Friday, November 26, 2010


I saw Ringo today.

Not as happy as I could have been with the person who purchased him.

First of all, he has the stupidest name in the history of stupid names.  His name is Puggles.  Puggles the Puggle.  He is only one, yet his name is a pluralized version of his type.  WTF is that.  "What a beautfiul Lab, what's his name?"  "Labs."  Who DOES that?  At least give it a little thought.  Puggsie, Pugsley, Puggers.. SOMETHING.  Naming your Puggle Puggles, at that point, you might as well just call him Dogs.

Anyway, gripes about names aside.  This is a lady who wanted a pocket dog.  She wants a dress-up doll, something that is going to stay Tiny and Cute.  One of the first questions she asked me, after I weighed him and brought him back in the room was, "Twelve pounds?!  How much bigger is he going to GET?"

Well.  He is only 14 weeks old.  He's got a WHOLE YEAR of growing left to do.  He is a Pug and Beagle mix.  Pugs are short and heavy.  Beagles weigh a little bit more and have more leg.  If I'd have to guess, I'd guess he's going to be between 14 and 16 inches at the shoulder and weigh between 35 and 40 pounds.  If I was a betting gal, I'd put my money more on the 40 pound mark, because he's always been a hefty pup.

She didn't seem very pleased when I told her this.  She looked like she was about the say something about it and then changed her mind.

She didn't think he was drinking enough.  He wasn't dehydrated.  Telling her that as long as he's not dehydrated, he's drinking enough was not a satisfactory answer for her.  I'm not sure what she wanted to hear, but that wasn't it.

Then she went off on a tangent about the store.  Not that the store had done anything wrong, it was just a bunch of hearsay that she took as truth.

"Now I want him THOROUGHLY checked out, because my friends told me that all their puppies are Amish puppies and Amish puppies all got something wrong."

Because, you know, we're in the habit of half-assing examinations unless you specify.  So that irritated me.

I opened up her paperwork from the store, looked at the breeder's name and said, "His breeder's name is Robert Johnston.  I can't guarantee it, but that doesn't sound very Amish to me."

She looked surprised.  "It actually says his breeder's name?"

Yes.  Right on the paperwork someone went over every word of with you, that you clearly didn't pay any attention to.

I checked his ringworm.  There was no sign of where it had been, so I was pleased about that.

He was so happy to see me that he sat at my feet and bayed at me the entire time I was trying to talk to his new owner, which made it hard to hear anything.  Actually, he wasn't that bad, it was her yelling, "Puggles!  Puggles!  Puggles!" in baby-talk voice ineffectively over top of him that made it hard to communicate with her.

She wanted to know exactly how long it was going to take to house train him, and was not satisfied with the answer that it depends on the individual dog and that dog's individual home, how much time can be spent with the dog, etc.

She was all alarmed about his breathing, and seemed upset when I told her, "Yeah.  That's because he's part Pug.  It's nothing to be concerned about unless it causes him distress or interferes with life."  She looked at me like I was crazy.  I said, "I bet he snores, too."  "Yes!  He does!  And you're saying that's not a problem?"  No.  It's just him.  If you're freaked out by noisy breathing, why'd you get a Pug mix?

Then she expressed concern over his play biting.  I tried to explain to her how to not play with him roughly, not to get him into a situation that he didn't understand how to walk away from, or get him overexcited when hands are present, and redirection onto appropriate objects, but she brushed that aside with a, "Well that ain't gone work, I got two kids."

Okay, so how about you train your kids how to deal with the dog?  You are a parent, yes?  Are you or are you not in the position of authority here?  So instead of taking pains to work with your dog, you're going to just allow your kids to make him a nuisance, and then, let me guess, get rid of him.

While I had him on the table, he was mouthing my hand.  He wasn't putting ANY kind of pressure on, just using his mouth to try and maneuver my hand.  She watched that for a minute and then said, "And that don't hurt you?"  "No, not really.  He's not actually biting, he's just mouthing."  "Well it hurt when he do it to me."  Well maybe you're a sissy.


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