July 29, 2018

through the streets broad and narrow

Patience is a virtue.

Which is a damned shame, because neither P.J. nor I partakes of it in a quantity measurable by behavioral scientists.  But we've heard good things about it.

Oh god, the stereo wires.  I didn't even think about those.  And my charger.  Unplugged that.  Get away from the pillow with bead fringe!  Need to put that away.

See, what happened is, we saw another picture and P.J. was smitten and it grew on me, too, and next thing we knew, we had put in an adoption application with three references and an extensive history and vet contact information and retinal scan results, and it was approved within an hour even though the vet office was closed and none of the references was contacted, because it looked legit.  It looked legit because I know how to type on PDF forms instead of tediously printing them and writing them out and scanning them.  I guess it looked like we had our shit together.

We found ourselves in a car yesterday, with Rose in the back with our Lodge luggage, driving once again into the heart of South Carolina and along streets broad and narrow to retrieve a "shy, cautious" German shepherd mix four-month-old black-and-tan puppy from a Shepherd Rescue organization.  This "shy" pup immediately jumped all over P.J. with kisses and love and excitement, then hopped into our van.  "We ready to go?" she asked.  "Come on!"  Shy, m'arse.  She was bloody well waiting for us.

We stopped at the first rest area along I-77 to walk both dogs.  Then they waited together in the back while P.J. and I took turns going inside for our own piddle breaks.  Molly and Rose waited side by side in the back while I sat with them.  Rose leaned over and licked Molly's face with a kiss, then settled back into her keen watch for P.J.

The rescue had taken her from a high-kill shelter and had named her after a flower, which is all very well, but ludicrous, given her personality.  Anyway, after Molly the First, we were singing "Molly Malone" in the kitchen, then read an article after which "MrsMollyMalone" was a commenter; following this, in the checkout line at PetSmart, one of the three examples hanging up of the engravable tags was "Molly", right next to "Fido" and "Coco".  P.J. and I looked at each other and said, "Right, then.  Okay, Universe, have it your way.  Overbearing much?"  P.J. has never actually named any of her dogs; it's always done for her, and this was no exception.

Yeah, Molly.  Molly has ears with superpowers.  She can put one or both of them up at will and they look like diminutive radar dishes.  Her brow wrinkles when she's concerned or interested.  Total German shepherd face.  We can't figure out the other breed in her because she's mildly elongated with shorter than normal legs.  No, not a Corgi or a Dachshund, but something interesting, no doubt.  We'll see the vet on Friday.  We'll have to ask their opinion on matters.  It isn't so pronounced as to be a sign of dwarfism.  And in two months she'll need to be spayed.

We stopped at the PetSmart in Rock Hill coming and going, first for a leash (and the final sign from the Universe about her name) and then for all the things.  So many chew toys.  And we're glad of it now, because she's gone through nearly all of them within twelve hours.

Welcome home, Molly, you sweet, kissy little compact bundle of destruction and curiosity.

Rose can't settle down.  She keeps walking around, surveying the damage.  Sometimes she stops and looks at us.  "Why are you doing this to me?  What did I do?" she seems to ask.  But then again, they began playing together fifteen minutes after we introduced Molly to the house and, thus, Rose's domain.

Rose puts her into submission over and over again when they play, and at first we thought Molly might be freaked out because she's half Rose's size, but then we saw her instigate it and all tails are wagging, so we're letting them work it out for themselves.

That potential nightmare - the one where Rose hated her at first and we had to pen her with a lid on it and it took days for grudging acceptance and Molly was in danger - did not come true, a major boon for us.  But there's another that has materialized, transformed from abstract to concrete:

Molly is wicked fucking smart and we are, not to put too fine a point on it, doomed.

And runs as fast as greased lightning.

She has already figured out the dog door, except for the actual going through it part because it's made of three hard plastic pieces and she doesn't want to get smacked in the face.  This is a reasonable concern if you're a puppy.  She figured out it's the means of ingress and egress after being shown once.  She sits on command now.  She knows "no" and "down" and listens.  She's located Rose's toy basket and helped herself to all of the contents, including the beef bone, which she keeps "burying" in bits of blanket or towel.  She knows her kennel and pen are her "safe places" when Rose chases her, and after one piddle accident, she's got things more or less figured out in the piddle and poo department.

We need our lawn guy to mow, stat.  I'll text him today.  My ankles weren't happy last night, out in the dark.  There might have been Venus fly traps and strange tentacles out there that my phone's flashlight app didn't detect.

I finished my StepBet yesterday after following her around for a few hours in the evening.  I can take today off and I get my forty dollars back, plus about twelve more dollars for winning and sticking with it.  That should cover, like, one antler toy that we bought yesterday.  Hey, it's something.  And my time is freed up to revert to the days of having a newly-walking toddler and to puppy-proof the entire house from Miss Chew All The Things here.

When she was in her pen and P.J. left the living room for a moment, she cried in a way that we agreed would be totally banned by the Geneva Convention as a prohibitively cruel form of torture.  It would break strong men.

I'm breaking out in welts here and there.  This is probably from the mosquitoes that chose me while I waited outside for her to piddle and not a sign of being allergic to Molly.  Because that would suck, so it isn't happening.  Mind over matter.

She has now "dug up" that beef bone and is chewing on it ... er, rather effectively.  Peace in our time.


  1. Yes, Yes, Yes! We've just acquired a new dog/puppy in our life as well. Buddy (he came with the name) LOVES to chew. Like Molly, he made short work out of destroying several of his new chew toys (hard core, heavy duty chew toys that I thought would give him a much bigger challenge than they did!) I suppose I can't take those back for a refund, huh? Our 3 wary cats have decided we've turned to the dark side, but everyone seems to be getting along in spite of this consensus. I'm going broke doing it, but I must keep extra chew toys on hand! We were trying to find a good home for Buddy (he was kind of a rescue--you can read my blog post "Buddy" for details if you want, but then I fell in love and we've decided to keep him. BTW, you're the first (outside my immediate family) that I've told this to! Which reminds me, I must share this news on my blog! Also, I'd love to see pics of Molly if you get a chance! Anyway, congratulations -- I'm excited and happy for your new bundle of joy!

    1. Please send me blog link! Would love to read about Buddy!

    2. Never mind, P.J. just pointed out that I can click on your name.