The View from a Drawbridge

I’ve had many dogs in my lifetime, and somehow I always manage to have the best dogs in the entire world. It kind of makes me feel sorry for the rest of you, having to settle for seconds like you do. My dogs are always wonderful, fabulous, the most excellent creatures on the face of the earth. They’ve come in all shapes and sizes, and each has had his or her own temperament and personality and quirks, but each one has always been unsurpassed in the dog world. I’m just lucky, I guess.

I don’t know how I manage to pull this off. I mean, what are the odds? But it’s true. I think there are a few things that have improved my chances. First of all, every single dog I’ve ever had has come from rescue. I think rescue dogs inherently appreciate their living situation, because they’ve gotten a taste of how nasty, brutish and short their lives could have been otherwise. They have had a chance to realize that the most important thing is to be loved. They have their priorities straight. Also, the vast majority of them have been mixed breeds, so they tend to be healthier and hardier than a pure bred with a hopelessly tangled family tree. There have been a few exceptions, but even those were rescues.

I’ve never been one to go to a breeder. There are enough dogs in the world who need a good home without my asking someone to create another one for me. And besides, I believe in destiny. Whenever I have looked for a dog, I’ve gone to rescue with a general idea of what I’m looking for, and then I get there and lock eyes with a certain dog, and BANG! The dog I am meant to have crashes right into my heart, and gives me a look as if to say, “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting.” And that dog has never even been close to what I expected to come home with.

And that’s just fine with me.

Charley

Karenin

Mocha

Devo and Blue