2 Years Ago Today . . .

. . . 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