5/9/2008 - Life With Ferris: We All Pretended It Was For Bubba - Happenings

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May 18, 2008

Life With Ferris: We All Pretended It Was For Bubba
by Ferris Robinson
posted May 9, 2008

Ferris Robinson

“I think he’s depressed,” we’d say. “He is so lonely by himself all day,” we’d worry.

I went to the Humane Society two months after our little dog, Sophie, died. We’d decided to adopt a little dog from the pound because we thought it was the right thing to do.

I walked through the maize of dog-filled pens, and wanted to put my hands over my ears to muffle the barking and anything over my nose to lessen the stench of hundreds of trapped dogs. Most of these poor animals were yelping frantically and leaping toward the top of the cage. Some sat still and looked at me sadly, like they knew it was futile to act interested. I couldn’t meet their eyes.

I searched for a certain dog, a little dachshund-min-pin mix, knowing I wouldn’t find one. I finally took three little dogs to the pebbled play-yard. One sat sweetly in my lap, one ran around vigorously but didn’t glance at me once, and one leapt up into my lap and kissed me on the face before he skedaddled around the yard. I brought two of my sons, my sister and my husband down the meet this little affectionate dog, all on separate occasions. They all approved, and I filled out the paperwork.

Two days before he was scheduled to be neutered, I had second thoughts. He was tan, not black like Sophie. He was male, not female, and furry, not sleek like an otter. I decided to wait, thinking sooner or later, I would come across a perfect little black dog like Sophie.

I called the Humane Society to cancel the little dog, and they told me I had to bring my receipt in for a refund. When I got there, the woman was on the phone, so I walked back to the little tan dog’s cage. He saw me, and I believe he remembered me.

I think he knew I am a huge flake, and needed reassurance that he was the right dog. He did not bark like all the other dogs, but looked up at me pleadingly. I reached through the cage to scratch his ears and he pressed the side of his head against my hand and wagged his tail.

I told the poor, overworked woman in the office that I had changed my mind. Again. I told her I did want the little dog after all. So she had to re-enter all of my info on the computer and check over the paperwork and call the vet to reschedule his surgery. I told her not to take any more of my calls.

We were all bracing ourselves for the arrival of the new little dog. We knew there would be an adjustment period of barking through the night and house training accidents and chewing up things that were not meant to be chewed. But there wasn’t. Victor didn’t make a peep when I put him in the laundry room with Bubba for the first night. He seems to be housetrained already, and so far the only thing he’s chewed is a corn cob that I had chewed on already.

It is uncanny how much like Sophie he is. He lies in wait by the lake and attacks Bubba when he comes out of the water. He snatches a pair of white socks off the floor and runs off with them like they are a prize. He stretches out on my lap and sleeps whenever I sit down.

This new little dog is beside himself to have a home, and he is doing everything possible to endear himself to his new family. He comes immediately to any name we call, and sits quietly at our feet during dinner and follows me every step I take.

We watch him jump up on Bubba’s back like a cat. Bubba bends down and rolls over on his back and acts foolish while the little dog roughhouses. Bubba looks up at us as if to say, “I know he is a pale-coated, long-haired fluffy male, but he is just right.”

I think that’s how we all feel.

(Ferris Robinson can be contacted at misstante@tvn.net)

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