Some of you know that for years, I had a retired racing greyhound named Tango. He was my first dog, and I loved him dearly. He died in my arms, of respiratory failure, a little over six years ago. I still miss him.
Go ahead. Get a tissue. I'll wait.
Mr. Bean contends that a first dog is like a first boyfriend -- nobody else quite measures up to your first. I'm not so sure about the boyfriend thing, actually. My first boyfriend was Dan Duffy, who dated me in high school because he was trying to make my friend, Sandy, jealous. She had broken up with him. He was a pretty good kisser, actually, but it was still a really crappy reason to ask a gal out, you know?
Anyway, the fact is that Tango was the best, most wonderful dog in the world. I'd swear to it before a judge. I know this, because our next dog was a Kerry Blue Terrier, which I think we bought because Kerrys were the talk of Westminster for a few years in there. He's a total moron. And he barks pretty much all the time. So no; as sweet as he is, in his moronic way, he totally lacks the poetic soul and self-conscious gawkiness of my greyhound.
Where am I going with this? Well, here you go: When I had Tango, I encountered, at the local Highland Games, a Scottish Deerhound. Deerhounds are large, fuzzy greyhounds. Just as gawky. Just as quietly poetic. Just as gentle and sweet. I fell in love. I wanted one. Trouble is, there are only about 1000 Deerhounds in the whole freakin country. A puppy will run you about $3000. My chances of ever having one were pretty slim.
So about three years ago, unbeknownst to me, Mr. Bean signed us up for the National Scottish Deerhound Rescue.
And about two weeks ago, they called us. They had not one, but two deerhounds who had been orphaned as a result of a nasty divorce. They were raised together, very dependent on each other, and very traumatized by losing their family. They wanted to place them together. They were six years old -- almost geriatric by large dog standards.
Did we want them?
Of course we did.
So here are our newest "kids":
Meet Max. He'll be seven in September.
and Blue. She'll be six in a couple weeks. That's also the lower half of Mr. Bean. He's 6'4" tall and wears a 34" inseam. See how tall Blue is? She's the little one, by almost 40 pounds.
Together, they are 195 pounds of fuzzy love.
A few challenges: They'd never seen cats before. (I should learn to ask these questions). Cats are VERY interesting. Like, VERY. They might be tasty too, but Mom won't let us taste them.
They have seen deer before. They're even more interesting. And by a weird cosmic coincidence, a small herd of whitetail moved into our woods the day they moved in. Yes, 6 am walks are a VERY special time now.
Walking them is rather like driving a team of draft horses. Except draft horses don't head off in two different directions at once.
But on the positive side, the Moron Kerry is much more relaxed than he was before we got the bigger dogs. I actually like him better than before.
And they are big sweethearts. Even if they can clear the coffee table with their tails.
I'm a happy girl. It's like being in love all over again.