Look at that face!
This is the first time I ever saw my baby girl. Daisy. Daisy Mae Mobley, as my darling new husband likes to call her. This was early April of this year I believe. I guess you’d have to say we met online, sort of. I had been looking for a puppy for a while, trying to convince my fiance that we needed a dog. We were just a few weeks away from our wedding, our home was piled high with wedding crap, and I was elbow deep in tulle, pushing myself to the limit -trying to do the ultimate DIY wedding, including a home made hot mess wedding gown–you’ll hear more about that later. What possessed me that I NEEDED a dog, and needed one RIGHT NOW, just a few weeks before the wedding, I will never know.
In my spare time at work, which there seems to be a lot of lately, I was either mooning over pictures of other people’s weddings, overplanning each and every detail of my OWN wedding, or looking for puppies on line at local shelters, rescues and in want ads.
I saw an ad in a nearby newspaper for welsh corgi puppies. The pic in the ad was a little sable guy. He was just adorable. I’ve only had one dog before in my life, and he was a corgi too. I called the number in the ad, and the nice man on the other end of the phone told me that he had three pups left from two different litters. He had two males and one female left. I asked him if he could send me a picture of the female.
I saw her and absolutely fell in love with that adorable face. I didn’t know she was a tri-color until I saw the picture. I had to text the pic to my fiance, who I am guessing rolled his eyes and let out a deep sigh of frustration , all while shaking his head in disbelief–he’s really good with the multi-tasking.
I made arrangements to meet the puppy on the last Saturday of April-1 week before the wedding. That was a really busy day. I had to run to Hobby Lobby for the 900th time to get those “last few things” for the wedding–something I had already done multiple times. I was getting a cut, color and a hair trial, and my fiance was going out of town for his bachelor party. When he left, he said it was up to me. If I wanted the puppy, I should buy the puppy. GULP.
Here’s my little baby, before she was my little baby. Of course, I HAD to have her. Who could refuse that little black fuzzball? The breeder agreed to keep her until after the wedding. In hindsight, picking up a 9 week old puppy on your way home from a honeymoon is probably not the best idea I’ve ever had.
In the first few days after she came home with us, she was deceptively docile. I should have known better. I’m sure she was just feeling us out. Looking for our weak spots. Plotting her hostile takeover of our heretofore peaceful domicile. She looks so harmless and sweet, doesn’t she?
3 Months later, she is the queen of the house. Running around like she’s on crack, barking at the top of her shrieky lungs whenever anyone else tries to speak a word. Stealing anything she can get her teeth around. I haven’t figured out if she is the dumbest dog in the world, or an evil genius. Obedience training is completely futile. I have managed to get her to “sit”, and no more. The expensive liver treats from the vet are not the motivational tool they were advertised to be. I give her one when she “sits”. I then try to make her “stay”. I guess to her, the word “stay” means “tear mommy’s arm off because it’s holding those yummy smelly things she just gave me”. I’m good with “sit” for now. Good dog.
We just had Daisy spayed last week. “It’ll calm her down” they said. “She’ll be more affectionate”, they said. Ha! As if! We couldn’t even keep her calm when she came home from the vet’s office. She was running around like a spaz the minute I got her in the door! I was afraid her little entrails were going to spill out of that incision and she’d be dragging them around the house behind her.
So now, she won’t have any puppies, she will never go into heat, but…during her kennel time, I still think she is plotting her revenge. She has now learned to jump all over the furniture, checking out the end tables each morning for booty to drag off to her lair. This is a picture of her I took this morning. You’ll note the shaved tummy. “She had a Brazilian” my husband says.