How we came to live with a crazy bitch

Aaron and I decided one day, seemingly out of the blue, to get a dog. We had a wedding coming up in a few short months, I hated my job and was desperately seeking better employment, and we’d just moved into a two-bedroom house on the other end of town. We didn’t think we had enough going on in our lives. Stress levels were only at about a 9.5 out of 10 and we needed something that would really set us over the edge into extreme hypertension.

We’d talked previously about getting a Boston terrier. Aaron’s grandfather had always kept Boston Terriers, one who had been killed by country singer Billy Dean’s dog. It was the family’s claim to fame. Boston Terriers were good, solid, dependable dogs, dogs that might bark only at strangers, dogs that were kid-friendly (if we ever decided to do that), and needed only to be run around the back yard once in a while for exercise. We wanted something uncomplicated, squat, docile and easy-going. Instead, we got a leggy, high-strung drama queen.

One Sunday, as we drove around the countryside, Aaron turned to me and said, “Let’s go by the pound. Just to look.” I said, “Sure, just to look,” and we both knew we were going to by parents by the end of the ride.

We entered the pound and looked at all the cute puppies, crazy pit bulls, and lethargic mixed breeds who knew better than to depend on their looks and so instead were trying to come off as well behaved. A black and white medium sized pup sitting with her back smushed up against the bars of her kennel sat looking at us with feigned casualness. Aaron was drawn to her immediately. “Let’s ask to see this one,” he said, as I made goo-goo eyes at a small ball of fur on a top kennel while trying to keep my knees from getting snapped off by a Doberman that seemed to be frothing at the mouth.

We stepped outside into one of two visiting areas that looked like small preschool play centers. We stood nervously as an employee brought the puppy in and set her onto the floor. She immediately wet the floor and jumped up onto Aaron. We petted and played with her while the guy told us that she was about three months old and had been found wandering around out in the cold. They’d named her Heidi, and he couldn’t believe someone hadn’t already snapped her up.

He left the room and gave us some time alone with Heidi. Aaron and I looked at each other and nodded. We couldn’t wait to get her home. We notified the guy, who grinned happily and brought us a sheaf of papers to fill out and sign. After filling out all contact information and our veterinarian’s name, completing a short essay on what we would do in case of emergency, drawing a diagram of where we planned to house her, and noting the amount of food we would give her, in ounces, we handed the clipboard back and stood awkwardly as the guy asked us a few questions. “Do you promise to always have a plan for leaving the dog in a responsible person’s care if you have an emergency that keeps you away from the house?’ he asked. “We do,” we responded.

“Will you give this animal the best care you can, assuming all responsibility for its well-being, recognizing that it is unable to properly care for itself?’

“We do.”

“If you find that you made too hasty a decision today, cannot care for the dog, and must return it to the pound, do you acknowledge that you will not be due a refund in any form, that you will officially be branded Worst Dog Owners Ever by the State of North Carolina, and that a bumper sticker stating such will be sent to you in the mail which you must keep on your vehicle at all times?”

“We do.”

The guy then ended, “Having heard these promises you have now made, and believing that you look like a couple of pretty decent people, by the power vested in me by the state of North Carolina, I now declare you the Owners and Caregivers of Heidi.”

Heidi (who we immediately renamed Missy) ran through her pee and jumped on Aaron and me, baptizing us in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. I think I heard the guy in the next play area mutter, “Amen.”