Getting Millie - Part V
Not every dog is that special one who connects to your soul like my big sweet Newfoundland, Lucille, did. She was the gentle creature who’d taken me through the death of my sister, family problems, surgeries, the isolation of Covid. For me, her departure was one of the great tragedies of my life. And so, as soon as she was gone, I set out to find another dog. As it turned out, I should have waited.
THIS IS PART 5 of a SIX-PART STORY
Millie & Nicole
Once I had the preacher’s name, I sat down and emailed her about the Redds’ nasty backyard breeding operation. She got straight back to me, saying she would notify the county sheriff and pull all documents regarding claims of ownership on the Redds’ land. I don’t know what happened after that. I figured I had done my job. But, as they say, no good deed goes unpunished, and I was stuck with a dog I didn’t get along with. Don’t get me wrong. I loved the dog, wanted to wrap my arms around her and hug her all the time; I just couldn’t handle her. So I sent her to a trainer where she was boarded for two weeks and taught behavioral commands. “Millie, come!” “Millie, sit!” “Millie, stay!” For the trainer, her conduct was perfect; for me it sucked. I would shout a command and she would give me a mischievous look and do the opposite of whatever I had asked.
Our house was in disarray. Until eight-thirty at night, when Millie was put in her crate to sleep for the evening, I was a prisoner. What was I going to do?
After three weeks, I decided to re-home her. She was a gorgeous dog, her coat thick and glossy after a rigorous de-worming and many days of good food. I snapped photos of her and, along with a description of what an excellent companion she was, posted them on Facebook. Thank god I had takers.
So now we were down to one dog, a miniature black Labradoodle named Vini. This little dog had never been on his own before. Millie was aggressive with him, always getting in his face, barking non-stop to try and engage him in play. Poor Vini would hide behind me for protection. Our previous dog had brought him up, frequently checking to see he was okay out in the yards or walking in the street, but now he had only his sharp little white teeth to shield him from trouble. It was not a win/win situation. When Millie left, he was palpably relieved. He had the house to himself. He had me to himself. And that made all the difference, being an only dog who could peacefully gnaw on a bone in a pool of sunshine in the back yard without the possibility of attack.
Vini & Millie
Millie went to a new owner. I was left feeling a little desolate, arms aching to hold her one more time. I had done a good deed and now came the punishment: a sturdy, ongoing sense of guilt for having given up on a sweet, high jinks puppy whose only fault was exuberance.