Two Barking Dogs

Getting a puppy is a huge commitment. And, in my case, perhaps I should have been committed. To say the least, my first attempt at sole ownership of a dog (all previous dogs had been family pets) has always been a love affair, but in the beginning, I wondered about my decision and sanity.

I was living in Dublin, Ireland in 2001 and had been wanting my own dog for years. I had been looking for a Red Setter (Irish Setter) puppy but gave up after having no luck after a few months. A friend from work had just brought home a Black Lab pup and I couldn’t resist. I made arrangements to go meet Mr. Putts (I swear!) and look at the puppies. I was told there were five males and one female left from the litter of 10 all black puppies. The large house outside of Dublin was a haven for free-range chickens on one side of the front garden … and a whole lot of puppy energy on the other side. I went into the garden and met Mr. Putts and the puppies, who were running around like a bunch of maniacs. They were already 10 weeks old and quite large. And, they were all males. They ran, wrestled, tore around the yard and I was backing away toward the car with the look of horror on my face. I wanted a dog. But jeez, these weren’t dogs, they were Tazmanian Devils! It was then that I asked about the female puppy. Mr. Putts looked around and pointed her out. A much smaller version of the maniacs sitting very very still inside the boxwood hedge.

Talk about love at first site. I called the little black pup to me, and she came running. About half-way to me, she was jumped by her brothers, rolled in the dirt, tail being pulled one way, ears the other way. She looked at me with these big black eyes that said, “Please, save me from this!” I picked her up and she let out a huge sigh while I stroked her back.

Mr. Putts invited me into the kitchen to sign some papers for the Irish Kennel Club, and of course to write him a check for 500 Irish Pounds (before the Euro! about $1,000). I was ready to leave when Mr. Putts spit in his hand, stuck it out to shake mine (which I did) and he handed me back a 50 Punt note. I had heard of this custom (hansel money) in the country, usually at livestock markets, where people make a deal and then give back some money “to keep the good luck” between the two people making a deal. I scooped up the puppy and waded through the chickens and off we went to begin a great adventure!