Blame It On the Dog

I’m allergic to dogs. So are my kids. The kids go to an allergist every year to get tested, and every year the doctor says, “Sorry guys, you’re still allergic to dogs. You really shouldn’t get a dog, it could be dangerous, even life-threatening.” So we got a dog. What can I say, the ‘Rona makes you crazy, puts you in mad denial, and makes you crave control. We could have done worse things with that, but buying a dog seemed like the kind of living on the edge that we could handle. With every great adventure comes a great story, and this one is no exception.

This dog campaign has been in the works for over 2 years. It started with my sister texting pictures of cute dogs to me and Jamie, coaxing us to buy one. Of course Jamie was on board right away, since he’s a dog lover and not allergic to dogs. I was always the voice of reason, saying a dog will kill me and the kids and that he must not love us. That usually ended the conversation pretty quickly. When I was going through chemo and stuck in the hospital for all those months, I would find myself looking at available puppies to cheer me up, and sending pictures to Jamie to torture him. I knew nothing would come of it because we just weren’t in a good place in our lives to get one.

As the years progressed, the campaign continued with texting warfare and the sharing of new adoption and breeder sites. Then the ‘Rona got people stuck at home with their families, making them totally sick of their current family members and in need of a new family member to love (because there’s only so much Uno you can play in one lifetime). Covid puppies started showing up all over Facebook, and I would stupidly share that information with Jamie and the kids. Soon, there was puppy fever in the house among all of us. Then my brother hit us with a bomb; they bought a cavapoo. He looked like the cutest live stuffed animal, and this tiny dog had the power to make my human puppy ovaries ache for our very own pooch (if that was actually a thing). It was a game changer.

We started filling out applications at various rescues, and looking for available pups at rescues and breeders became my daily obsession. I believe my kids were still doing e-learning at the time, but I stopped caring (I was as over it as they were) and put my efforts into puppy shopping. I happened to come across this set of puppies in Wisconsin. It seemed appealing because it was the closest drive for us; I couldn’t convince my brain to drive 8 hours round trip to buy a puppy that might be the cause of my demise. So yes, I partially chose a puppy based on commute. The litter was also super cute and exactly what we were looking for in terms of breed and color. But there was a red flag; while other breeders had all sorts of information on the dogs, this site very simply said, “Parents are farm dogs.” No information about the puppies was provided, nothing about shots or their activity level, not even the added bonus comment about being a part of a loving family and good with kids. Just simply farm dogs. It piqued my curiosity. I contacted them, with the knowledge that this could possibly be a scam. The contact quickly responded, and we had the most awkward conversation in my life. First, he told me his name, which was not the name on the website. I responded, “Oh, that’s odd. Your name is not the name listed on the website. I was expecting to hear from someone else.” He replied, “Hmm, I should change that.” Long pause. Then he said, “So you are interested in the puppies?” I said, “Yes, I would like to schedule an appointment to meet them if that is possible.” Long pause. His strange response was, “Sure, that could happen. I’m sure you wouldn’t just want to buy a dog without seeing it, especially coming from Arizona.” So he must have googled me and assumed I was still living in Arizona. I told him that I was in Illiinois, and then he acknowledged that that made more sense since I was calling from an Elgin number. Wow, he definitely googled me. Now I’m getting nervous. Long pause. “Soooo, can I see them sometime this weekend?” He replied, “I’m sure that will work. I don’t actually sell the dogs, I just post the information. When you go see the dogs and meet the guy that is actually selling them, I think you’ll understand why and it will all make sense.” Long pause. Red flags were flying all over the place. I said, “Well that sounds very, ummm, mysterious.” Long pause. “Yeah, I suppose it does,” he says. At this point, the only explanation I could come up with for all the long pauses and weird comments was that I was speaking to some evil-intentioned person from a foreign country who was typing in responses and the computer was generating a voiced response in the English translation over the phone. I was thinking this was not legit and possibly even dangerous, but my puppy ovaries kept pushing me to pursue it. “Soooo, is there an address that you can give me?” “Yes.” Long pause. So many long pauses! Finally he broke, “Ok, here’s the thing. They are Amish and they live on a farm. They are not breeders, they are just selling the puppies for their uncle.” Well, that’s a relief, they’re not scammers, they’re Amish. I respond, “Oh, well that’s fine. I don’t know much about their culture, but if they will allow visitors, I would like to see the puppies.” More long pauses. He finally gave me the address to the farm, along with the phone number to directly contact the Amish folks. I called the number and left a message. And then it was off to the interwebs to google the shit out of these names, phone numbers, and addresses. Turns out, the Amish are pretty much off the grid and don’t leave much of an online fingerprint. We were left waiting and wondering just exactly what the fuck we were doing. Being the risk-averse guy he is, it’s not like Jamie to be willing to even meet with these people under such suspicious circumstances, but his puppy ovaries were probably aching too and he was still on board.

Later that evening, the mysterious man called me again, this time telling me that the number he gave me is now disconnected for some reason, and gave me a new number to call. He then called me again first thing the next morning asking me to call again to get in touch with them. This all felt wrong, and I ignored my gut and continued to follow this guy’s lead anyway. Eventually, I got in touch with the guy’s father or brother (I lost track), and I put Jamie on speaker so that he knew I was coming with a male (who writes contracts like the toughest dude I know). We set up a time to meet the puppies, and he answered as many questions as he could. A few hours later, the actual guy who is supposed to be in charge of the puppy selling contacted me to confirm our meeting. It was another awkward call with a lot of awkward pauses. It felt so bizarre that I texted my sister all the information about all these people that I could gather, in the event that I would end up dead on a farm, and my story would end up on Dateline. I could already hear Keith Morrison’s voice, “What started out as puppy love, turned into a brutal game of fetch…”

Yet, despite all these negative feelings about what we were getting ourselves into, I went into full Amazon Prime mode and bitches be shopping! I started buying everything from dog crates, to beds, to leashes and brushes. I went to the pet stores with my sister to buy food, treats, toys, shampoo, poop odor spray stuff, and all these other supplies I wasn’t even aware I had to have. I went to Walgreens to load up on kids’ allergy medicines. And then I went to the wonderful world of YouTube to watch videos on how to train a puppy. I had less than 48 hours to get this house ready for a dog…or a murder…whichever was awaiting us in Wisconsin.

We decided to make this puppy mission a surprise for the kids. We told them we were buying a new car and were going to pick it up early on Saturday morning in Wisconsin. My cousin said, “Wouldn’t it be great if you drove up to the farm and there was a horse and buggy there and you said to the kids, ‘Hey guys, check out your brand new car!” Both funny and quite possible. The anxiety was high in the house, and I hardly slept the night before. I kept thinking to myself that I was making a huge mistake, putting the kids’ health at risk. I said a quick prayer, “God, please don’t let us die of murder or allergies. Amen.” 6:30am rolled around way too fast, and off we went to an Amish farm in Wisconsin.

It was snowing that morning and the visibility was low, which added to our nervousness. I shared my location with my sister, so that she would know where to find our bodies if this mission went astray. After an hour and a half of some white-knuckled driving, we pulled up to the farm. The kids looked very confused, but didn’t say a word. They didn’t even wonder why I was carrying a bulky backpack with towels and blankets. I kept the kids a little behind while Jamie met up with one of the guys we spoke with. He waved us to come, led us into the barn, and said, “Excuse our mess.” The mess he was referring to were horses and piles of horseshit, which they began shoveling out of our way. Once the horses were moved to their stalls, we saw the pen where the 9 puppies were, plus a few chihuahuas and other dogs. When we opened the pen door, all we saw were little black balls of fur running amok. The kids were delighted, probably thinking, “This is the coolest car dealership ever!” They handed me one of their girl pups, and she sat so still in my arms and was terrified. I kept a hold of the girl, and told them to see if any of the other pups seemed interested in them. There were a few that went to Reese (she probably had the most remnants of breakfast on her hands and clothes), but I still liked the girl I held. The farmers watched on while we played with the pups. Evan said, “I wish we could bring a puppy home instead of a new car.” Reese agreed too. Man, my kids are idiots. There were absolutely no cars in sight, and they still thought we were there to pick up a car. Jamie said, “What would you rather have, a puppy or a new car?” Evan screamed out puppy, and Reese shouted, “I want both!” The farmers laughed, but were probably thinking, “Get a load of these spoiled city slickers!” We told them we were going to bring home a puppy today, and they started cheering and jumping up and down. It was a really special moment that I’ll never forget.

My sister had requested to FaceTime while I was there so she could get a puppy fix, so I asked for permission from the Amish guys, since I didn’t know what they were okay with, and they were fine with it. When I called her, I saw the 2 younger boys sneak a peak at the phone screen and they looked amazed. I kept the call short because I felt like I was bringing Satan into their barn (both through technology and my sister). We spent about 45 minutes to an hour there, deliberating on which pup to take home. They all started looking the same, and I really wanted a girl, so we decided to bring the little shy girl that I held home with us. The kids were over the moon, and I will always remember the looks on their faces and the sounds of their voices, saying thank you a million times. And though on the inside I was melting, I put my tough love cap on (do I really ever take it off?) and said, “Don’t thank me yet. This dog is going to be hard work and everyone’s responsibility.” I proceeded to turn on a puppy training podcast, and off we drove back home. And that was our day with the Amish. I kind of wish we got a bonus tour of the farm, maybe see some butter churning in action, but the puppy was enough excitement for one day.

We named her Albus Dumbledog Newton of House Gruffindor, Alby for short. We argued about her name, even though I had already decided on it. I said, “You guys are only on book 5 of Harry Potter, you still don’t get the greatness of Dumbledore yet. Trust me, you want her to be named after the greatest wizard of all time.” That was very nerdy of me, I heard it as I typed. The kids finally agreed to it, as if they had a choice. We spent the next few days introducing her to family and friends, figuring out how to feed a scared dog, trying to bathe the barn smell out of her (still working on that), doing lots of laundry to get the barn smell out of us and our coats, crate training (which often sounded like a crazed chimp locked in a cage), and the beloved potty training. I was also watching the kids like a hawk, looking for signs and symptoms of allergies, making them constantly wash their hands and faces if the pooch licked them. Our evenings ended with the sounds of the Roomba sucking up the allergens, the kids blowing kisses to Ably in her crate, and Jamie and I wondering what the hell happened to our lives.

Jamie and I were so incredibly tired the first few weeks, just like we felt when the human babies were newborns. It’s a lot of energy to keep a constant eye on the dog, from the potty training to the eating to the activity. And the hardest part is not even the dog, it’s the training of the small humans on how to train the dog. It’s the ultimate micromanagement. All they want to do is snuggle with the dog and ignore everything I tell them to do. It doesn’t seem like it should be a hard concept to comprehend, but it is extremely difficult to convince a kid that rubbing their faces on the dog fur they are allergic to is dumb. One night, I had reached my limit with the dog and everyone else in the house. I had taken care of the pup all day and then made dinner. While I made dinner, the dog had an accident while the kids were watching her. After dinner I started cleaning up the kitchen while Jamie and the kids watched her, and she had another accident. I was like, WTF guys, watch the damn dog! I lost my shit and said to Jamie, “I’m outta here. I’m going grocery shopping, and when I come back I want a specific plan on how all 3 of you are going to help with this fucking dog.” During the hour I was at the grocery store, she had 3 more accidents. There was never a day I was more pleased to have liquor in the house. They did come up with a written schedule and plan, which has since been adjusted as needed. Since then, things had gotten better, though there have still been many more lectures needed from us about stepping up and being more helpful. My lectures sound like this: “I’m very tired and you are both very unhelpful with YOUR dog. I’m doing all the work, while you think squeezing a squeak toy is helpful somehow. I’m sick of hearing your arguing. Stop doing stupid crap, stop being annoying, start taking care of your dog, and maybe we’ll all get along.” Jamie’s lectures sound more like this: “Your mom and I are tired and we don’t have a lot of patience. All of our energy is going into the puppy right now, and we would appreciate more help from you guys. Let’s all work together.” Well damn, Jamie, I was all proud of myself for saying “stupid crap” instead of “fucking bullshit,” and here you come sounding like Mr. F’ing Rogers over here. I guess our dual approaches bring balance (of vulgarity and reason).

The kids are getting better and better with caring for the dog. Either that, or we are getting better at what sort of help to expect from the kids. Reese has definitely stepped up, and Alby tends to listen to her more than Evan, so we have her helping in more significant ways. Evan helps out too, but more on the playing and treat doling front. Still, the life lessons with a pup continue. For example, Evan has the habit of roaming around the house naked before and after his showers, and Alby seems to think his penis is a toy. We have had to tell him several times to wear a robe and cover his penis. Just yesterday he once again refused to hide his penis from Alby, and sure a shit, she went for his dingaling. I’m yelling, “Will you please hide your penis? It’s not funny! You cannot wiggle it around her. She thinks your penis is a toy. Do you want to know what it feels like for those sharp puppy teeth to bite your penis? She will bite that thing off and you will need surgery. I’m only yelling at you because we care about your penis. Put it away!” Jamie, though fully in agreement, was just laughing because he couldn’t believe what I was saying. Laugh it up, man; it’s all fun and games until your son’s penis is maimed and he is single for life and living in our basement.

We are now 3 weeks deep into puppying, and I think all members of the family, including Alby, are adjusting well. Allergies appear to be in check thus far, and fingers crossed they stay that way. When I hear so much as a sneeze or a sniffle, I start blasting my diffusers with all sorts of essential oil allergy concoctions. We have made many changes to puppy proof our house and lives, as she is a very curious and chewy dog. Although it has and will continue to be hard work, she is a joy to have. She is a lot of energy and excitement that I think we all need at a time like now. She has helped with all of our moods, adding a bit of happiness and distraction to all the not great things currently happening in the world. Just as Dumbledore said, “Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.” I can confidently say, at least for now, that I am beyond happy that we switched on that light, went to that Amish farm and picked up our perfect pooch (and also avoided a most heinous potential murder or kidnapping). It was a great way to end a tough year and start 2021 off with a bang and a bark. Cheers to all the covid puppies who helped us through this dark year. And to Ms. Albus Dumbledog, may your time with us at Dogwarts be a most successful and fulfilling journey for us all.