By Jenn Carson
My husband and I have been together for almost 30 years. In that time, we’ve raised four boys and six dogs. Well… six and a half if you count the puppy we raised for my mom for the first five months.
Most of our dogs have been of the “big” variety—labs and lab mixes. Our first dog we had together, Meghan, was adopted from the Huron Valley Humane Society. I was told she was a shepherd/lab mix, but we always wondered because she wasn’t built like either of the two breeds. She had long, slender legs, petite feet, a glossy coat, and a fan tail that curled up. It wasn’t until recently, when my husband’s aunt and uncle brought an English Shepherd puppy home that we had an aha moment—Meghan had been an English Shepherd.
Neither one of us ever considered getting a little dog—they were yappy, biting little creatures (or so we thought). Big dogs were safer—they kept strangers away from our kids, foxes away from the chickens, and our feet warm in bed. So, what made us change our mind?
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As life moved on, our priorities shifted. Everyone in our family is now an adult. Constant supervision is no longer something our children need, which leaves my husband and I free to explore the country—to see all the things we didn’t get to because we started a family when we were young instead of sowing wanderlust. We bought a small motorhome in order to do this, but a 90-pound lab and a small motorhome don’t really go together all that well. We knew we’d never leave a dog behind for three or four months, and we knew we wouldn’t want to be without the companionship of a dog. So, the search began—for a small dog with a big dog attitude.
Boy, was this a lesson in framing your wants to the universe correctly!
We got a small dog with a very big attitude.
Pippen was a sweet-looking, less than three pounds, little bundle of brown and white fur. A cocker spaniel, poodle mix. We’d never paid more for a pup than we did for her, plunking down 800 hard earned dollars. The first weekend we had her she wiggled under the claw-foot tub in our Victorian house—and came out with a blue pill in her mouth. A struggle ensued—she didn’t like to give found treasures up. A few months previous my husband had dropped his blood pressure medicine—he thought he’d picked them all up—obviously he didn’t get them all. I scrambled to the phone and called the emergency vet, since it was a Sunday morning. The receptionist was very calm until I told her that Pippen only weighed three pounds.
Needless to say, a whole day at the vet on IV’s, and $600 later, we came home with a little ball of fur with two shaved front legs and a lesson learned—small dogs can get into places you’ve never even thought of. Looking at this positively, the floor under the tub has never been so clean.
Even though Pippen is the smallest dog in the house (only 11 pounds)—we still have a 90-pound male lab, and an old girl who weighs about 65 pounds—she is the dominant dog—most of the time. Our old girl will still put her in her place occasionally, but our male dog lets her boss him around something fierce. It’s comical most of the time, but sometimes momma has to step in, like when the other dogs want to wake me up in the morning. As soon as they approach the side of the bed Pippen starts to guard me. While I appreciate the fact that she wants to let me sleep, the fact that she’s standing on my head growling at the other dogs doesn’t really help all that much.
Pippen can also be very demanding.
I trained her to ring a bell when she has to go potty. I was so proud of how smart she was! She learned this little trick in about four days, and even trained the other dogs to know that when the bell rings, everyone can go outside. But now I wonder if I trained her or if she trained me? She now rings the bell when she wants to go out to potty, but she also rings it if she wants to distract the big dogs, if she wants to sit on the porch steps in the sun, or wants to go for a walk. If I don’t get up right away she walks into the room I’m in and cocks her head as if to say, “What are you doing hooman? I rang the bells! Are you deaf?” The look on her face is priceless and always makes me laugh (and groan at the same time because I’ve been interrupted for about the tenth time that afternoon).
Pippen can also be very insecure.
When I put my shoes on, she starts to lose her mind. She steals and runs away with the shoe I haven’t gotten on yet and she attacks my fingers when I’m trying to tie my laces. I’ve started kenneling her up when I have to leave without her before I put my shoes on or putting her harness on first if I am going to take her with me—that way she knows she’s going. Thankfully, she has also developed a bond with the boys who still live at home, so if I do have to leave her, I feel better about it—but she definitely prefers to be with mom.
Okay—so having a puppy has always been like having an infant—I knew that going into this, but I didn’t think I was getting a new mafia boss in the house. I’m hoping that she’ll calm down a little as she gets older—and for right now, I’ll just remember that it feels good to be so loved, even if she does try to boss me around.
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3:00 p.m.: I just arrived at my sister Deb’s for my pet sitting gig. The cats are wary and stand-offish but I’m sure I can remedy that. I begin by reading the little sticky notes left by my sister. Everything is efficiently tagged and labeled, then I see it—the notebook. As I scan the many pages of instructions, I can only marvel over how these animals have her trained. I will not be dictated to by a pack of felines!