized that the breeder’s home was way out in the middle of nowhere. More than we’d suspected from the map. Country road signs were few and far between, and hard to see in the diminishing light. Let’s just say we took a couple of creative detours before we finally found the road.
By this time, it was just plain dark out. We start to go up this road, which was at a sharp incline. We passed a corral for horses. We passed a trailer. Rusted out equipment and random vehicles. There might have been furniture on the side of the road. Maybe a few animals just roaming around. As we ascended past this parade of dirty and discarded stuff, we both got an eerie feeling. Where you both realize simultaneously, Huh. We really don’t know this person. This is kind of a gamble. What are we doing out here? What if this woman is an ax murderer? After all, as a general rule, dog breeders are a unique crew.
A modest white house comes into view. Lights are on. It looks normal-ish. We have to make the call: will we exit the vehicle? Or is it just too weird? I clutch my purse, we lock the car and slowly walk up the steps to the house. The things we do for love.
Well, shame on us. The couple was very friendly. The woman had a Bible Verse on her T-shirt. Although it shouldn’t have, that minor detail put me immediately at ease. They seemed like good ole folks. I was surprised that no dogs rushed to the door when it opened. It was just them. They’d just taken a hot pizza out of the oven, but they insisted that they could go ahead and show us the pups. They led us downstairs to the basement where the dogs lived.
It was a pretty clean, legit setup. There were crates and cages, but open areas, too, where she had food, water and toys. There were shih-tzus of all ages. Some looked like dogs; some looked more like hamsters. She pulled out Huxley and handed him to me. The eyes were even more irresistible in person. He seemed semi-interested in our presence. He was a little shy, though, which did not bode well for this prospective Weller. She also pointed out his brother, Scooter, who was obviously one of her favorites. She preferred Scooter’s outgoing personality to Huxley’s more laidback vibe. I really felt she wanted us to take Scooter. So I started to consider each pup, weighing both their looks (shallow, I know) with their personalities. What was holding me back on my original pick, Huxley? He was smaller, not as active and had this weird raspy breathing thing going on that made me nervous.
I was so torn! Good thing I didn’t have to make up my mind on the spot, and we didn’t plan to purchase a dog that evening. Right? Right…. OR. SO. I. THOUGHT.
As I started to say something along the lines of, “Well, we’ll go home, think about it and be in touch with our decision,” Tim dropped a bomb.
HE HAD THE CHECKBOOK THE WHOLE TIME. Why? According to Tim, he was ready to stop looking, pick out our dog and be done with it. Lovely.
In retrospect, this lie/surprise is kind of exactly what I love about my husband; however, at the time, I was more than a little annoyed-slash-super anxious. He forced my hand. He cornered me into pitting brother against brother in that cold basement in Iowa. Now I had to make a decision.
So I considered both, and this deliberation went on—back and forth, forth and back—for about two hours. I probably said, “But honestly, Tim, what do you really think?” and “I just can’t choose!” a dozen times. The husband and wife were kind, giving us time to observe and play with them. Their bellies must have been growling as that pizza sat upstairs, untouched.
It was quite a production. While the couple never showed a lack of patience, after two hours, Tim was fed up. Although he didn’t really care, he said, “Let’s just get Scooter.” “Ok,” I said, not wanting to prolong the drama further and feeling all kinds of conflicted. We picked Scooter up, began to walk away from the open area where the dogs hung out and… I just couldn’t go through with it. Making that move, just verbalizing one option, made me realize the other option was right.
My heart belonged to Huxley. I just couldn’t resist those dark eyes and crazy lashes.
So we committed. Tim wrote the check, as I held his soft little body in both arms. We walked back up to their cold pizza. Before we left, she warned us he might puke in the car. Awesome. When we walked out their front door, with this unknown creature in tow, I thought, What have we done?!?! The next morning I had an early bible study gathering, and that evening was my biggest work event of the year. For which I was responsible. Yes, impeccable timing, indeed.
I had relished the search, but would I relish the big, new responsibility now that it was in front of me? Things got real, real fast. We had no dog food at home. No bed. No toys. No nothing. We were woefully unprepared for this new addition.
The dog formerly known as Huxley curled up on my lap for the car ride home. Slept the entire way. As he snored a pathetic, raspy little snore, Tim and I discussed names. Classic. Trendy. Unusual. We landed on a name we had talked about off and on. See, Tim’s parents’ dog is named Bear. We love Bear, and this new pup was like a mini-version of Bear. So it made sense to call him Cub. Cub Weller. We committed to Cub, and never looked back.
When we got home, it was late. We both just wanted to crash, but first had to engineer some kind of sleeping quarters for Cub. Tim covered the master bathroom floor in newspaper, and I threw a few blankets and pillows around the toilet and sink. Tim put up a cardboard divider in the doorframe, so Cub couldn’t get out. Cub climbed up on a pillow and nodded off again. Yes!
Got in bed. Lights out. It was then—lying on my back, eyes wide open in the dark—that his raspy little snore seemed to get much louder. I was so hyper-aware that there was a new living creature in the house. You know the phrase, “hung on every word”? I hung on every rise and fall of his snore. I tried to block it out, but eventually gave up, went downstairs and slept on the couch. Again, the things we do for love.
A few weeks in, it was clear that the breeder had greatly underestimated “Huxley’s” merits and charms. Out of Scooter’s shadow, Cub was plenty playful and quite intelligent to boot. He was yard-trained within a week.
Today, he loves our nightly walks and cuddles. He is a faithful companion, and we’re his loyal pack. When we’re happy, he’s happy. When we’re sick, he seems to know, doling out an extra measure of affection.
Best of all, he loves our new baby. He treats Luke like he’s his own, staying very close, licking his feet and keeping calm when Luke yanks his tail or smacks his face.
Not sure if Tim appreciates it, but I often say that Cub is my best friend. He’s always there. He always listens. He is always excited to see me.
I know the jury’s out on what dogs think and feel. Do they actually care about us, or do they just tolerate us because we feed them? Call me crazy, but I like to believe that Cub loves me back.
Sarah Weller 