Pure Joy (13 page)

I think, as with anything else, you need to know how much you can take on. Can you afford a second dog? Do you want to? Dogs can be expensive in today’s world, grooming, boarding
if you go away, their basic needs, and the vet for checkups, vaccinations, and particularly if they get sick. Do you have the time and energy for another dog? I have enough of both for another dog—that doesn’t mean it’s right, but I know I could manage it, which leads me into deep waters at times.

Sometimes the decision about whether to get a second dog is decided by the breed. Dogs of some breeds do better on their own, while others are one-man dogs and would be seriously unhappy to have a rival for your attention. Or it could make your first dog aggressive or depressed. Certain breeds have known traits, which it’s worth learning about. Years ago I almost adopted a dog whom my vet advised me was of a breed that would almost certainly try to kill my other dogs. Needless to say, I didn’t adopt him. So you really do need to know about the breed and how they respond to other dogs. And to children, if you have kids. Some breeds are more child-friendly than others.

Minnie seems ecstatically happy on her own. She is one happy little dog, and everyone in her entourage adores her, and she knows it. She has a terrific life. Griffs are known to be happy in pairs or more and seem happy with each other, like my four Griffs. They seem content to be in a “pack.” But for now, Minnie is more of an only child.

So I have to leave your decision of a second or third dog
up to your own wisdom and knowledge of yourself and your circumstances. I’m sure you’ll make the right decision. After you weigh the pros and cons, listen to your heart. But if you want advice about whether to have a ninth child, be sure to call me (and the answer will be yes!). As for a second or third dog—that’s up to you.

Nick’s beloved dog Molly
J. M. Reed

Dogs have personalities, just like people, and sometimes when an adorable puppy grows up, the adult dog they turn into just isn’t a match with us. Or they have some really unfortunate trait that makes living with them from difficult to impossible.

It helps to know the traits of the breed—they may not always hold true, but often they do. And being well informed about the breed you’re buying, or finding out from a breeder if possible what the personalities of the parents of the puppy are like, can be important. In a world where romantic relationships can be a challenge, sometimes a successful match with your dog as it grows up can be challenging or disappointing
too. And when that happens, then what? What do you do?

We’ve had some dog mismatches in our family, which ranged from the ridiculous to the tragic, in one case. The most obvious reason for a mismatch is if a dog is dangerous in some way, either to you or to your kids, or even to others, but most mismatches aren’t that extreme. Some can be worked out and some just can’t, again like people. There are some people you can spend a week on vacation with, or a weekend, and hope you never see them again. Some dogs leave you feeling that way too. Or sometimes a dog can work out well and then no longer be the right fit when circumstances in the family change.

My beloved basset Elmer turned out to be one of those in the long run. As I mentioned earlier, once Maude joined us, he was a lot doggier and a lot less fun. And I kept them both for years. But once I had a baby in the house again, the combination just didn’t work. A basset hound is essentially a big dog on very short legs, which puts them face to face with a very small child. Elmer was a seventy-pound dog, with big jaws and big teeth, and a sweet nature. He paid no attention to the baby when it came along, but once my son was walking around the kitchen at a year old, and waving a slice of salami
or bologna in Elmer’s face, he was not quite as sweet and would snatch it from the toddler’s hand in one gulp, something like
Jaws
. And it turned out Maude never liked kids and had tried to bite more than one. So it became dangerous to have them in the house with a toddler. And we found a home for them in the country with a family with older kids. It worked out well for all concerned, Elmer and Maude were happy there, and I was relieved. No mishap had taken place, but it could have easily.

For a very brief time, I also had a rescue dog, a black Labrador named Betsey, who was friendly and exuberant and loved everyone.
Exuberant
was the operative word. She had some kind of latent, or not so latent, hunting gene, and her greatest thrill was spotting my then five-year-old daughter, wagging her tail furiously, and then leaping on her and pinning her to the ground, barking ecstatically, showing me what she’d “caught,” and keeping my daughter there, facedown, until I arrived to congratulate Betsey on her prize. I couldn’t break her of the habit, even after countless friendly introductions to my daughter, who wasn’t terrified of her but got tired of lying facedown on the ground while Betsey stood on her and barked with glee. I decided to give up early and found the Lab another home quickly, before we got attached to her, and
once again it was a home with older kids, not young ones. She couldn’t knock them down!

Sometimes a dog can be wonderful but just not a match for you, in terms of their habits and needs. And some dogs do better on their own, while others are happy in a group of other dogs. Once again like people, some are loners or meant to be only children, while others are more sociable and team players. At one point we got a beautiful white Maltese, who had a sweet disposition and made it clear that she did not like being part of a group of dogs. She had unlimited energy. In fact, she was turbocharged and had a lot in common with the Energizer Bunny. To make her feel special, and give her some extra attention and alone time, I would keep her in my office, on her own, while I was writing. My other dogs, when given that opportunity, would look at me with drooping eyelids and, deciding that it was all very boring, in ten minutes or less were sound asleep. I had named the little Maltese Faith, and my hours of typing only seemed to rev her engines to an alarming degree. She would start out on jet speed and get busier and wilder through the day. First she’d chew through all the electrical wires. Then she’d wipe out the phone. After that, she’d bounce around the furniture, gnawing cushions, make a bold stretch toward the bookcase and eat my books. After that, she’d nibble on my toes, usually eat at least one of
my shoes, dance around to show me how cute she was, and bark at every sound. And yes, she was very cute, but after fourteen hours of typing, I’d be starting to sag in my chair, and Faith would still be looking for things to do. She was tireless, too much so for me. No matter what I did, I couldn’t wear her out, and when I sent her back to play with the other dogs, she looked unhappy. And in my office, she was distracting, and a nightmare. It took me several months to finally admit we were mismatched. I needed a dog with less energy (a
lot
less!), and I strongly suspected she needed to be an only child.

A friend of mine had lost her dog around that time and was heartbroken, missing her dog. And I think it was a Maltese too. I talked to her honestly about my experiences with Faith, that she was clearly a great dog but had too much energy for me and maybe needed to be an only dog. My friend came to meet her, and it was love at first sight. I knew the minute I saw them together that it was right. Faith went to spend a few days with her, and their romance flourished and has only deepened over time. Faith moved on to her new home, and I’ve run into my beaming friend with Faith a few times. I really guessed that one right. I’ve always liked a slightly ragtag look to my dogs, with tousled hair, and not all impeccably groomed and clipped. But once Faith made it to her new home, her beautiful
white Maltese hair was perfectly brushed. She was wearing a pink rhinestone-studded collar and leash, and when I saw her, she gave me a look that clearly said she had risen in the world and had no use for a commoner like me. She had become a princess. She strutted proudly beside her new owner, while my friend told me all the things they’d been doing together. They were an absolutely perfect match. Faith and I never were, and I’m so happy that I had the courage to say so and let her be much happier somewhere else. She never did anything “bad,” she just wasn’t right for me.

We had one very, very bad experience with a French bulldog I brought back from Paris, named Sophie. Some people are nice, others aren’t, and dogs are much the same. And some people (and dogs) are simply insane. Sophie was insane. (I wasn’t so sure about the breeder I got her from either, since he told me a few months later that a fortune teller had told him I was his long-lost mother and I should adopt him immediately. P.S., I didn’t). In any case, Sophie flung herself at anyone who walked by, barking ferociously, wanting to attack them. And the mistake I’d made in getting her came to a tragic end, when she attacked and killed the very old Brussels griffon we had, who had belonged to my late son Nick. The loss was sad for all of us. Molly was old and blind and no
match for Sophie, and it was over instantly. Sophie’s partner in crime was Tommy, a male griffon I had who, unlike my others, had never been friendly and had bitten several people over the years, and we kept him anyway. They set on Molly together. I called our vet the day it happened, and we put up both Sophie and the male griffon for adoption and sent them away the same day they attacked Molly. I didn’t want to see them again. We found good homes for both of them, where they did well separately, but after what they did, they didn’t belong with us. Nothing like it has ever happened before or since. It was a sad episode in our dog life and a very sad end for Molly.

Less dramatic, we got another French bulldog a year or so later, who arrived with giardia, a contagious illness, and had to be isolated from the other dogs for five months, to avoid infecting them. Once released from quarantine, she showed signs of aggression, and we didn’t want a repeat of the Sophie episode. Our vet adopted the French bulldog. And although many people love them, after those two experiences, I wouldn’t get a French bulldog again, but that’s just me. Others seem to do well with them.

We’ve adopted dogs successfully too, not just placed them with others. When Greta’s breeder called to tell me that her
littermate was being given up by her owner, because she (the owner) was ill and could no longer care for her, we took her immediately. Cookie spent ten happy years with us until she died at thirteen.

It’s not always easy to make the right match when you buy a puppy, or guess who they will turn out to be once they’re grown. It’s a crapshoot, like anything else in life. You do your best to make it work, but if you can’t, sometimes it’s fairer to the dog, and everyone involved, to find a home and an owner who suits them better. Not all matches are made in heaven, and sometimes it works out right the second time around. And if you are going to place a dog in another home, it’s best to be honest about what’s not working well for you. It may even be your personality, not the dog’s. Or just not the right fit. But hiding their problem traits, if they have any, will only create another mismatch. Even when we gave away Sophie and Tommy, we made full disclosure of what they’d done to my son’s dog. Both went to homes where there were no other dogs, and they never had a problem, but their new owners knew what they were getting, and why they had been wrong for us. It’s like in any relationship—being honest is essential.

In any case, if you seriously believe you have a mismatch on your hands, more than likely there is a person or
a family out there who would be thrilled to have that dog, and where even the dog would be much happier than he or she is now. Sometimes “irreconcilable differences” happen in life, even with dogs. Don’t beat yourself up over it, just try to find a solution that will work for all concerned.

Minnie in her hotel room in New York, en route from Paris to San Francisco
Victoria Traina