There have been tons of people losing their homes to foreclosure. In the former homeowners’ quest to find a new place to live, many are unable to rent a place where dogs are accepted.
I’ve not been a dog person. Not since I was a kid and didn’t know better. We had little yippy Pekinese dogs when I was growing up and as an adult, my lifestyle and homelife did not fit with having a stinky dog around. Every time I would pet someone’s dog, I’d smell my hand afterward to see how stinky it was after touching the mutt. My only lasting experiences with dogs were when I visited a friend’s house as a teenager and the roommate’s Doberman bit my crotch and then years later when I dog-sat a couple big dogs who took the liberty of peeing on my carpet and scratching up my deck with their claws. I’d been dog-averse ever since.
My most recent bout with a pooch was a few months ago when a family member needed help and could no longer keep his pit bull-terrier in his condo. In hindsight, I should have asked my husband if it was okay first but a dog needed to be rescued, so it was a gut reaction to just take care of him. I picked up “Cisco” and that pooch jumped right up in the car as if it was his rightful place to be chauffered around. It was a challenge having him. Our work schedule at the time was such that we were not home very much at all and by the time we got home late at night, that poor guy was so starved for attention that he’d jump all over us! It took a bit of time each night to calm him down. After a few days, we decided to put him in our front courtyard and I asked my husband if he’s concerned about the dog digging up the plants. He insisted “No, that breed is not a digger.”
Surprise-surprise! He was indeed a digger!
So, the Prissy Girl’s Guide to Adopting a Big Dog. I am the Prissy Girl, in case clarity is necessary. Tomorrow I’ll post the first step in opening oneself up to having a dog…