Dog Gone Good

I am blessed with two very, very good dogs.  I live with an elegant German Short Haired Pointer named Milo and a swayback chunk of Chocolate Labrador named Dina.  Sometimes when I am working, I look down at my Labrador, her massive head resting trustingly (stupidly?) on the wheels of my office chair and think “I want another dog.”  Then I remember Chester.

Dog from hell.

I should have known better.  But on those days that I ate my lunch at the mall, I had to walk right past the pet store.  It was an old school pet shop, a breed of retail establishment that I fervently hope will die out.  Puppy mill puppies sat dejectedly in small wire kennels, looking hopefully at the people walking in to buy fish food, fashion collars or other pet perks.  All of the dogs there claimed a pedigree, and they had the papers to prove it.  But their flaws told a deeper truth, and you could see the kind of miserable existence they may have had through their too-close-set eyes, their improperly cropped ears or the wagging stumps of tail, cut too short.

The Springer Spaniel was near the front. You could see him from the mall concourse, and over the weeks I started to look away as he grew larger and larger in the tiny cage, turning and shifting to find a comfortable spot to rest.  I knew he must be a puppy mill product, and I resolved not to support that brutal practice by purchasing one of their dogs.  But it wouldn’t hurt to let him stretch his legs, would it?

Could you resist?

The next thing I know the pet shop owner and I were chasing the little liver spotted puppy down the aisles.  We ran with flailing arms, me in a dress and heels, dodging the pet toys and pooper scoopers that were tumbling off the shelves, swept away by the long handled fishnet in the puppy’s mouth.

Best friend gone bad.

My husband never stood a chance when I opened the car door several hours later and our cute new puppy tumbled out of the car and into his arms.  We would name him Chester, we decided.  He looked like a Chester. We didn’t know then that he would later be referred to as “Evil Chester,” "Chester the Molester" or sometimes “The #$@% Dog.”

No, not interested in this....

Much better.

Evil Chester has many tails to tell (sorry,) but suffice to say that he was the worst dog ever known.  Our handsome friend filched dozens of dinners from the kitchen counter and lifted lunches from contractors with endless creative zeal.  He used his warped doggy intelligence to terrorize the vet’s office and developed perplexing health problems that would trouble him (and us) all of our lives together, including the diabetes that blinded him and required twice-daily injections.  He was the star at doggy training and hell raiser at home, chewing our child’s prized toys and biting family members whenever they deserved it.  He would stare into space with his post traumatic doggy eyes and growl quietly at phantom breeders we would never know.

Still, we cried the day Chester blindly made his way down to the creek and lay down for the last time.  And other than accidentally running him over one time (it was only once!) we were comforted by knowing that we treated him with love in spite of his shortcomings.  Here are the lessons he left behind:

I hoped this book would help, but Chester ate it.

If you must have a purebred dog learn from our mistake and don’t go to a pet store. Pick your breed and your breeder carefully.  Check this web site for loads of valuable information about working with a breeder: www.buyingapuppy.com

Be careful of shady or disreputable breeders.

 Please, please consider a shelter or rescue dog.  The best dogs we have ever had (notably, not Chester) have been shelter dogs.   Here is a great site to walk you through choosing the right dog from your local shelter:  www.clickandtreat.com/pickadog.htm

Shelter dogs can be shy or uncomfortable at first.

But they tend to relax after awhile.  

Not every dog is a good dog, but you must be a good friend to every dog you live with. So think hard, and put your head in front of your heart.  Otherwise, you never know, you might end up with a Chester and lots of stories that won’t be funny until many, many years from now.

Chester tortured, I mean followed us everywhere, even after blindness.

They could have done without a dog entirely.

But I can't...