Dog Days

So, as reported in my June 7th, 2018 post (https://oldafsarge.blogspot.com/2018/06/requiem-pour-ma-chienne.html)  my rottie passed away.  Much sadness ensued, and dark times happened.  Mrs. Andrew and I had discussed getting another dog, but I was looking for some separation between the two (old gone dog and new here dog.)

But... well... we were both sad.  One of the things Liesl (the rottie) did was keep Mrs. Andrew company while Beans was out shopping, or sleeping or whatever.  And so the days when Beans was away from Mrs. Andrew were especially troubling for the now-grieving lady of my life.

So, early in July, 2018, after only a monthish without a dog, we decided to get a new one.  We enjoyed Liesl and understood Rottweilers pretty well, so, of course, we set our search parameters on another female Rottie, preferably a young one.

Parameters:  Female.  Young.  Low to mid energy.  Intelligent.  Rottweiler.  

5 simple parameters, right?  Easy-peasy, there will be tons of Rotties out there, right?  Especially in Florida or South Georgia, all places easily within driving distance, right?  Maybe from the place we got Liesl from in 2009, right?

Um...  Yeah...  And I'll sell you a weapon-system that is cheap, on-time and works, too...

So, first off, the place we got Liesl from was no more.  Seems, eventually through the grapevine, the two owners had a fight, broke up (ain't love grand?) and peeved everyone off in Georgia by leaving and skipping out on bills and warrants and stuff. Oy vey...

So, well, Florida and South Georgia...  We go to various pet-rescue-search engines and type in our basic parameters and start getting hits.  Not a lot, but...  Corresponding to all the various locations resulted in "Oh, animal is still too sick..." or "Oh, animal is already been adopted..." or "Oh, insert excuse here..."  

Hmmmm.   Okay, adjust parameters:   Young.  Low to mid energy.  Intelligent.  Rottweiler.

We started getting more hits.  We even got visited by one 'evaluator' who told us something very curious...  Seems Florida and South Georgia rescue Rottweilers are controlled by one group, under the control of one woman.  The evaluator said we were 'good parents' and 'good prospects' and liked how we had our lives arranged and we had a good recommendation from our vet.  No problem.  Should be easy to find and adopt a dog, right?

Side note:  Why adopt a rescue?  Well, many reasons.  Good dogs need rescuing.  And breeders charge mega-arm-and-leg.

New parameters set, dogs on websites available, applications out, and...  Nothing.  No news.  No response.  

Mrs. Andrew calls up various people, finally gets the head of the Cartel, er, Mafia, er, Rescue Organization, and things seem to be back to okay.  We are given information on a nice young male dog in Pasco County and a 'visit' is arranged.

Visit day on a Sunday comes, and Mrs. Andrew and Beans drive down I-75 to Pasco County, and take a confusing number of this-road, that-road, what-road to the meet-place, which is at a puppy day-care.

(Insert ominous music...)

We show up on time, and... no-one is there.  There's some dogs in the back area, but no humans to be seen or heard...  We wait.  And wait. And wait.  An hour in the hot Florida sun in July (which means both heat and humidity, yuck) we call and the person we're meeting will be another 30 minutes or so. 

Finally, someone shows up (who works at the puppy day-care) and we go inside to get ready for the meet-up.  We enter a dank, smelly, slightly rotten old double wide that, well, smelled of dog urine and the floor was rotten and just yuck.

Another hour of waiting and the lady finally shows up with the dog...  And we find out the interview isn't for us to see the dog, but for the Cartel, er, Mafia, er... to meet us.  Things go well, we think, and so we drive home assuming we have a chance at a dog.  It only took 5 hours and lots of soap to get rid of the urine stench out of our skins (clothes went directly into washer as soon as we got home.)

Come Monday we are informed by the Junta, er, Cartel, er, Mafia, er, Rescue Organization that our applications have been denied, go away, we suck, we don't deserve a dog, etc.

Which, of course, sets Mrs. Andrew on a darker spiral...

So we start looking outside of our parameter area.  And quickly find a nice lady in Alabama who has a young, male, Rottie mix (there goes another push against the parameters...) ready for adoption within a week.  She communicates with our landlady, who has nothing but good things to say about us, and to our vet, who tells her any dog would be lucky to be adopted by us.  And, pending final health clearance of the dog, known by her as Mr. Wiggles (yuck...) we were good to go.

After having been shafted by the Junta-Cartel-Mafia of Florida, we tried not to get our hopes up.

Finally, the clearance came.  A weekend trip to Alabama was arranged, hotel arrangements made, things were Green to Go!  And then Mrs. Andrew gets sick, as a dog.  No details will be given, but, not hospitalistic, but bad...  So, dang it, moved trip back one day, adjusted hotel reservations, and slept the night away.  Woke up, Mrs. Andrew is better but not ready for travel, conversations with Adopter Lady get a work-around.  Instead of us going to her, 5 hours one way on back roads partially, she'd meet us in Marietta, GA off of I-75 the next day.  So, yay, trip back on-ish.  Hotel reservations cancelled, new printout of map and plan  printed, we rest one more night and hit the road, Jack.

We scoot up to the meet-location and... wait.  Finally Adopter Lady and Mr. Wiggles show up.  He's cute, but... Parameters:  Young-Check.  Low to mid energy-Check.  Rottweiler(ish)-well, he's a black and tan... but... he's looking more like a hound-dog...

He likes me, thinks Mrs. Andrew is interesting but doesn't like her powered chair.   Forms signed, money exchanged, furtive glances given (no Junta-Cartel-Mafia members anywhere) and we now have a supposed Rottweiler mix.  Hop back into our car (it's late July, in South Georgia, which means hot and humid) and we head down the road.  To the wonderful sounds of the now-renamed Kegan howling, like a hound-dog, at being separated from very nice Adopter-Lady.

Um.  This is beginning to be seem sub-optimal.  

Dog finally settles down.  Laying with his head between us, on Mrs. Andrew, and the two fall asleep.  Yay.

Then...  He farted.  No.  He FARTED!  From the back seat, a stench so horrid we both about died.  Quickly finding an exit, I get the first chance to walk my dog...  and clean up a couple cubic yards of dog poop, while hiding from the abominable heat and humidity...

We get home.  Life is good.  Dog is... good.  Very good.   He settles down, we settle down, and... curiosity strikes.  He's not a Rottweiler.  He doesn't look much like a Rottie.  What is he?

Get a kit from Embark.com (doggie DNA people) and send it out.

Meantime, Mr. Low-to-mid-energy Kegan recovers from his heartworm treatment, and... OMG, He's HIGH ENERGY and loves patting us with his feet.  Totally un-Rottie. More... something else.  He's clubbing us and standing on us and wags his feet at us and what the heck?

Get the results back... 100% Cane Corso.  A mid-sized Italian Mastiff breed.  Italian.  Figures, since he talks with his hands...

So.  Here we are.  New dog.  Mrs. Andrew is happy.  Kegan is happy.  Beans is happy.  We're all happy.  And we have a dog, who talks with his hands...

This is him Christmas morning.  He ate most of the bone within two weeks.  The green ball died in three weeks, even with him not being allowed unsupervised access.  The big brown plank is a chunk of moose antler, which he's still working on.  The rope and ball is something Mrs. Andrew made, which he plays with like an idiot.  The red thing is a hunting dog training tool, which is mostly safe from him destroying, mostly.