Bondi

           I’ve been praying for a new pup to come into our life for months now. Mike thought he’d like to have a Blue Heeler but they start at twelve-hundred dollars!

“I don’t want to spend twelve-hundred for a dog,” I told my husband Mike. “I want one of those free ones.” I don’t have to have a pedigreed dog to love it. I’ve been watching the roadside for that illusionary box of puppies I was going to find and I’ve been watching the newspaper.

          “How about a shelter?” you say.

          Our shelter isn’t too bad on their adoption fees, a hundred twenty-five or around there. But other shelters can be twice that. I suggested we stop and check it out every time we went past but Mike wasn’t ready for a dog.

Then I got a phone call.

          “Peg, are you guys looking for a dog?” Donna asked.

          I was immediately excited. After losing Itsy and Ginger last year, I was ready for a new pup. “I want a dog,” I stated.

          “Someone dumped one off here a few days ago. He’s a nice dog. Fixed, housebroken, obeys commands like sit, stay, shake, lay down. We went all up and down the road looking for his owner but no one’s lost a dog. We even called the campground in case he ran away from there during the fireworks. And no one claims him.”

          “If he’s so nice, why don’t you keep him?” I wanted to know.

          “Liability. He’s really good when people come in the store. He’s not aggressive and doesn’t jump up on them, but our insurance would still go up,” Donna explained. “And Aaron (their son) already has two dogs at home.”

          I convinced Mike to drive out and look at him. The dog was calm when we walked in and just sniffed us. One of the guys showed us the tricks he does and how well he listens. His temperament suited us so we took him home. In the car, he laid down on the back seat and seemed to doze off. “We could call him Dozer,” I suggested.

          We no sooner get in the house then Dozer is marking the cat litter box as his, the cat bed is his, too, and so is every post and tree in the yard.

          “Peg, I just can’t handle him marking everything,” Mike confessed.

          Luckily, Aaron said there was no commitment. If it didn’t work for us, I could take him back.

          As soon as I pulled in the parking lot at the auto salvage yard, Dozer knew he was home. He trotted right up to the door and as soon as he was inside, laid down at Aaron’s feet.

          I was only a little sad because I knew I could love him, but he was really strong and it would’ve been hard for this old woman to control him.

            Unfortunately, if they can’t find him a home, they’ll have to call the animal control officer.

          The very next day, the Kipps stopped on their morning walk and we talked about the dog.

          “When I asked God to bring me a dog, I guess I forgot to say a female dog!” I told the Kipps. Then I remembered something. “The shelter got a bunch of dogs in from a shelter in North Carolina. It came up on Facebook.”

          A few polite “Oh’s?” were mumbled around the table. So, I threw out the hook. “Yeah. And one was a little female Heeler.”

          Mike perked up but let the conversation move on as we speculated why our county was getting dogs from somewhere else. But it wasn’t long until Mike brought the conversation back.

          “They’ve got a female Heeler?” he asked.

          I grinned. “Yep.”

          “What’s she look like?”

          I didn’t really know how to describe her and to be honest, I didn’t spend much time looking at her. After the debacle with Dozer, Mike said he really wasn’t ready for another dog, so I wasn’t really shopping. “I don’t know. I’ll show you later.”

          After the Kipps left, I pulled up the picture on my computer and neither of us thought she looked much like a Blue Heeler. “Maybe she’s mixed,” I suggested.

Mike knew I wanted a dog. “Let’s go look at her.”

It was Saturday, my traditional start-my-letter-blog day, but I was willing to give up my time to have a new baby to love.  

          “Can I help you?” Bobbi asked when we walked in the door.

          “You got any Yorkies?” I asked because that’s what I truly want.

          “No, but I do have some Chiweenies.”

          “Chiweenies?” I asked.

          “The mom was a Chihuahua and the dad was a Dachshund. They call them weenie dogs so it’s a Chiweenie,” she explained.  

          She led us to a back room that held a bunch of kennels.

          “Are you ready to see some cuteness?” Bobbi asked and presented the kennel that held all those prancing, wiggling little bodies. They tried to steal my heart immediately but I held on to it tight.

          “It has to be a female,” I said.

          “There are two females,” she said and there went my heart. “That one right there and the runt, over there,” she pointed out.

          “Aww. They’re so cute!” I gushed.

          Bobbi opened the door and out poured all these precious little brothers and sisters. They all vied for our attention. I handed Mike the runt, a buff-brown pup with a black stripe down her back and a black tail, then I helped Bobbi herd the boys back into the kennel. Every time we put one in, one would come out. After four tries we got them all in and she flipped the latch into place. I sat down on the floor with the other little girl, an all-brown one. She was full of energy and raced around me, wiggled under my leg and up into my lap, climbed my chest and showered me with kisses. She was picking me. I was in love. While I played with her, Mike was talking with Bobbi.

“Whenever we have room, we take dogs from kill shelters,” she said. “These pups only had two more days to live.”

I glanced at Mike and the runt just sat calmly in his arms as he stroked her. “This one,” he says.

          “I like this one,” I say.

          “Take them both,” Bobbi says.

          “No! One!” Mike was firm.

          “Okay.” I was thankful to be getting one. I got up and gave Bobby the pup I was playing with and we did the paperwork on the runt.

          They gave us a toy as a parting gift from the shelter. “She likes this one,” Bobbi said and I accepted the ball with a string through it.

          I held her on the ride home. She snuggled up and rested her head on my shoulder. “We’re bonding over here,” I told Mike. “We could call her Bonny. You know, bonding, Bonny? I think it means attractive or beautiful in Ireland. She’s a bonny lass.”

          “How about Bondi?”

          I considered it. “If the Irwin’s can call their daughter Bindi, I guess we could call our dog Bondi.”

          We stopped at the Kipps to introduce them to our new family member.

          “Aww! She’s so adorable!” Miss Rosie said as I handed her over. We stood and discussed names for a few minutes. “When I saw her, I thought of Buffy.”

          “People might think of Buffy the Vampire Slayer if you name her that,” Lamar said as he stood by and patiently waited for his turn to love on her.

          “Well, she’s so adorable, how about Dori?” When I didn't say anything she went on. "You think about it. Whatever you choose is fine by me."

          “Rosie, are you gonna let Lamar hold her?” I asked.

          “Not if I don’t have to,” she said but surrendered her so Lamar could have a chance to love on her.

          On the way home, I thought of Miss Rosie’s suggestions. I really liked Dori because she truly is an adorable little pup.

          And I called her Dori all day.

My time is no longer my own. Puppies need almost constant attention and time to play. I knew I wasn’t going to get much blogging done but that wouldn’t be the end of the world.

          I took Dori out in the yard with her new toy and we played. 

          I’d throw it, she’d bring it back—after she killed it. She chews the ropes and shakes the stuffing out of it. I have to tell you, this is a novelty for me. Neither Itsy nor Ginger had any interest in playing with toys at all, not even when they were pups. But I never threw out any of the toys I’d bought for them so Dori is all set, if I can remember where I’ve stored them, that is.

          Halfway through the day, I was rethinking calling her Dori. I really, really like that it’s short for Adorable, however, it’s also the name of a fish. A fish that was voiced over by Ellen DeGeneres. She’s okay as a talk show host, but I keep remembering some stand-up that I saw her do where she just kept talking and talking until people finally laughed. Whether it was because they thought she was funny or because it was out of embarrassment for her, I don’t know. But about the only time I see her show is if I turn the TV on early for the news. She’s not my favorite person.

          I was a teensy bit nervous about how the cats would take her. Tiger kills things bigger than her two pounds and so does Spitfire. Dori approached Tiger like a submissive dog would, down low, but Tiger doesn’t speak dog, took one whiff of her, and bolted.

        Dori thought that was fun and gave chase—her ears flop when she runs—but she wouldn’t go far, and the planter was too far. It didn’t take Tiger long to figure out how far she’d chase him so he’d hide and when she wasn’t looking, he’d sneak closer.

          This was just as much fun for me as for the critters and I’d get up and walk a little farther into the yard so Tiger was in range and Dori would chase him around the flower pot. When I’d go sit on the patio, Dori came with me. I’d throw her ball for her and after a bit, Tiger would slink closer and closer until she saw him and the chase was on again. Eventually, Tiger got to where he’d race past her and climb one of the posts supporting the awning. When he was sure Dori saw him, he’d jump down and run, and of course, she gave chase.

          Then Tiger came up and hid in my Gladiolus, watching us play. “Where’s Tiger?” I’d ask Dori and keep repeating the phrase as I showed her where Tiger was.   

          Then the Glads became a play spot for the next half hour as the game continued.

          Needless to say, I wasn’t getting any writing done.

           “What are you going to do with her tonight?” Mike asked. “Put her in a kennel?”

          “No. She’d really cry then. I’m going to let her sleep with us.” I had it in mind to put her on a short leash knowing she wouldn’t mess where she sleeps. Hopefully she’d whine and I’d wake up. That was my plan.

          “Are you going to diaper her?”

          “I hadn’t thought of that. That’s a great idea.” I found Itsy’s diapers and shirts and diapered her as best as I could. She settled in the bed between our pillows. When she changed position, she walked right out of the diaper and onesie. I redressed her. She was not happy.

Midnight. I’m awaked by Mike.

          “Peg.”

          I came instantly awake. “What?”

          “She’s walking around up by my head.”

         Dori had shimmied out of her diaper and onesie a second time. I got up and took her out and she peed. We got tucked back in and I caught a hint of a poopy smell. “Me, too,” Mike said.

          Trying not to disturb Mike any more than I had to, I got the flashlight and searched the bed. “She must’ve just farted ‘cause I can’t find anything.” I settled down and Dori slept on my pillow between my shoulder and neck.

          Sunday morning, I kept seeing a fish with Ellen’s voice every time I called her Dori. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t get past it. I knew I had to talk to Mike.

          He’s gonna be mad, I thought. He told me to pick a name and stick to it. But it’s only been one day, I justified. Surely, he understands it takes longer than a day to settle on a name.

          “I want to change it to Bondi,” I told him after I got my nerve up.

          Mike didn’t seem upset with me and said, “Whatever you want.”

          So now when I say her name, I won’t think of Ellen DeGeneres or a fish anymore. I won’t even think of her as my bonding buddy when I call her Bondi. Now I think of Bond. James Bond. She’s my Bond girl. Y’all can think it’s a stupid name. I thought it was a stupid name when I first heard it but it’s grown on me and I like it now. Names like Sugar and Honey and Baby and Dog and Sissy and Missy have all been overdone. Our unique little girl needs a unique name, and Mike picked it for her.

          As of this morning, Bondi’s met all of the cats. Spitfire swatted her hard and so did Callie. Now she’s a bit more wary when she approaches any of the cats.

          Smudge could take or leave her.

          Macchiato. That old blind cat of ours. Bondi tried to snuggle with him. She stepped across his back as he lay on the bed and snaked up under his chin and laid down, but he wasn’t having any of that. He hissed and got up and ran.

           I have more stories and photos to show you but I think this is all I’ll write today.

          Let’s call this one done.