My Next Dog

After Abby, even though I love the breed, I knew I could never have another black lab. There was only one for me. I never ruled out getting another dog, and did have a couple that I 'lost' in the divorce a couple of years after Abby died. But I never bonded with either of them, and didn't have a problem leaving them behind. They are well taken care of and my kids see them every other week when they go back to Dad's house.

When my second husband (read: LAST husband) and I got together, he came with a dog. Sophie is an English Bulldog, and like Abby did with black labs, has probably ruined other English Bulldogs for me. She is a great dog, very sweet, caused little trouble even as a puppy, and is about as low-maintenance as dogs get. But she is not my dog. She belongs to my husband, totally and completely. When he is gone, she lays near the door and sighs big, sad sighs. She hears his truck and perks up. I think when I'm gone and she hears my car the reaction is 'eh, her again.' She minds me, and I love her, but she's not my dog.

When my family moved across town this summer to a house with a big back yard on a quiet street in an even quieter subdivision, the subject of another dog started to surface. My husband, ex-firefighter, former Marine, without question wants another bully. They are the symbol of everything he admires. Tenacious, intimidating, and loyal. I mentioned that perhaps it was MY turn to get a dog. We discussed it a few times, I talked to the vet about my chosen breeds (Irish Setter or Great Dane) when I had Sophie in for shots once, and then I sort of let it go.

When a baby bully appeared in the classifieds a few weeks before Christmas, 2009, I was really OK with bringing her home and adding her to the mix. I wasn't even going to say I was OK with it, but then be silently bitchy about it. It just seemed to be the right dog at the right time. I even nudged the husband in that direction a couple of times and didn't understand what was holding him back. I told him he didn't need my permission and that it was absolutely his call.

As it turns out, what was holding him back was the usual. It was me and I didn't even know it. He knows me inside and out and wants to make me happy. He knew I wanted a dog of my own, knew I would never demand it, or stamp my foot and insist. If I was going to get a dog, HE had to be the one to get it for me.

On Christmas morning as the kids (four teenagers) were opening stockings, I couldn't help but notice that my stocking hung empty. I let out a tiny sigh that he forgot to stuff my stocking, but was having so much fun with the giving to everyone else, I really didn't care. When all the gifts were open, my love pulled me aside and whispered that I wasn't done yet and said 'your stocking isn't empty.'

In it was an ad, printed from the classifieds, and a picture of a Great Dane puppy. I think I said 'you got one?' to which he answered 'I'm going to tell you the same thing you told me...it is absolutely your call.' Always the decisive one, I didn't even hesitate.

'I WANT ONE.'