Mixed Breed

“MIXED BREED”

It seemed like everyone I talked to gave me the same advice; the best way to get over the loss of a pet is to get a new one. I knew they were right but as I sat there in the parking lot of the rescue shelter it didn’t seem so obvious. Daisy had been part of our family for fourteen years. The boys were in high school and picked her from a litter of Yellow Lab puppies and named her on the way home. In time they decided they wanted no part of a job at the nuclear plant where I worked so they went off to college and careers elsewhere. Linda and I called Daisy our big little girl. In the two years after Linda passed away Daisy was my pet, my friend and my link to happier times. Somehow the idea of a new dog seemed like I was being disloyal to her memory but I was tired of being alone.

When I walked into the shelter that day in July the smell of a hundred dogs and cats and the cleaning products they required wafted through the lobby. Despite the heavy door between the lobby and kennels I could hear the sound of animals who wanted to be anywhere besides their small cages. The sound got even louder when the attendant came through the door. “Good morning, I’m Dave. How can I help you today?”

“I’m Wade Stevens.” Then I heard myself saying the same words I’d said all those years ago. “We’re…I mean I’m here to find a dog.”

“Great, we can sure help you with that. Any particular breed? Do you want a pup or a mature dog?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I guess I’ll know the right one when I see him, or her.”

Dave led me through the door and down a short hallway, then through another door into the kennels. There were two rows of cages on each side, each one full of movement, barking and sad eyes. I’m sure I was thinking the same thing that most people think in that situation: “I wish I had a big farm so I could take every one of them out of here.” Dave broke away for a moment to talk to a cleaning man and I slowly passed in front of the cages, looking side to side and wondering how each dog got there. At the end of the row on my left, in the bottom cage sat a small, brown, curly-haired dog. The card on the cage door said it was a seven week old female mixed breed, mostly terrier. They’d given her the name “Sweetie” but she looked like a dog that deserved a more serious name.

Dave walked back over to me. “So, what do you think of Sweetie?”

“She’s a great looking dog. I’ve always liked terriers. The card says she’s seven weeks old but she’s a lot bigger than a puppy. She looks like she’s a year old.”

“Well, she was found wandering around this neighborhood near the plant and all we could find out about her was from the woman who picked her up. She said she knew the family who owned her and that their dog had a litter about a month before. The people moved away and left this one behind. We’ve had her for a couple of weeks.”

I knelt down in front of the cage and put my hand against the bars. A wet nose pressed against it and then a tongue began licking my fingers. I looked into her eyes and she stared back. It’s an overused term but I confess it was love at first sight. I looked up at Dave. “How big do you think she’ll get?”

“Well, like the card says she’s a mixed breed so we don’t know for sure how she’ll grow but terriers are kind of a medium size breed.”

I looked back at Sweetie. “Okay, little girl, let’s go home.”

I knew it would take a few days to get Sweetie acclimated to her new home and me acclimated to her so I’d taken a few days off work. I’d decided not to change her name even though it was not exactly a name that a man would give to a dog. As I got to know her and looked into her eyes I realized it was a perfect fit.

Our life settled into a routine of sharing the house, the yard and each other. It was early August when I noticed how much she had grown. If the paperwork at the shelter was correct Sweetie was only about two months old but she was already close to Daisy’s size. I’d never seen a terrier as big as a Lab but that’s what my dog was turning into. I’d gotten her a new collar because she’d outgrown the first one and the new one was already snug on her. The doggy door to the patio had been big enough for Daisy but Sweetie’s back and sides were already rubbing the frame when she walked through it .I was hoping her growth spurt was almost over.

I remember it was August twenty-seventh, my birthday, when she’d gotten stuck in the doggy door. I heard her whimpering and by the time I got to her she’d peed on the kitchen floor. I managed to help her get free and then let her romp in the backyard while I cleaned up the mess. Two days later a contractor friend pulled out the old door and installed what he told me was the biggest doggy door on the market. It lasted only three weeks until she almost got stuck again. There was nothing else I could do but leave the patio door open for her. I didn’t like the idea of the door being open when I was away from the house but it was that or have dog poop all over the place.

Sweetie had been eating puppy food for the first few weeks but when I saw how fast she was growing I’d switched her to adult food. That was when I started having trouble on our morning walks. I always did the right thing and carried a plastic bag to pick up her poop but the amount I was picking up seemed to be getting bigger and bigger just like she was. I had to find larger bags for the pick-up. When she had to pee I made her use the grassy strip along the curb. When we’d walk by the spot the next day we’d see a huge patch of dead grass. I’d found myself hoping that no one was watching us from their window.

It was late September, on a warm Saturday morning that another problem arose. Sweetie had grown to be huge. There was no other way to describe her. She was still cute and playful and wanted to be friends with anyone she encountered but her size made people keep their distance. We were on the sidewalk getting ready to enjoy the dog park when another dog caught her eye. She barked and pulled on her leash so hard it snapped. The brass fittings that held the strap to the handle broke and she was off and running. I ran toward her and the other dog and when I reached them the other dog’s owner yelled, “What the hell, man? Keep that beast on a leash that’ll hold it!” A pretty good sized crowd had gathered and I heard a woman ask her friend, My God is that even a dog?” I noticed people holding their phones and taking pictures of her. It seemed my girl had become the dog park spectacle.

I managed to get a grip on the leash and tugged, pulled and wrestled Sweetie back to the car. I’d had to fold the seats down in my Explorer and she needed every inch of available space. On the way home I stopped at a tack shop and bought a fifteen foot long horse lead that the clerk told me wouldn’t break. I felt a little better.

No one seeing Sweetie for the first time could have known what I did; that despite her huge, intimidating size she was still a pup. Her rapid and unexplainable growth didn’t diminish her playfulness. She was always ready to run or fetch a tennis ball and her affectionate nature never wavered. From the day I’d brought her home from the shelter I encouraged her to be by my side. That first night she’d slept on the bed beside me but as she grew it got harder and harder for the two of us to be comfortable. It was a king-size bed but she took up most of it. One night while I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth she jumped up on the bed and the frame buckled under her weight. The windows were open and I wondered if the neighbors had heard the crash. After that she spent her nights sleeping on a mattress on the floor.

We’d developed a little ritual. Every evening when I got home from work she’d hear my car pulling into the garage and greet me excitedly at the kitchen door. I’d reach over, put my arms around her huge neck and she’d kiss my face. I’d talk to her and ask her about her day and she’d make squeaky little sounds that I swear were her end of the conversation. That was the fun part of the ritual. The not so fun part happened when I’d walk into the living room to check for damage. She just couldn’t help the fact she was so large and even her normal movements through the house seemed to bring some kind of problem, a broken piece of pottery or a lamp knocked on to the floor. A simple wag of her tail could lead to trouble. It led me to clearing off tables and any shelf or surface below five feet.

By late October Sweetie’s growth seemed to have stopped and I felt relieved that I wouldn’t have to deal with any more new collars or bigger bags of dog food. Her head was as high as my chest and she was heavy enough to make me stumble when she’d bump up against me. The veterinarian had no explanation for her size and said he’d never seen anything quite like my big little girl. But she was healthy and we’d developed a bond that made it possible for me to overlook the downside of owning a dog that huge.

With the change in the weather I knew I’d have to find a solution for the lack of a doggy door. There was no way I could keep the patio door open when the temperature dropped so I grabbed my phone and called my contractor friend for another look at the problem. I didn’t need to see the expression on his face because the tone of his voice made it clear he was more than surprised by my problem. When he walked into the kitchen and saw Sweetie standing there with her big tail wagging he stopped dead in his tracks. ”Holy cow, is that the same dog?”

I could see that he was afraid to come any further into the room. “Don’t worry, Dan, she’s a big baby. Sweetie, do you remember Dan?” She walked slowly toward him and her wagging tail seemed to calm his nerves. He patted her head and then scratched her under her chin. “Okay, you’re her friend now and she probably won’t leave you alone.”

While Sweetie watched every move Dan took some measurements and photos and sketched an idea on his note pad. We decided on fabricating a custom size doggy door between the kitchen and garage and then another one in the garage that would open to the patio. It would mitigate the weather problem and still give Sweetie an easy way to get in and out. A very expensive way in and out.

Just before Thanksgiving both of my boys had called to check on details for their visits back home to see me. I was excited for the chance to introduce Sweetie to the family in person. I’d texted them a few photos of her and they knew she was big but it was my son, Brad, who’d learned a lot more about just how big she was. I was in the kitchen looking out the window at Sweetie romping around our pee-damaged lawn when he called me for the second time. “Dad, I forgot to tell you something. It looks like your new dog is an internet sensation.”

It took me a few seconds to grasp what he’d said. “What do you mean a sensation?”

“Well, some people from that dog park you go to took photos of her and posted them on Instagram and Facebook. One guy even made a video of her and labeled it “Dog or Bear?” in his comments.”

I walked over to the counter and turned on my laptop. Brad guided me on where to find the posts and when the photos came up on my screen I didn’t exactly know how to feel. The comments weren’t mean but it seemed that a whole lot of people were fascinated by my big little girl. I’d known early on that her size was unusual because people had stared at her every time we left the house. A woman from California commented “She’s huge but I’d still love to give her a hug.” A man in Georgia said, “Wow, I’d love to turn her into a big, big hunting dog.” And my favorite one was from a man in Michigan. He said, “She ought to be in commercials.” Brad told me he’d send me anything else he came across online and as he was hanging up he said, “Dad, you should think about that idea of her doing commercials.”

I went online to my little-used Facebook page and posted a dozen photos of Sweetie. By Thanksgiving Day the number of shares and comments had reached almost two hundred. When the boys and their wives arrived they kept Sweetie busy in the yard and she was always at someone’s side. I could see she was finally part of a family.

Despite all of the chatter on social media I was still shocked when a week later a man contacted me on Messenger. He ran an advertising agency and handled the promotions for Bear Creek Brewing Company, a local brewery that marketed their beer throughout the western United States. He’d seen the online buzz about Sweetie including my Facebook post. According to him my dog was being considered for the labels of a new series of beers called Bear Dog Ales and would be the new face of the brewery. As he put it, “Your dog is the perfect mix of male strength and female cuteness.”

As I stood there trying to take it all in Sweetie walked into the room. She was still my huge, lovable dog but I confess I saw something more now. I reached over, stroked the top of her head and said, “My big little girl is going to be a celebrity.”