One year, I decided to do the "purebred puppy" thing.
It was 2004, and I'd adopted four adult dogs throughout the dozen years since breaking up with my boyfriend. Three were still with me, but I knew the 15yo poodle was down to her final months. I felt that I was ready to deal with a puppy for my next dog, and if I got a puppy I wanted to know what it would grow into. Plus, I was intrigued by the idea of a registered purebred.
The question was, what kind of dog to get? I wanted something around 20-25 pounds, that got along with other dogs, and preferably was short haired so I wouldn't have yet another dog that needed professional grooming. I read books on dog breeds, watched dog programs on TV, strongly considered various breeds in turn, only to find out that there weren't any breeders in my area for that particular breed, and/or that puppies cost thousands of dollars.
In June, I had a dream that I had a female tri-colored Beagle puppy named Shasta. A beagle was definitely on my list of breeds to consider -- what's more, they were popular enough to cost only a few hundred dollars, rather than a few thousand. So, okay, my new puppy would be a beagle. Decision made. My 15yo poodle was still with me, so I was trying to resist the temptation to explore beagle breeders in my area, as I didn't want a household with four dogs, since three adults already kept me plenty busy. I also had a strong hankering to take a road trip, which I hadn't done in many years. Maybe I'd take a four-day weekend to Oklahoma, which was one of few western states I'd never visited. At that time, I was also exchanging emails at least once a week with friend from Sentinel fandom, a 50+yo woman, Sandy, who lived outside of Chicago, and she was a dog lover who was enjoying hearing about my mulling over what to get for a puppy. She and her husband had lost their beloved Cairn terriers years before, and while they did pet sitting and such for neighbors, they'd never thought about getting a new dog for themselves.
Finally, my restlessness was so great that I decided to call some local beagle breeders, just to check things out. Turned out, almost nobody returned my calls. Then I got a hold of one guy who said there was a big beagle show that weekend in Greeley, so I shouldn't expect to hear from anyone until the following week. He himself had an upcoming litter of puppies, but they already had interested buyers. I thought I'd try calling around again the next weekend, and in the meantime get the restlessness out of my system by taking a road trip.
But first, I looked at surrounding states for beagle breeders. Long story short, there ended up being a large breeder who had a litter of 8-wk old puppies available. They sent me a picture of a super cute girl that was black-and-white because, as they explained, she would "brown out" as she got older. They said that it felt like she had some kind of hernia opening that would need to be repaired, and could be done when she was spayed. She cost $500. Their location? About an hour away from the suburb of Chicago where my friend Sandy lived.
So, all of a sudden, in that wonderful way the universe works, everything came together. Despite it being a fourth dog, I could kill three birds with one stone: Buy my new puppy, take a road trip, and get to meet my friend Sandy. She and her husband were eager to have me stay with them when I was in the area, and go with me to get the new puppy, which I would name Shasta. (Her registered name, I had decided, would be [kennel name] War Bonnet, because she had a dark spot within the white at the top of her head.)
So, I drove through Nebraska and Iowa, and arrived the afternoon of the second day at Sandy's house. The next morning, we drove out to the kennel, which was out in a woodsy area and could be heard as we approached. Beagles all over, in various kennels, and running free, baying and barking. We spent well over an hour there, as the woman discussed what an ideal beagle was where Shasta met all the characteristics -- tri-color, white tip on her tale, mascara eyes... Plus, filled out all the many, many papers required from a breeder and for registration. Then Shasta was put in the carrier I brought and away we went, with Shasta screeching at the top of her lungs in protest. Sandy and her husband were quick to assure not to worry about the noise, or any messes she made in their house before we left the following morning.
Sandy and I took Shasta to a local vet to make sure she didn't have anything wrong with her, beyond the disclosed hernia. Then we took her to Petsmart to buy some things. There, we saw a woman with a sleeping beagle puppy in her arms. She said he was 5 months old, and he was all browned out. I found it hard to imagine that Shasta could ever be that large. Later, we decided to get pizza for dinner, and Sandy's husband assured us that he was fine watching [doting over] Shasta while we drove to the pizza place. Thus, I wasn't at all surprised when, weeks later, he brought home a Cairn terrier puppy to Sandy, and they were once again dog owners, and have since adopted some Cairns and are very active with the national Cairn rescue group.
I started back home the next morning with Shasta in her carrier in the backseat. The howling got so bad that I decided to risk letting her be loose in the car, placing her in the passenger seat next to me. That worked out pretty well, though she occasionally dropped down to the floorboard, and would immediately want back up, so I'd have to lean over to scoop her up and place her in the seat. At the busy rest stops, all the restrooms had signs that said, "No pets allowed." No way was I leaving Shasta in the car in the June summer heat, so I always took her in the restroom with me. No one complained. She got "oohed" and "aahed" over plenty.
The night at Sandy's and the night we spent at a pet friendly motel, Shasta slept snuggled up to me. I had thought that one of the big advantages of taking such a long trip home was that we would become well bonded. Little did I know that, once we arrived home, there was another who would own Shasta's heart.
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