Mick, the new, used, dog
OK. So in late summer of 09. I succumbed to the desire to get a second, younger, dog to work on as my GWP aged more dramatically.
I'd looked for a pointing breed, and decided with my advancing age and diminishing funds to see if I could find a rescue Brittany, over three years old, that I could train and occasionally annoy the few local pheasants in SW Wisconsin. After months of pondering on the various dogs listed, I went through the home visit evaluation to see if my home was suitable, qualified, and then asked to see a dog being fostered northwest of Madison Wisconsin.
Nice dog, undocked, and kind of an odd Brit, but healthy, congenial, and of an age and size that suited my loose expectations. The agreement was reached and Mick, the new, used, dog came in the car and the two of us enjoyed our car ride home.
Socialization with Young Bert, the not-right dog went fairly well, although YB had some need to dominant straddle Mick. A few days of correction settled that, and I let Mick abide and get used to the rhythms of the house. Slow rhythms..I'm old and live alone in the country.
One night that first week, I saw Mick leave the room and go down the hall way to the kitchen. The recycle bags were out. I heard "Rustle, rustle, rustle...tip toe tip toe tip toe tip toe," as Mick made his way back into the dining room.
This (a recreation of the moment) is what I saw! With a too vivid imagination I saw thousands of shards of glass laceration mouth, tongue, and throat of the new dog in the house. Quietly, very quietly, I say, "Good Boy ! C'mhere Mick."
He did, I removed the offending object, and spent the rest of the night trying to figure out what in the pluperfect h*** prompted the little idjit to pick that. Still don't know.
and yes, Mick is actually a Field Springer Spaniel. Some very courteous person the forum verified my (wry) comments to ABR about the flushing pointing breed.
