My last column was a tribute to my mother's miniature French poodle. Jasper had lived with us for nearly 14 years and had given all who met him great pleasure; he was a dog who produced smiles even among the most stoic.
A few weeks ago, it was time for us to say goodbye. Jasper wasn't having fun anymore.
Many people, when losing cherished pets, choose to wait a very long time to bring another one home.
That is not our philosophy here. At least, it isn't mine. I would wish for a puppy or kitten to jump into one's arms the moment a long-loved pet departs. Because my thoughts on this issue prevail, the search began.
Mom needs a companion who depends on her. And Bailey Mutt, the house canine patrol, had to have a buddy; he was very sad.
The search was not an easy process. We went to the Humane Society twice and made out a wish list (Bailey had come from the Tucson Humane Society shelter). They had nothing acceptable this time. I read the classifieds in the Star every day, and had a few promising calls.
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Our wishes were rather daunting. We wanted a female, something small enough for Mom to hold. We would have liked a dog older than puppyhood, but not much. House-trained would be spiffy, but we were told that any dog left in a facility is likely to forget any training.
We had many false starts, and we began to despair. We considered paying for a purebred from a reputable breeder. Since acquiring Bailey, however, the thought of allowing a perfectly fine (Bailey — fine? Lovable, yes.) dog to die — while thousands are being raised for profit — rankled me. Don't get me wrong: I adore purebreds and have had enough of my own to appreciate them.
I have a neighbor who is a dog trainer. She had suggested going to Pima Animal Care Center on the West Side. I had resisted, because it's an hour from here. She told me we'd see many dogs, many purebreds and many strays. We went.
My goodness, aisle after aisle of dogs and pups! One little blue lady caught my attention. I asked if anyone could answer some questions. A gentleman said he could.
I asked him what that tiny thing he was holding in his arms might be. He replied that she was just a little stray terrier, about a year old. He said he'd taken her out for her exercise, and she was obedient and came when called.
Let me tell you, this was one dirty little dog, but with a face and eyes that would make a vampire cry. She weighed less than 10 pounds.
I checked her teeth and gums. Perfect. I checked her undersides and determined she'd had a litter. Poor thing. No identification, and her dirty coat defied knowing what color she might be. I said, "We'll take her."
We were told the little lady would be ready to come home after being spayed and microchipped by 4 p.m. that day. We double-checked that time frame, as it's a long drive, and we have other animals at home. We left home at 3 p.m. in nasty traffic, towels in hand.
Daisy was NOT ready at 4. She would not be ready until late the next morning!
This meant a total of six hours on the road. (I considered calling this "Driving for Miss Daisy.") I do believe some ears might still be ringing at Animal Care.
Bailey and Daisy love each other, thank the Fates. She is one of the happiest dogs on the planet.
We were able to bathe her and comb her yesterday; she's a fuzzy blonde, and matches Bailey perfectly.
The stats is still out on her breed. Everything from miniature wire-haired terrier, Cairn terrier and Norfolk have been proposed.
One thing's for certain: She's never going to weigh more than about 13 pounds. Oh, yes, and she's loved and loving.
Welcome home, Miss Daisy.
