Rescue

As of last night my parents’ one dog household became a two dog household. And it’s all because of this little guy.

“Peetie,” as he is currently being called (though that will hopefully change, fingers crossed), is a Maltese Shih-Tzu mix, a Mal-shi, as I hear they are called, though I think Shit-ese is a better name and has WAY more comedy potential. He was rescued from a woman’s home, a woman who bought the dog and then realized the whole having a dog thing was more than she could handle. Because we all know that happens sometimes. Luckily, it’s a lot easier to find someone to take a little 4 lb dog off your hands than to say, give back the baby at the hospital. Or decide you married the wrong person. Or something.

The best part of the whole thing is that my father started it. My father, the one who despite being a dog lover, is usually the first one to put the kibosh on things like getting your ears pierced, Play-Doh/magic markers in the kitchen, Nerds candy in the car (“It will get ground into the carpeting!”), and of course, new pets. But Kramer, the Family Dog of Awesomeness, is nearing the end, and they fear he might be on the verge of kidney failure.

Kramer and my family have been through a slew of medical problems. And even though my mother still cannot give him his shots which he gets before every meal, and the costs of his medical visits and prescriptions are high, it will be a very sad time when he’s no longer around. I try not to think about the fact that each time I visit home, which isn’t too often these days, it might be the last time I see the little guy.

Moving on before the waterworks begin and I drown the keyboard.

I know my mother is excited yet skeptical of who will actually take care of the dog. Newsflash to Mom: IT WILL BE YOU. She has always wanted a small dog and was leaning toward Yorkshire Terriers before they got Kramer, a Bichon Frisé who turned out to be a mutant 20+ pound dog. Because of work schedules, my mother is the one who everyday takes Kramer, aka Helen Keller, who is blind and deaf, into the store where she works. HK doesn’t do much except for lie underneath her desk and rarely bothers customers. But a nine week old puppy? One can only guess how this is all going to turn out.

I think this is good for my family. I will try not to snicker too loudly when I hear all of the puppy horror stories.

I talked to my mother this morning and she may already have buyer’s remorse. “He pooped three times by the back door,” she said, to which I replied that since coming home (from my eleven hour work day), I had already cleaned up four piles of poop around the house, so I still had her beat. I don’t think that was much comfort.