Dogs, Dogs, and more Dogs

I've introduced you to only two of our five dogs, so here are the other three, each one with a unique story and completely different personality. The first in order of seniority, not to mention in our affection, is Arjun, the dog waiting for our daughter Corinna after her cocker spaniel Honey died suddenly nearly ten years ago. We were in a state of shock afterward, and so I suggested we go to ARF adoption day, just for the heck of it. There under the tent was a larger version of Honey, looking lonely and lost, as well he might. He had been rescued just days before from an incarceration that included around 40 dogs, all in cages, and in various stages of neglect. The owner had died of a heart attack, and the poor dogs had gone several days without care. Only a few of them could be saved, and this sweet dog waiting under the tent was one of them. Our daughter sat down by him, and he climbed into her lap.
Of course we claimed him! We took him home, and because our daughter was at that point considering graduate school in South Asian Studies, with Hindi concentration, she named him Arjun, from Indian mythology. He is an old guy now, hard of hearing, nearly blind, but he still has his lustrous eyes and coat, and his appetite remains as robust as ever!



After our old dog Copper died, a few years following Arjun's arrival, we wanted a puppy. So, again we visited ARF where our friend Mary Adams awaited us with a litter of pups she had saved from the shelter. One of them was a stubby legged little bear cub of a dog. Mottled coat. Female and fuzzy. We took her home and named her Pooja, another Indian name, but she has become Poo, our strange breed of dog, part cub, part coyote, who knows what else. Her legs are still stubby, suggesting she's part Corgi. But I wouldn't lay any bets on that. She loves to be stroked by my husband, especially when we are under our poplar tree, he drinking a beer, and I often holding a glass of red wine. (I think she likes beer drinkers better than anyone else!)



Mary Adams figures in all of our dogs' stories. About five years ago, she invited me over to see another litter of pups she had saved from the pound, these obviously close to being pure-bred, maybe spitz, or Samoyed. All of them were fat, fluffy white little polar bears. Dangerously cute, as a friend described them. I took home two of them, a male and female, and named them Bro and Sistah. They thrived. They dug holes, they trampled the garden, they grew into large 60 pound teenagers. It was time for one of them to go, alas. I had early on fallen for Bro, so Sistah had to leave us for a home up in Little Canada. Bro became my boy, the big, furry sled dog I'd always said I wanted. I'm convinced he's mostly Samoyed. Although we don't have any reindeer for him to guard, he keeps a watchful eye out for us and alerts us to any intruders, like the meter reader. In this photo of a few days ago, he looks a bit unkempt. He's been shedding. In his full winter glory, he is magnificent.



Our dogs make our lives a lot more complicated, a lot more entertaining, and much, much more interesting to talk about. We have many dog stories. I know you are looking forward to hearing more of them! Aren't you?