Happiness is a ball of fur

I had a frustrating morning dealing with five documents from PRI (employment, health insurance, beneficiaries for pension and life insurance, new employee form). I was meant to scan all 28 pages (which would take forever on my printer) and then figure out how to assemble each set of pages into a pdf for each document (the 8-page contract as one pdf and the 12-page insurance contract as another, for example). I asked the HR person if I could post all the materials to her. She said no, everything is electronic. She suggested I go to a library. I feel very old this morning. LOL

Then I went to Drumaness to meet an 8-month-old springer/cocker cross. He was handsome and very hyper, also dirty and smelly, but he seemed to respond to his owner’s commands. This man said he bought the dog for his father, who looked like he weighed 300 pounds and hadn’t left his armchair in a long time (the tiny house looked like hoarder heaven). The dog was one of four in wire kennels along the edge of a narrow, very dirty concrete yard behind the house, which also contained a dovecote with maybe 100 racing pigeons. I suspect the family are travellers, which means the dogs may or may not have been stolen.

My sense was, between him and Lady, the male would be more easily trained than the female, but he also may have difficulty settling into an indoor life. I felt bad for him living in a kennel in an enclosed concrete space. His owner takes him running in a field in the mornings--at least he said he does. A lot of dogs live outdoors so I know my image of every dog having a cozy dog bed in a cozy room is not the norm.

Just before I left my house in Belfast, I noticed that a litter of puppies I had seen online was not far from Drumaness, near Castlewellan. I quickly arranged to see them after Drumaness. My history is of adopting 1- and 2-year-old dogs that need rehoming (Sasha, Bill, Darby, Maysie). I haven’t had a puppy since 1985 (Molly). I’ve avoided puppies because I don’t trust breeders to not overbreed their bitches.

However. When I drove up to the farm in the shadow of the Mourne mountains--under a double rainbow no less--the first dog I met was papa dog Max, who was a ringer for my Bill, (AKA Best Dog Ever). He sat down, put his paw up to my knee and looked at me with Bill’s adoring eyes. That was that. I told the family I’ll take whichever of the four puppies will grow up to look and be like him. Max is what the owner described as an Old English springer spaniel, meaning he’s bigger than the springers common to these parts. Mom is the typical springer, smaller, all muscle and bone, very alert. There’s no saying how the pups will turn out. I picked the one with the most freckles around his nose--a Bill trait.

I am over the moon with happiness. I have wanted a dog for so long but there has always been an obstacle, primarily travel and job hunting. Also difficulty dealing with rescue organisations. Working remotely for PRI means I’ll be home to train the little fur ball and I’ll have the income to pay the bills. Pets are expensive here so I didn’t want to add to the drain on my savings.

I felt bad not taking the two other springers away from their not-ideal conditions. However I’m convinced that when you’ve met and liked the parents, you are more likely to get a dog that you can work with. The other two dogs felt like unknowns with potential issues. My ability to deal with and correct problem behaviours is pretty limited. I am no dog whisperer. I hope I have the skills to train up this little guy. His parents showed such excellent breeding that I feel confident I got a good one.
November 1