. . . We woke up to our first full day as the owners/parents
of Miss Dagny and HP (Hank the Puppy aka Half-Price).
We’d been
married on Sunday,
December 31, 2006, and returned from our
honeymoon around midnight on Saturday,
January 6, 2007. The next day we returned a call from the breeder who we’d reserved
Dagny from 3 weeks before. They said that we could come and pick her up the
next weekend. That week, we
“puppy proofed” the house, put away all the wedding gifts (particularly those
breakable ones), and made an appointment at a vet (for
one 6½ week old Border Collie puppy).
That next Saturday morning, we made the hour drive to Conyers, GA to pick up
Dagny, our wedding present to each other, and once inside the home, down the hall came barreling
two little black and white balls of fluff - a
big ‘ol boy in the lead and
our little Dagny behind. The breeder casually made the comment about the
“other” puppy that he was the only one left, and she didn’t know what to do because he would be
all alone, so we could have him for
half-price if we wanted both (if any of you have seen
Marley and Me, this part may sound oddly familiar).
I laughed. I did feel bad for the boy, but I didn’t want a boy because I didn’t want a
big dog, and after seeing the
stud, I knew this little puppy was going to be
gigantic. Not only was the dog we’d picked out a girl, but she was the runt, so I knew she wouldn’t be too big, and I already
loved her. 
Patrick did the
“puppy tests” on both, and both passed all but one - different ones. We then took them outside so they could play and run and potty. They responded collectively to
“puppy, puppy, puppy” (and they still will), following the breeder like little ducklings. Their
personalities were obvious right away. The
“other puppy” was super focused on us and a little
bundle of energy who wanted to play and jump and be the center of attention (an extrovert if you will). Our
Dagny was already very
sweet but a bit more timid while also independent,
exploring the yard
on her own (a dominant introvert).
Once outside, Patrick leaned over to me and said:“So what do you think?” - Patrick (excitedly)
“What do mean, what do I think?” - Me (warily)
“What do you think?” - Patrick (still excited)
“I think we’re gonna get a dog?” - Me (hopeful/wary)
“Noooooo, what do you think? - Patrick (still excited)
Pause
“You want to two dogs, don’t you?” - Katie (not shocked)
“Yeah, so what do you think?” - Patrick (nervous)
“Are you sure?” - Me (very warily)
It had been LOVE at first sight.
Patrick + Hank = Puppy Love
You can’t really blame him though. Hank is pretty darn loveable.
In all fairness, we had always
planned on getting two dogs, although
“the plan” was to
wait until the first was a year old or so and out of the worst (and best) part of the puppy stage. We just hadn’t intended to get two at once. Why? Because that is
crazy, right?
Well, to end the
suspense I know I’ve built up here, we got
two dogs. Crazy. And thus began a
life that I am positive will be full of many conversations like the one above. We did get
Hank for half-price, and our new little family loaded up in the car for the ride to Athens:
Patrick, me, TWO puppies, a pink blanket, a basket of toys (including the now infamous Sheepy), and a roll of paper towels (in case anyone got car sick).
We went straight to the vet for our appointment, and walked in
proudly holding our two little
bundles of joyous fluff. The receptionist looked at us and said,
“there are two?!” Oops. They really didn’t care at all, but it was only at that moment that I really realized what I had let Patrick talk me into. We didn’t even have a
name for the boy (who weighed 40% more than Dagny and still does -
so much for a small dog), so we decided to call him Chubby for the moment. And that is what his first few vet records refer to him as:
“Chubby Rhamey.” Of course we would later settle on
Hank, just to be consistent with our libertarian dog naming theme. The vet spent extra time checking
Dagny’s blue eye to make sure she could see out of it and checking
Hank’s tummy. Why? It was so large that she thought something might be wrong with him. After an examination, however, she announced that
“he’ll grow into his tummy.” And he has, for the most part. 
Of course, I could go on forever about every detail of their puppyhood and life since then - about how they
didn’t cry the first night, about how
Hank couldn’t have water once the sun went down because he was
afraid of the shadows outside, about the time I said “ok, let’s go outside and
let's go potty” and they looked up at me then simultaneously squatted and peed in the living room, about
Hank falling off the porch the second morning we had them and having to go to the vet (he just fell over, simple as that - he was
fat), about
Dagny - also on the second morning - walking straight to the door after eating and making me so
proud, about our super bowl party when they were still tiny and during which they would
Go, Go, Go and then crash in the middle of the room filled with yelling people and not wake up even when being poked and posed for pictures, about agility classes and
Puppy Jail, about their first time jumping in the
lake and first trips to the
ocean, about when
Dagny had her "girl surgery" and
Hank went into a deep depression due to the
separation, about
jumping on our landlord’s little girl and making her
cry, about the first day we put up the
electric fence, about
Dagny’s Friday night trip to the
doggie hospital, about playing
soccer with little Lacey to our amazement, about
Easter Eggs hunting, about drinking the
Christmas tree water, about every time I
cry and they hear me and
attack with kisses, about every time I say “
where’s Patrick” and
Hank goes looking for him in the office, under the pillows, in the bathtub because he has to be here
somewhere!
I recently was talking to a friend who has another friend who is getting married, and his wife doesn’t think a dog is a good idea for the first year of marriage. I
couldn’t disagree more. To each his own, but I don’t know what we would have done without the puppies. Sat there and
stared at each other?
Dagny and
Hank have
calmed down a good bit over just the past few months. They have proven they don’t need to be
kenneled all the time, that they can be let
off the leash while hiking, that they won’t
eat little puppies, and that they understand you can’t jump on
little kids. They are not perfect, but they are definitely not Marley dogs. We happen to think they are the
best dogs in the world!
"A dog has no use for fancy cars or big homes or designer clothes. Status symbol means nothing to him. A waterlogged stick will do just fine. A dog judges others not by their color or creed or class but by who they are inside. A dog doesn't care if you are rich or poor, educated or illiterate, clever or dull. Give him your heart and he will give you his. It was really quite simple, and yet we humans, so much wiser and more sophisticated, have always had trouble figuring out what really counts and what does not . . . I realized it was all right there in front of us, if only we opened our eyes. Sometimes it took a dog with bad breath, worse manners, and pure intentions to help us see."
— John Grogan (Marley and Me)
Posted 1/14/2009
Pretty, huh? 
The wall below the kitchen window
But they are pretty insistent on us wearing a 
