Chapter 1: Shhhh! Library Voices Please!!!!!

One surprising thing about Gim’s passing was how great Ferg took it.  I was a mess, but to him it was another Friday night.  I couldn’t quite understand how he could be so cavalier about it all. A life with Gim was all Ferg ever knew.  Gim was his bestest of buds, his partner in hijinx and his finisher when retrieving from of water.  I thought for sure Ferg would feel his absence as much, if not more than I.  It turned out he was more resilient and chose to focus on the bright spots- more room in the bed, no more having his supper stolen, all of my free time was his and his only;  while I clung to the loss of what was and would never be again. 

Gim knew all the best mud spots

How Gim loved to run

The years that followed focused on  picking up the pieces and slowly getting on with life.   Walks around the block, that brought back memories of day of yore, turned into fitness challenges that had us walking in new neighbourhoods for hours.  Next was a return to back-packing, something that Gim used to enjoy.  It felt strange being on the shores of the lake without Gim there, faking lameness so that I would pack out all his gear. Ferg’s love for the outdoors and adventure was a balm for my sadness.  With each day that passed the bone aching sorrow became less and less.  But now I had a new fear.  

I made it through the loss of Gim with the help of Ferg.  He was my anchor through the whole ordeal, but if something happened to him I would be pooched.  It would be just me and the cat.  Oh Bill would try his best to provide comfort, but let’s face it he would fall short of the mark because he was lacking an essential factor… he was not a dog.  

There was no other option… I needed to get Ferg a playmate, so I contacted GoldenPride and put a deposit on a puppy to secure my place on the waiting list.  All I had to do then was be patient and wait for Mother Nature to take her course.  

The universe had other plans for me, though.  One day I received an email from Jen (owner of GoldenPride) asking if I would consider a different option.   She wondered if I would be interested in a foster to own with one of her current Mom’s.  Whisper  would live with me, but go back to GoldenPride for breeding and whelping.  I was hesitant about accepting the offer, as I didn’t know if I could handle everything that went with living with an intake female…. heat cycles, girlie bits and pre-natal care. 

“Why don’t you take her for the weekend! Try it out!!!”was Jen’s suggestion. 

What would trial hurt?  Besides at the time, I felt having a little more female energy in the house wouldn’t be a bad thing given the males outnumbered me.

Ferg fell in love right away.  Whisper could not escape him.  If she zigged, he zigged if she tried to leave he would follow.  At one point I had to crate her just to give her a break from his incessant admiration.  Bill could not believe his eyes… how could I bring another dog into the house???? Sacrilege!!!  While Ferg was busy stalking Whisper, Bill was following me around listing off a litany of reasons why adding a new dog to the mix was the worst mistake I could make.  It was a long day and night.  

Permagrin…. Ferg’s Vote Yes to keeping her.

There may be bars between us… but I’ll wait for you!

She has pierced me with the bullets of love!!!

WTF Linda!!!!

I woke on Day 2 knowing that Whisper had found her forever home.  Let’s face it, as soon as the cat balked about it, my mind was made up.  It served him right for all the late night wake-up calls.  Of course her calm easy demeanour also worked in her favour.  

Lazy Weekend Mornings

You might be thinking pretty sweet deal. I think about getting a dog and just like that a quiet, trained,  adult just falls in my lap.  I got to jump past of all the potty, leash and obedience training into the fun bit and bonus, everyone got along right from the start.

As I write it out it sounds a little like a fairy tale and it would have been except for one thing….. there is a reason why Whisper’s nickname is Wee Wee.   Wee has had and continues to have occasional bouts of incontinence and she is also prone to having the occasional bowel accident in the house.  Shortly into her stay with us I started finding wet spots on the carpet… typically with my foot… YUCK!  

What was going on?  

Add to the carpet bombing, flooding her bed/bedding when crated.  Ohhh the laundry!!!

I removed the bedding from her crate, upped the frequency I was taking her outside but she still would have an accident every few days.  Scrubbing carpets was my purgatory for not listening to the cat’s initial pleas to reconsider.  Ferg continued to look at her with adoring eyes.  I was starting to shoot her a hairy eyeball every time there was a crate or carpet accident to clean up.  Monitored water intake and frequent trips to the great outdoors helped get the inside peeing under control.  Once that was sorted out, and my cleaning duties were back to a reasonable level, I could start to enjoy her as much as Ferg. Even Bill was coming around.  

Although consistent in her ability to have house accidents, Wee is unpredictable when it comes to her heat cycle. First off was the timing between cycles.  For most females that tends to be 6-7 months. For Wee it was between 8-9-10 months, definitely not something you could set your clock by!  

Once she started a heat cycle it tended to be a split cycle i.e. she would have all the signs of being in heat but it would stop just as suddenly as it started.   All this has meant that  I  have had to  get up close and personally acquainted with her vulva.  Of course not really knowing what an out of season vulva looks like it also meant some time on Google to educate myself on the differences… yes my Google history is very, very assorted… don’t judge my thirst for knowledge. 😁

Around the time she was supposed to be in season I started checking out her Bits:

“Nope no swelling.”

“Still no swelling.”

“Hmmm…. things could be looking a little bigger.”

“THERE’s BLOOD!!!”

At the first sign of blood I rushed her out to Jen’s, only to have her returned two days later,  because she was back to showing no signs again.  In those two days of absence both Bill and Ferg questioned what I had done with her.  They wanted their Whisper back

Ohh the forlorn looks I was subjected to while she was away.  The second time that blood appeared, she stayed in heat and had some vacation time at the kennel, getting her groove back with Nigel.  

Upon her return we resumed our walks and daily routines, counting down the days until it would be revealed if she was pregnant. 

She’s Back… and so is the Permagrin!

Whisper has never been one to have the one day of morning sickness that most dogs have… that early indicator that some buns are a cookin’!. She heartily spins like a tornado while I prepare her meals and hoovers food down like it was going out of style through each pregnancy.

For the first pregnancy on my watch, Wee Wee did just that… she had many, many wee’s around the house.  I started to suspect that something was wrong with her girlie bits and a trip to the vet confirmed both a bladder infection and that there were babies on board.  Whoot Whoot!  I was going to be a Grandma!

Wee with her buns in the oven

The one drawback of fostering a Mom is they are gone for 8 weeks to have their litter.  The awesome part is all the puppy play dates over those same 8 weeks. 

It’s boys and girls!

Ohhh those little faces.  100% cuteness overload.  It was a bitter sweet sadness to see them go.  On one hand Wee was home, but on the other no more watching the antics of the puppies learning and experiencing new things and no more access to puppy breath….ohhh how I had become addicted to puppy breath in those few short weeks. 

You know how I mentioned my Google search history has some pretty interesting search topics… well Whisper’s return brought another one… mastitis.  Whispers teats were hard, mega red and hot.  I thought it might be because of the pressure build up so I started hand milking her to try and relieve some of her pain…yes, I can add milking a dog to my resume under soft skills.  

Periodic milking helped,  but not enough.  Next up epsom salts soaks.  When that didn’t work either I channeled my inner Vivian Westwood and fashion her a cabbage bra using a tensor.   All efforts to solve the issue naturally were a fail, so it was back to the vet for an assessment and intervention.  A pregnancy, book ended by vet visits, and we were only 5 months into our time together. 

While she was away the house was lonely and too quiet without her.  I share my first world problem of empty nest syndrome with Jen on one of my visits to see Whisper.  She offered a solution, I could foster one of the males she had at her house.  I was hoping for George, as I found humour in the fact that I would have a George and Bill living at my house (which happen to be my cousins names).  Sadly, Gorgeous Georgeous (my nickname for him) was already spoken for.  She was looking for a foster for a male Springer Spaniel.  She quickly followed that nugget up with her now infamous phrase, the one that gets me every time.  “How about you take him home for the weekend.  Just try it out!”.  

You know me…. I’m a sucker… I said sure.

And then there was Oaks!

Warp Speed Ahead!

I went to sleep on Monday night and I woke up and it was Thursday!

WHAT!!!! 

Where did Tuesday, Wednesday go?  What did I do??? How could time just disappear like that?

I remember when time seemed to stretch into a vast void.  A time where I would look at the clock and it would read 10:00.  What felt like hours and days would go by and I would  look again it was 10:02.  How I long for those days. 

Did all my years  wishing that time would hurry up,  finally come true?  If that is the case, youth be careful what you wish for.  The speed at which time moves now is both alarming and leaves me feeling dizzy and off centred…. And yes I am sure it isn’t the post concussion symptoms acting up. 

Hazel and Brie perfectly sum up what this month has been like for me.  Hazel (the older dog) is time and I am Brie trying to catch up, almost getting there only to be body slammed when I least expect it. All my plans that I had hoped to accomplish this week have slowly dissolved into nothingness.   On the bright side tomorrow is Friday, which means I have two solid days to buckle down and tick a few tasks of the ole’ to do list.    

Is anyone else feeling like Jan is slipping away like sands through the hour glass… so are the days of our lives 😳 (Sorry I couldn’t help myself it was low hanging fruit and a ode to my younger soap opera watching self). 

Yesterday was the Turkey’s ninth birthday. It seems impossible that he is that old but his progressive sugar face is a sure sign that time is passing.  I consider myself lucky that he made it past the dreaded 8 year mark.  Eight seems to be the magic number for most Golden’s, an age where many succumb to the dreaded “C” word.  I feel blessed that Ferg has made it to the BONUS years!

From this to….

To This… “Pour Some Sugar On Me”

All dog owners hope and pray that they get as much time as possible with their furry side kick, but all too many are not so fortunate.  Just the thought has me tearing up.  I feel for the owners and for the loss of all the Good Boys and Girlies who are no longer here to play a game of fetch,  answer questions with a goofy tilt of the head, swiftly zoom away with contraband and to wolf down items that were never meant to be consumed.   

The silence that happens after the passing of a furry family member is shattering.  You don’t realize how much you miss the sound of nails on the hardwood, or the warmth of a giant head on your lap, a soulful stare that lets you know in the core of your being that you will be okay, even though your brain is telling you nothing will ever will be right again.  Just when you need them the most, they are gone and the pit of despair becomes just a little deeper.   

The saying is “Time heals all wounds!”.  but when it comes to the loss of a dog I don’ t agree.  The wound is always there, just smaller with longer periods of time between the bouts of heartache and the tears.  That is the unconditional love tax that comes due when our furry guardians cross over the Rainbow Bridge.  It is a tax that I am glad to pay many times over, as it means I had the bestest of the best in my life be it for a minute, an hour or years and years.  

This post is dedicated to all the awesome dogs that have passed.  Thanks for making life a little more beautiful, bright and fun.  

The OG Dude. 2005- 2019

Hurkle Durkle or Bust

It was a week last week.  I guess it was to be expected, as I was off work for a month and also had a three week break from my extracurriculars.  Just long enough to develop new daily routines and to start overestimating what I can actually accomplish in a day.  

The other mitigating factor was how much additional time is added to daily routines, when there is a puppy afoot.  All the extra laundry, spot cleaning of the floor, having to bring the A- Game for pick-up and monitoring.  It can be exhausting.

Optimistic me pictured my return to daily life would go something like this:

• Wake-up and complete a quick 10 minute yoga routine. 
• Potty the puppy and return her to the crate.
• Complete a 20- 30 minute work out and 15-20 minutes of meditation.
• Potty the puppy again along with the rest of the furry herd.
• Get dressed, feed us all, grab my lunch prepared the night before, and skip off to work with a little tra la la in my step.

What actually happened was more along the lines of this:

• Wake-up, start yoga, make haste to get down the stairs to toilet the puppy.
• Put puppy back in the crate and listen to her screaming and crying while I completed the yoga routine and a 20 minute workout.
• Skip the mediation… who has the time… not me!
• Potty the puppy and other dogs.
• Look at the clock and swear.
• Try to dress, with the puppy trying to help by running away with my socks, under garments and/or trying to hold onto my pants and/or shirt while I’m trying to insert limbs into the holes.
• Rush downstairs and quickly feed the dogs.  
• Hum and ha for a second wondering if I had enough time to make myself something.
• Head to work muttering under my breath about “jack asses” and “dawdlers”. 
  
  

  

  Cranky Pants Face

I did manage to sneak in a 20-minute mediation before my most problematic meeting.  It isn’t problematic because of the content, or people, it’s problematic as it is the one meeting that consistently brings on my post concussion symptoms.  I had my fingers crossed that I was over the hump, as I only had two days with symptoms when I was off and the symptoms were short lived.  

Well even the power of mediation couldn’t help.  By 20 minutes in I started to feel the vice tightening around my head.  By the 30 minute mark I was riding the Tower of Terror… it feels like the floor drops out and I am falling, only to be caught and shot back up and then free falling again.  Add to that feeling an intense headache and a strong desire to flee.  Let the fun times roll!!!!  

I haven’t been able to figure out what it is about this meeting that causes such a strong reaction.  What my Monday experiment has proved to me, the symptoms are  not related to feeling rushed or stressed.  I was the most Zen I have been in months walking into that meeting. 

My evening routine went pretty much like my morning.  It was rush, rush, rush to get the essentials done so that I could make it to training.   Hazel was just a tad too excited when we got to lessons and she pulled on the leash.  Hard enough for me to slide down to the ground.  It’s a good thing that I have a well padded tush!  We did have a short discussion on how much she SUCKS as we walked to the door. 

Tuesday and Wednesday went about the same.  Too much to do, not enough time.  By Wednesday evening I was all sorts of cranky.  All I wanted was bed and another week off.  The dogs’ Max Cranky meters must all have been broken, as it felt like they were doing everything they could to push me over the edge.  I would love to say that my thirty odd days of mediation helped me calmly and rationally support the dogs in meeting the expectations I had for them… but no… I went full Rumplestiltskin on them.  There was a rant of epic portions, listing their litany of poor choices and banishing all to crates for the night.

By Thursday/Friday I had abandoned my morning workout goals, choosing instead to have an extra 30- 40 minutes of sleep.  So when Friday came and I learned about hurkle durkle I was ready to embrace the concept with gusto.

“Hurkle Durkle” is a 200 year old Scottish word meaning “to lounge in bed long after it is time to get up”.  I was ready to hurkle durkle to the max.  Seize the Durkle day I say!!!

Ferg knows how to Hurkle Durkle… It’s kinda funny as one of his nicknames is Furkle Turkle

Well I forgot about one thing.  It is impossible to Hurkle Durkle when there is a puppy in the house.  I woke-up Saturday morning a the crack of dawn.  I stretched and was basking in the luxury of knowing I didn’t need to, nor was I going to get up right away.  This fuzzy warm blanket moment lasted all of 45 seconds.  Brie must have sensed I was up and she started crying.  In the effort to save myself from having to do more laundry I heaved myself out of bed and headed downstairs.  Sadly the herd followed and my day commenced.

I was determined though,  and on the fly I switched my plans from hurkle durkling to just durkling.  To durkle is to lounge on the couch, instead of bed, and watch  Netflix, TV or read a book.  I am proud to say that with a few minor interruptions I managed to spend a vast majority of the morning in contented durkling, with and without furry companions joining me.  

It wasn’t until last night that I realized, as much as hurkle durkling feels extravagant and luxurious there is a down side… today has been a mad rush to get everything that needs to be done, done so that I can be ready to tackle next week.

SIGH!!!!  

Ohh well it was worth a try.  

Syncing Up!

I don’t know about you but there are people in this world who grate on my nerves.  Just the sheer act of their breathing can elicit the same response in me as nails on a chalk board.  A screeching, jarring sensation that feels like eternity and the end of the world all at once.  When I encounter said people, I go to extreme lengths to avoid… avoid… AVOID!

But every now and then I find a new tribe member.  Someone who just gets me…. Who sees and accepts the good, the bad and the ugly bits of me. I know, you know, what I am talking about! That person who can finish your sentences and can tell what you are thinking even as the thoughts are forming in your head.  The one who leaves you random messages or sends you an out of the blue card to let you know they are thinking of you.  The mystery books, flowers or magazines that show up at just the right time.  When you find these people it is a rare and treasured gift.

I have had the houour and privilege to have met more than a few who fall in this category.  Even though it shouldn’t, it still surprises me when I dream or randomly think about them, only to get a text or call from them the next day.  It’s like we are cosmically connected…. Synchronous.

There are benefits to being in sync with others.  You don’t have to work as hard to explain your thoughts or feelings, they just get it.  In fact when you are in total sync with someone,  you don’t even need to talk at all.  Silences become yet another thing you share in mutual harmony vs those anxiety ridden stress fests when you are with non-tribe members!

I feel lucky that my tribe is not contained to the just the two legged variety.  My tribe has and continues to contain a wide variety of four-legged members, the occasional tree, a handful of rocks and some specific locations that make my heart sing Hallelujah I am home.   

Over the years Fergus and Vivian have probably been the two four-legged tribe members who have been the most apt at reading my mood and actively work/worked to help me rise out of my pits of despair and frustration.   Vivi would waddle on over and curl up in my lap or by my side and would purr the pissy mood right out of me.  It was hard to stay infuriated when she was around.   She was silky soft and had a purr as loud as a diesel engine.  

Ferg is my living breathing weighted blanket.  He smoothers me with love and has knack of trapping me under him, so that I can’t move and must submit to living in the moment.  Many a time he has started to rise only to sense I still had some latent grrr arrgh in me and he lays back down… “Nope… 15 more minutes of smushing for you.  The world doesn’t like a cranky pants!!!!”  

Can you spot me under the pile of fur?

I could not have made it through Covid without the therapeutic ministrations of the Fjords. 

The welcoming nicker of Jez when I exit my truck fills my heart with an abundance of joy.  

Ingrid who was my shadow for over a year and a half.  She may have joined a new tribe, but she will never be forgotten. 

Boss Bitch Torrie who is the living epitome of don’t take SHHugar from anyone one! I love, love, love her side eye!

And Sola….   Well Sola likes to pretend that we are not part of the same tribe…. Walking away when she realizes there is no food and there might be work involved.  But like Pepe le Pew I “ack ack ack pierce her with the bullets of love” and all of a sudden she remembers just how good it feels to be in a tribe with me.  It means all the more when we finally sync our steps,  a mutual victory, as we head off for our sunset walks down country roads.  It’s a time for connection  and to bond over our mutual dislike of mosquitos and flies.

I didn’t think there could be a pitfall to synchronicity until Brie came along.  It seems that Brie and I are so in sync that even our pee schedules are sympatico. Yes Houston we have a problem!  My bladder sends a signal to my brain that the need to pee is gaining in priority, of course it is right around the time that Brie also needs to go out to relieve herself.  Well now I have a choice to make… who goes first??? Her?  Me???? 

Well let’s face it, it is more embarrassing if the two-legged member pees her pants vs the four legged one.  I head upstairs and pray for speed so that I can finish and get Brie outside before puddle making commences.  Sadly we are not doing so well on that account.  More times than not she follows me upstairs and pees in the bathroom with me.  Yup, synchronized peeing… coming to a dog event near you.    Hmmm typing this out I am now wondering why I haven’t just put her in the tub.  An option to try out next time.

Now you may be thinking, “Suck it up Max! Just take her out first!”  Well I have also tried that, but there is something about the cold that shoots my urgency factor from 100- 1,000,000 in 5.2 seconds.  Picture it.. Max is outside with Brie who is dawdling at the end of the leash and is probably thinking,.. “Let’s see how she likes waiting!!!”.  All of a sudden I have reached the critical threshold.  There is no way I am making it back into the house, let alone up stairs before the Hoover Dam of my bladder explodes.  I am faced with a decision, drop my drawers or pee my pants.  

Well I did it. 

I dropped my drawers and peed in the yard and who peed with me…. Brie!!!  There is something to be said about peer modelling when learning a new skill.  Should this happen in the future and you happen to be walking through the park or down the road and you think… “Is she doing what I think she is doing??? Please be kind and avert your eyes.  Me and my aging bladder thank-you in advance!  

Don’t eat the yellow snow! It’s not my pee HONEST!! Ferg was working on his cursive!!!

This post is dedicated to all my peeps who have buoyed me up during the hard times, were there to celebrate until the Moo Moo cows came home when times exceeded our wildest dreams and for all the moments that have been in between.  Your are and forever will be revered!  

Oops I Did it Again- The Golden Version

I have a weakness… neigh an obsession and that obsession is with dogs.  As I have most likely mentioned this fixation goes back many, many years.  One of my earliest memories  is trying to convince my parents to allow me to have a dog when I was three.  My attempts were thwarted, but that Christmas I did get my companion for life…. Puff the Wonder Mutt.  

Puff masquerades as a mere stuffed animal but in actual fact he is a magical beast that has done a great job guarding me during sleep for the last 49 years.  See I am often plagued with nightmares and have been since a young age.  I lost track of how many times I woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat from a dream where someone broke into the house and murdered my family.  I would lie in bed frantic, wondering if the intruder was still in the house and if it was real or only a dream.  Eventually I would hear my sister breathing in the bed beside mine and I would know that at least she survived…. But how did everyone else fare?

I would slide out bed, gripping Puff and would slowly and stealthy make my way up the stairs carefully avoiding the sections of the stairs and floor that creaked, just on the off chance that someone was still in the house.  I would make my way from room to room to find out who made it and who perished.   

Room 1- Brother is still alive…. A good sign,

Room 2- Younger sister still alive…. Okay all the kids survived

Now the last room…. What if my parents didn’t make it???? We would be orphans.  Who would we live with??? It was typically about this point my Dad’s snoring alerted me that he was still kicking, but the bigger and more important question was “Is Mom alive or dead?”  I would silently make my way over to her side of the bed and stand there staring at her, willing her to breathe.  I was petrified that she wouldn’t and the relief would flood over me when she would invariably open her eyes and say “What???  Go back to bed!!!!”

Thinking back on it from her perspective I can only imagine what these moments would have been like for her.  She is soundly asleep basking in a delightful dream when she senses a  presence boring holes into her.  She opens her eyes only to find a Child of the Corn standing there with a ratty tatty stuffed dog staring her down.  I’m impressed that she never once swore… I know that faced with a similar situation I most likely would have.

I don’t think my heart would have survived childhood without Puff.  He was my protector, my confident and my faithful companion.  He now resides in a closet high, high up away from the those that would destroy him in the name of play.

Years passed, I was finished school and I desperately wanted a dog of my own.   I started purchasing a very thick annual dog book that highlighted all the different breeds and listed breeders in the various provinces.   This book was like the Sears Wish Book but for dog lovers.  The hours I spent flipping through the pages imagining what it would be like to own a Shepherd, a Vizsla,  a Schnauzer or a Frenchie.  The possibilities were limitless and I was overwhelmed by the sheer amount of choices.  There was also the barrier of apartment living.  Both apartments that I rented post Uni did not allow dogs.  If they had, my first dog would have been a re-homed Weimaraner named Shadow who I fell in love with.  But fate knew she wasn’t meant for me… my heart dog still had not been born.

Jump forward six years.  I had purchased a home of my own, one that had been specifically chosen because it had a large yard and backed onto green space… absolutely perfect for a dog.  I was finally in the position to welcome a dog into my life, but I still couldn’t decide on which breed would be perfect for me.  I was strongly leaning toward a German Shepherd and it seemed like it was meant to be when I found out the Relator who sold me my house was a Shepherd breeder.  Alas,  all the hidden costs of purchasing the house wiped out my reserves and I wasn’t in a position to financially commit to dog ownership.  

As I rebuilt my nest egg I continued to fall in and out of love with different dog breeds.  I loved the quirky personalities and small size of the Coton du Tulear, the exuberance of Lab/Shepherd mixes and the ears and faces of Frenchies.  If I only I could have one of each.  

Years went by, but for some reason now that I could welcome a dog into my life I was hesitating.  I found one excuse after another and instead found myself getting my dog fix by hanging out with friends dogs, dog sitting for others and loving up the dogs of the hood.  

2005 introduced the catalysts that inspired me to make 2005 the Year of the Dog.  Work had been insanely busy and the demands for working longer and longer hours were increasing exponentially.  I was starting to become bitter as co-workers who had children could say “I have to get home to my children, I can’t stay!”  As they were finishing this sentence their heads would turn and look at me.  Everyone knew I was single and did not have kids… no built in reason to leave… Here you go… take care of this before you leave please.  

If it only happened every now and then it wouldn’t have been a big deal, but it was happening at least weekly and sometimes multiple days in a row.  Something had to change, I needed a reason to leave work and I needed that reason fast.   Around this time,  I met two dogs that I fell head over heels in love with… Manchester and Niijii.   Both were calm and well mannered Golden Retrievers who instantly made me think of Puff.  So fluffy… so golden… so everything that I wanted in a dog.  

In my initial dog research I had quickly crossed Golden’s off my list, as most Golden’s that I had met were hyper and uncontrollable…. Totally not what I was looking for.  Well Manchester and Niijii changed my opinion instantaneously.  I found out both were from the same breeder and quickly phoned GoldenPride Kennels to find out more about their dogs and how to get my name on a wait list for a litter.  It turned out that there was a litter of six weeks old and there was one left.  If I was interested I needed to decide quick, as there was another person also interested and they were going to drop off their deposit the next day. 

Be damned with the snow squall that was going on, I hung-up the phone, jumped in the truck and drove out to the farm to meet the litter.  That moment is what started it all.  I was sold and put down a deposit to hold my spot.  A few short weeks later I had my Gimli!  

In case you are wondering “I can’t stay… I have to let out the puppy!!!” Was an even stronger reason to be able to leaver on time than “I have to get home to the take care of my kids.”  Now I was allowed to go and my co-workers found sitters.  

It wasn’t all sunshine, rainbows and unicorns though.  I spent the next two and a half years questioning the sanity of my decision and continually commenting “It is dang lucky you are cute!!!”.  Let’s just say that Gimli was the opposite end of the spectrum from Manchester and Niijii.  Cuter than hell, but man did he put me through my paces in those first three years.  There were many times when I was ready to call it quits, but I stuck with the training (both him and me) and eventually we got to a place where we found mutual love and the ability to agree to disagree.  

As Gimli approached 8 years, I started to panic.  Eight years seems to be the arbitrary number that all the neighbourhood Goldens lived until.  One day they were there and the next everyone was filled with sorrow, as another Golden buddy crossed the Rainbow Bridge.  I may have spent the first three years questioning why I got him, but we were at a point where I could not bear the thought of not having him in my life.  I constantly had Brene Brown moments with him i.e. He would do something that made me laugh, or I would look at him and my heart would swell 10 times it size but the very next thought would be “He is going to die… I am going to be all alone again!” (Enter crying of epic proportions). 

I started contemplating getting another one, but every time I did, I couldn’t help but think of the first three years and I hesitated. Did I have it in me to go through puppyhood again????  I didn’t think I could go back to the rips in the legs and ass of pants, the endless troubles with toilet training, not to mention being used as one big chew toy, not to mention the vet bills related to eating things that no dog should eat.  

I talked my fears through with the owner of GoldenPride and asked about possibly purchasing a retiring Mom.  She was open to the idea but all the retiring Mom’s were spoken for, for the next few years.  

And so the wait began…

As Gimli approached 10 years,  I knew it was now or never, we were living on bonus years as it was.   I still remember the odd mixture of excitement, nerves and dread that I had when submitted my deposit for another male puppy.  Ferg entered our lives in 2015 and it was the best decision I ever made.  Puppyhood with Ferg was way different than with Gimli.  Ferg was an easier dog and besides he directed his puppy acupuncture toward Gimli… pay back is a bitch!  How to you like those sharp puppy teeth Gimli… he he!

Jen, the breeder, was worried for me and kept asking if I was happy with my decision to get a puppy vs a retiring Mom.  My response “100%!!! Had Ferg been my first dog I would have a sea of dogs at my place!!!”  Well those words seem to have come back to haunt me.

After Gimli passed at 13.5 years I wanted to get another friend for Ferg.  I put down another deposit for a puppy and the wait started again.  As it turned out Jen was looking for a foster for one of the Mom’s.  Hmmmm.  My brain had been gearing up for another boy, but she was available right away.  I agreed to a trial and it did not take long before I was sold on Whisper becoming a member of the herd.

Photo Credit: Bushwacker Photography

The house felt empty when Whisper went back to the kennel to have her next litter of puppies.  As I lamented about the emptiness in the house Jen commented she had a Springer that she was looking to foster.  I instantaneously fell in love with Oakley.  Everything about him screamed take him home.  How could I live without seeing those freckles each day not to mention his “I love life” energy.  Ferg and Oakley instantly connected and my Dynamic Duo grew to the Terrific Trio.  

The next few months were the best of my life.  Sure I grumbled about having to fight for a spot in the bed, being on the bottom of the pile of dogs and about the property destruction but I revelled in the training, the unconditional love and observing each of of their different personalities.  I laughed a lot during that period. 

Then the unimaginable happened, Oaks and Ferg got into a serious fight with each other.  Oaks had decided that I was his resource to guard and took exception to Ferg sitting on the couch with me.  He launched himself at Ferg and sunk his teeth into Ferg’s head and eye area.  Ferg is usually a lover, but the pain of the bite flipped a switch in him and he was out for blood of his own.  I don’t know how I managed it, but I pried Oakley’s death grip off of Ferg’s head and then was able to hold them apart using their collars while I navigated the distance from the couch to the kennel.  Once Oaks was safely in his “house” I turned to Ferg fearing that Oaks had actually punctured his eye.  The bite marks were all around the eye but luckily missed the eyeball.   It was a trip to the emergency vet for us and once Ferg was patched up I had some decisions to make. 

After consulting the owner of Clever Canines, we developed a plan to work on Oakley’s resource guarding.  It was a long month of little sleep, as Oakley was demoted from sleeping with us and had to sleep in a kennel.  He had major separation anxiety and would scream, cry, bark all night long.  I averaged maybe two hours of sleep a night.  Not fun.  

At the end of the month I started reintroducing the boys to each other and things were going well, but I could not get over my nervousness that they could turn on each other in a blink of an eye.  After much agonizing soul searching I decided that I was not the best fit for Oakley and the process of finding him a new home began.  He landed in a soft place and I’d like to think the Oakley Bible I provided the family with helped ease his transition into his new home.  I was pleased to hear that in this new home his anxiety improved and he was thriving, but knowing this did not relieve the burden on my heart.  I mourned for what was and what could have been.  The amount of tears that I had shed from the moment post bite and in the months post rehoming could have filled Lake Erie.  I was a a mess.

Jen, in an attempt to help me over my heart break, suggested that I take Hazel, a Whisper daughter, home to train.  It proved to be a great distraction and I loved seeing Whisper continue to mother Hazel, as she grew.    A few months latter Jen was looking for some help with raising another “future Mom” and I agreed to foster Lyndy as well.  The duo that became a trio, which flipped back to a duo grew to the Fab Four within a three month period.

Hazel and Lyndy were only going to stay for training but I failed.  Training only did not take long to turn into this is their forever homes.   I can’t imagine life without Ferg and the Ladies and all the Golden Glitter that litters my floor, attaches to my couches and attacks my clothing.  Yes!!!! You read that right.  The hair attacks my clothing.  I can lint roll until the cows come home but somehow the dogs manage a surprise assault on my pants, in the seconds between putting down the roller and heading out the door.  I am slowly accepting that I and my floors will be perma-hairy from this day on forward.  It is what it will be!  A small price to pay for all the unconditional love and laughter. 

You would think that living with four large dogs would be overwhelming, especially given that two of them are only two months apart, so it was double the training and double the puppy “fun”.  But it hasn’t been.  Thankfully Gimli prepared me for this moment.  Nothing they have done could compare to what he put me through….  well except for Lyndy…. she also seems to enjoy eating things dogs should not eat. 

It is because things have been so even keel that I still find myself lusting after other dogs and periodically thinking about adding to the herd.  What about an Australian Cattle Dog????? Ferg really wants a Frenchie of his own… can I deny him this one small request???

Over the last year I have dog sat a couple of other Golden’s Hudson and his sister Addy.  I will say I fell in love with Huddy.  He is a big goof, so mild manner and very very floofy!  I would have said yes to his staying but for two things.  As large as a Ford 150 Super Cab is, it is very squishy with five dogs and one human in it and Hudson is two months younger than Lyndy which would mean I have three all around the same age.  Not so bad now, but at end of life I would be in for mega hurt… both heart and wallet.   

Addy is one of the new “future Mom’s” and she is a delight but her love of cords and inquisitive mind had me having to up my “A” game.  She reminds me of Lyndy and one hijinx loving dog in a house is enough for me.  I was feeling pretty proud of myself for sticking with the plan of sitting and not keeping.  See there is proof that I don’t need to have all the Goldens in the world living at my house… even if that is my secret not so secret dream. 

I was at the kennel the other day, admiring the newest litter of puppies, I swear Jen needs to put up a streaming camera… I could watch puppies sleep , play, etc for hours on end.   While watching Mommy Paris feed the twins (yes actual twins) we started talking about the current“future Mom’s” and options for training, etc.  I commented that I would be open to one of them coming to stay at my house for training as I from personal experience how hard it is to train two similar aged puppies at the same time.   We talked about who and I was leaning toward it being Brie because not only is she family (Whisper is her Mother, Hazel and Lyndy half sisters and Ferg’s her Uncle) but  I have my fingers crossed that Addy will be going to one of the other foster homes in the near future.  

Well, in less than 24 hours, talk became action and that is why I now have five Golden Nuggets residing at my house.  I keep telling myself that Brie is only here for “training”.  Only time will tell if I fail at “training only” a second time and if the Fab Four turns into the Fantastic Five!

How will you know?  I will see me at the wheel of one of these bad boys with a Golden in every window.