Good Dog. Bad Dog.

First there was him whom we know as the “Good Dog”. He is small and brown and very chihuahua-like–the antithesis of every dream I ever had of what my ideal dog would look like. He was stumbled upon online and shortly extracted from a crazy borderline-hoarder “rescue” lady. After a few days of shaking and not eating and running away from P through the streets of Solana Beach and pooping his pants out of fear, he is now the perfect little man glued to my side. He just wants food, to be loved (aka not kicked/hit/yelled at and/or generally abused), and included in the general family goings-on, in that order. He is by many accounts, including non-dog people, “the Perfect Dog.”

And then there was the search for “P’s Dog.” P (aka the boyfriend/”life partner”/tolerator of all crazy things me and dogs) envisioned his dog to be manly and thick and preferably of the Pit Bull persuasion. I am not anti-Pitt, but A) we are stuck living in condo-like living for the foreseeable future, B) we live(d) in a mostly-retiree complex surrounded by mostly seniors, and C) we were both dead set on getting a shelter/rescue dog. So after yet another failed attempt at finding a friendly rescue pit (“She’s a lovely dog, she just cant be within 100 yards of any small dogs or children or blood may be shed”) on the way out of the North County Humane Society, P spotted Forest.

“What about that one?” he pointed at a scrawny, lithe mini Dobie-looking animal dancing on its back legs while the terrier in the cage with it snarled and snapped at everything within range. Little Dobie didn’t bat an eye, just jumped up and down and licked our fingers through the chain link. For all I cared the dog could have had one leg and two heads, all that went through my mind was “It is small and its not a pit bull….” So, I probably overly enthusiastically said YES!, and we put a hold on him. We brought Diego out to meet him and got the approval (aka the cold shoulder), sent Baby Dobie off to the vet to get snipped, and picked him up to take him home.

He was wickedly skinny and really thin-skinned and was very, very different from Diego. He had this funny personality from day one indicating that he may or may not warm up to us, depending on what more interesting things may be going on in the vicinity. He had a cone on his head for a few weeks and kinda worried me just because he seemed uncomfortable. He would try to root underneath things like blankets and pillows with his cone on via this big production and effort, it made me sad and amused simultaneously. We also quickly figured out why he must have been in the shelter. He was most definitely a runner. He jumped the 3′ baby gate from a standstill out the front door with his cone on his head. Luckily when he escaped, we tended to catch up with him fairly quickly and entice him back to the homestead with treats. He was going to be a much, much more demanding dog than the little D.

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