The Story of Dog (Continued, Yet Again)

So, even though we had thoroughly fallen in love with Rosie’s photographic image and the very idea of her, like the excitement and surreal infatuation you might feel for a stranger after a couple of martinis at a bar, I sobered up and began to think seriously and logically before making a lifelong commitment. This wasn’t just a one-night stand! I would promise to love, honor, cherish, walk, feed and provide veterinary care forever.

Rosie’s owner was pressuring me for a deposit and I was getting cold feet.

As skittish brides and bridegrooms are oft to do, I wanted to explore all my options one last time before taking that giant, irrevocable, ‘Til Death Do Us Part pledge.

I wandered upon another site of not just a Havanese breeder, but a Havanese devottee, an aficionado, a kind of a connoisseur of the Havanese.

Claudie had the most adorable litter of puppies, but they were too young to be adopted. Still, I liked her site and she was relatively local (Fresno—only 2 ½ hours drive away), so I called her. We began talking and she was so nice and friendly and knowledgeable that I ended up telling her the whole story of Rosie and all my apprehensions.

Unlike all the other breeders with whom I had communicated, her goal was not to “sell me a puppy.” Her only purpose seemed to be to make sure that I got a healthy dog that was a good match for our family, and that I realized everything that went into owning a dog in general, and a Havanese, in particular.

She insisted on sending me (at no cost to me, and at her expense even for shipping) a book about Havanese and told me to call her anytime with any questions. She was obviously in love with these dogs and was operating out of pure passion. That immediately resonated with me. My gut felt very good about Claudie.

After much agony and some tears from the children (and, ok, me, too), we decided to let Rosie go to another family and to visit Claudie and puppies the next weekend. It was a long drive from our home—an all day event—but I thought it was really important to meet the breeder and the puppies and see the environment in which they were conceived and raised.

We couldn’t have possibly asked for more. Claudie and her husband Phil were charming, fabulous and absolutely devoted to their Havanese. Claudie was a retired information technology executive and it was clear that it was her inherent love of Havanese that had led her to breed these puppies. This was no puppy mill. This was the first time she had bred her beloved Maddie and she was more protective and loving of those puppies than the best of grandmothers.

Like a cleverly arranged marriage, Claudie chose to mate Maddie with the best male her dowry could afford—Ch. Los Perritos Wee Pantaloons, a two-time U.S. champion Havanese, and, according to his Website, “The Top Producer of All Havanese in the World,” which I think means he gets to mate a lot. Not only is he a champ, but he has the best job in the world! The definition of a stud!

Daddy “Pan” (as he is known to his friends and bitches) is a spectacular-looking dog with a smile that is evident in one little puppy offspring that I know and love.

Maddie's and Pan's puppies were, without a doubt, the cutest things we had ever seen.

We stayed for over an hour, chatting and playing with the puppies and regaling Claudie and Phil with stories of our big backyard and how I was a stay-at-home mom and what a loving, responsible family we were. (I had prepared the kids to be on their best behavior. I knew in advance that we would have to take off our shoes to avoid brining in diseases to the puppies, so I made sure to inspect all socks for cleanliness, smellability factor, and the absence of pesky holes.)

All the puppies were beyond adorable, but two blond brothers, Sandy and Sunny, were notable for their sheer handsomeness and their boundless energy. After playing for about 20 minutes, the other puppies were snoozing on their sides. Sandy and Sunny were still ready to party!

Phil and my husband bonded over Sunny (Phil’s favorite) and his cute face and extreme playfulness. I’m only going to say this once, and, Thank Dog, Dog can’t read: The rest of us would have been thrilled with either Sunny or Sandy, but my husband had his heart set on Sunny. He tends to fall impossibly in love forever at first sight and I can't argue with that since it's worked to my advantage after 14+ years of marriage.

As the time of the visit came to a close, we began to say our good-byes, and, always the salesperson, I wanted to close the deal, which I assumed would be simple, since I was the customer and Claudie was the one who had the goods for sale.

“So, what’s the next step?” I asked cheerfully, completely expecting her to pressure me for a deposit to “reserve” a puppy as most breeders do.

“Well, we need to think about it and make sure that every puppy has a good match. We’ll be in touch,” Claudie said as she ushered us out the door.

I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach. Like a blind date in which I had not only gone to all the trouble of doing my hair and nails, but dragged my entire scrubbed and clean-socked family for a 5-hour round trip in which we would be summarily blown off. After seeing, holding, playing with those puppies, I couldn’t imagine that we would never be able to add one of them to our family.

My mind raced with crazy thoughts! What more could we have done? We had pretty much spent more than a decade successfully raising kids--weren't we good enough to parent a puppy? OK, maybe our ancestral linage was not World Champion. (Although my southern family tree was full of names almost as colorfully entertaining as the puppies--i.e. Davy Crocket Lockhart vs. Carousel Callie-oop.)

Maybe we had seemed too desperate. Maybe I had worn too much eyeshadow. Maybe when I wasn't looking Carson showed them how he could create a farting noise with his fist and underarm and they decided we would be a bad influence.

We walked out of their house, a little dazed and hungry, studying their directions to the Fresno Olive Garden.

About a mile down the road, I realized I had left my folder with all my puppy research at their house. We turned back and I meekly knocked on the door. Phil answered and retrieved my manila folder right away.

He liked us he said. We were a nice family. He gingerly closed the front door behind him, stepped onto the porch, glanced sideways left and right and said in a conspiratorial whisper, as if he were conducting some secret, illicit deal, “”You like the white dogs. You want one of the white dogs? Don’t worry. I’ll make it happen.”

With renewed optimism, we were on our way…

To be continued….