Foolish Me

For the first time in many months, my house was calm and peaceful. We’d just given up a rambunctious puppy and were down to one dog, my cute little twenty pound Labradoodle, Vincent. But I was still itching to replace my precious Lucille whom I’d lost to cancer the previous summer. So, despite the many obstacles, including a scammer who ghosted me and my subsequent revenge plot against her, my quest to find a new dog continued.

A FOUR-PART SERIES, BASED ON A TRUE STORY

originally published in January 2023 on nicolejeffords.com

Part I: Foolish Me

Vincent

For the first time in many months, my house was calm and peaceful. We’d just given up a rambunctious puppy and were down to one dog, a cute little twenty pound Labradoodle whom I’d bought to cheer myself up in 2015 after my sister died. His name was Vincent and now he was an only dog, nervous, neurotic and clingy, never wanting to let me out of his sight. Clearly he needed company and so I began to focus on getting another dog, a large, droopy-lipped, fluffy dog because I was dead set on replacing the beloved, twelve-year-old Newfie I’d lost to lymphoma the previous summer.

My goal was to find a mature dog, not a puppy, and that’s hard to come by in the world of Newfoundlands.

A friend located a magnificent ten-month-old Landseer (a black & white Newfie) on Craigslist and I immediately began to communicate with its owner, a woman who lived in Pearland on the far side of Houston, easily a three to four hour drive. We set a date to meet in Sealy, mattress capital of the USA, which was (sort of) halfway between our two houses.

The day before we were supposed to meet, however, something came up: I had to help one of my daughters find a new rental house as she was breaking up with her boyfriend and needed a place to live. I texted the dog’s owner, asking if she was cool with changing plans, and she said yes, so we agreed to meet the following weekend. In the meanwhile, she’d been answering a lot of questions about the dog.

Was he calm?

“Yes, extremely.”

Did he like to cuddle?

“Yes, all the time.”

Was he good with kids? Other dogs?

“Definitely.”

Maxwell, the Landseer in Pearland

What I learned was, he was crate-trained, was good on a leash, was housebroken, loved car rides, was perhaps overly affectionate – one of those dogs who’d push a book out of your lap because he wanted to be petted.

I wanted him.

Part II: Foolish Me

I was determined to overcome any obstacles in order to get Maxwell, the ten-month-old Landseer I’d located in Houston, but the gods were against me. A few days before I was to meet the dog, my little Labradoodle, Vini, began to display symptoms of being unwell. He curled himself into a tiny ball and refused to move, huddling in a corner and trembling all over. I wasn’t sure what was wrong with him, but noticed he was favoring his left foreleg and was actually limping. So I took him to the vet.

First they told me the leg was sprained, and to give him a few days. When Vini continued to limp several days later, I sent him back to the vet who took X-rays and announced it was a slipped disc in his neck. This would take a while to heal and would require steroids. Clearly, I couldn’t bring a new puppy into the house, so I contacted Maxwell’s owner, asking if I could postpone the pickup till Vini was back to his old self, which would take a week or two. She was agreeable. The pickup was set for the 30th; we’d touch base the day before. Meanwhile, I put a $500 deposit on Maxwell.

Time passed. It took three weeks, steroids and a trip to the chiropractor for Vini to get better. Throughout this period, Maxwell’s owner, Cindy, and I texted back and forth as if we were old friends. I was glad to be dealing with someone so understanding. I began to imagine the energy of a huge, uncut, black-and-white Newfie in the house, to plan for his arrival. I bought toys, kibble, chewies, a giant crate.

On the 29th I contacted Cindy, saying I’d come for the dog the next day, and that’s when things changed and she went apeshit.

Maxwell

“You were supposed to pick up the dog today,” she said.

I couldn’t do that and sent copies of our texts agreeing the 30th was the day we’d planned on. Her reply? If I didn’t come for the dog by 6pm on the 30th that would be the end of our arrangement. She wouldn’t meet me in Sealy. I’d have to drive all the way to her house in Pearland. The only problem was that when I asked for her exact address, all she sent were two intersecting streets. I had no idea where she actually lived.

Part III: Foolish Me

I had no address for Cindy, owner of the gorgeous Landseer, Maxwell, on whom I’d put a $500 deposit. All I knew was she lived on the far side of Houston, an area I was totally unfamiliar with although I did learn her house was in the vicinity of a stretch of Highway 41, known for the mysterious abductions and deaths of multiple young women. So that immediately added a layer of ominousness to the situation. Meanwhile, she ghosted me.

That’s right. Cindy stopped communicating with me, disappeared.

That didn’t sit well. All I knew about Cindy was she was a trauma nurse. But, since I had sent her a Venmo for $500, I knew her last name and with that piece of information I was able to get her whole story. I learned exactly where she lived, how old she was and what she looked like.

Since I didn’t like the feeling of being scammed, I was furious. More than that: I was vengeful.

Up until now, I had never experienced this tit-for-tat, punitive side of my personality. But it was there, threaded into my psyche, and already I was planning how to get even with the unscrupulous Cindy.

I called HR at the place she worked, the Houston hospital system. They kept me on the phone for ten minutes, wanting me to read the texts that had gone back and forth between Cindy and me, to tell the whole story. When we were finished, they said they would “look into it.” “Will I ever hear what happens?” I asked. They said no, it would remain a private matter. “Well, then what should I do?” I asked.

They advised me to file a police report – which I did, though I never followed up on it (I figured reporting the woman to HR was enough). And that was the end of the story – I had done what I had set out to do, and could now forget all about Cindy.

But I couldn’t forget about my quest for a new dog. I was still itching to replace my precious Lucille, was still looking, and out of the blue I had a call from a friend, saying she’d located a year-old-Newfie for sale in Mexia, Texas. I was game, and so we agreed to drive up there. It would be a two hour drive, an adventure.

Part IV: Foolish Me

Maisie

I have a habit of going into a blur when I’m about to make a big purchase, such as a piece of jewelry or (gulp) a dog. We had been told a pure-bred Newfie was awaiting us in Mexia, and that was what we expected. Instead, what greeted us was a massive black-and-white dog with a sweet face, a Great Pyrenees.

The weird thing was, I didn’t care. I had driven two hours to get a dog and I damn well was going home with one. This dog, whose name was Maisie, was beautiful and big and I would love her. We loaded her into the car and began our drive home.

Once we got to my house, Maisie made herself completely at home. For the first day, she was perfect. The doggie doors fascinated her – freedom! She could go in and out at will. When she was outside, she barked. Continuously. Not just a little series of warning barks, but a full-out howl that started low and twisted into a high-pitched Ai! Ai! Yee! Yee! Yee! She barked indoors, too, voice full and throaty.

But it wasn’t just the barking that was a problem. It was her behavior. She was bossy. And she was a food hound. The gate we’d put up between the kitchen and the rest of the house was no obstacle for her – she’d simply get up on her hind legs and knock it over. Nothing was safe from her. We had a baby in the house, my five-month-old granddaughter whose face and chubby legs Maisie would lick possessively, and this added to her level of ferocity since she saw it as her job to protect the baby. The only person she was okay with was me, the lady of the house whom she seemed to think was her mother. She’d rest her heavy paw in my hand or over my body, and gaze at me adoringly.

I was smitten but no one else was, and when she went after my little Labradoodle, Vini, puncturing his flesh with one of her canines, my family leaned on me to get rid of her.

This was just before Christmas. Her previous owners said they would take her back, but I had no time for a four hour drive, and I was desperate because I knew that Maisie would destroy our table, laid with flowers, crystal, silverware, and set for fourteen people. So I hired a transport service. For a small fortune, I was able to lease a van and chauffeur that would drive Maisie back to Mexia in style. By then I had spent so much money on dogs that I could have bought something extremely rare and expensive. But I was out of the game. I’d gone through two difficult dogs and I was done. We’d be a one-dog family and peace would reign until I got another wild hare for something cute and fuzzy. What was wrong with me?

The truth was, I was just plain foolish when it came to canines and I would have to live with that. I couldn’t be trusted. I needed therapy. For now, I couldn’t go anywhere near a dog without strict supervision, an embarrassing fact that made me understand that yes, I was foolish, but I’d always have extra love to give. And because of that, I’d eternally keep looking for the next wonderful dog.