| Welcoming Your New Puppy We got 6 month old Max one June. My wife Sue called me at the office and told me she had bought Max “because Jess and Patrick fell in love with him, BUT if I didn’t think it was a good idea, they would take him back tomorrow. The kennel had made that guarantee.” So, even though I never would have thought to buy a dog for two adolescents (we already had our cat Olivia), I certainly could not play the heavy and force them to return Max. I’m sure I would have been forgiven eventually, but it would have been a cold, cold July and August (despite the notoriously hot Chicago summers). Max was a toy Pomeranian and the reason they call them toys is because, well, they look like toys, stuffed toys. Cute, small, not real breathing animals. Not unlike those wind up dogs that are so cute and entertaining for kids. It was almost like this is what you get when you want a trial run to see if you’re ready for a real dog. But, they are real dogs. Miniature versions, true, but dogs in every way. With the same urges and needs as a full sized German Shepherd, Doberman Pincher or Collie. But trusting a ten year old to properly raise a puppy is like giving a newly elected president the keys to a nuclear device. They simply are not ready for that kind of responsibility WITHOUT SUPERVISION. And in all my ignorance, I thought Jess (being the oldest) would assume total responsibility and Max would become the perfect dog. Shame on me! Jess gave Max all the attention and love any dog had a right to assume, but did she fulfill any of the responsibilities required of ownership? Like: training and grooming? ‘fraid that was not the case. From the get-go, Max was given free rein to do as he pleased. And from Max’s point of view, that meant our home was his oyster! But what Max lacked in intelligence (as a close friend pointed out, he had four gray cells, two of which were shut down at all times) he made up for in enthusiasm. Max could be sleeping on his back on the couch, legs pointed to the ceiling, apparently dead to the world, and when anyone would come in the door, he would immediately come alive, jump off the couch, run to the door and greet you like you had come to rescue him from the electric chair. It didn’t matter how long you had been gone, hours or days, he always dashed to the door to give your life meaning! And could he dance? He would get up on his hind legs and dance the jig, panting and whining, his tongue hanging down like a pink necktie, until you picked him up and pulled him to your face and hugged him (or kissed him as the kids were likely to do). Once, returning from an out of town trip of several days, I got home around eight at night and when I came in through the garage door, the whole family excited to see me came running and screaming Daddy’s home, Daddy’s home. Max also dashed to greet me, jumping up and down, dancing around whimpering with excitement. I dropped my bags and bent down and picked him up by the chest and held him straight out from me, and while smiling broadly, I said, “Max, boy, did you miss me?” And in his excitement he peed a perfect yellow stream up and down my new, and I thought, rather classy red and blue stripped tie. What a welcome home, Dad! I did decide to give the tie the heave-ho.
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