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Spotless Dalai, the Bestest Girl, Arrives

I don’t remember what fueled my search to get my second Great Dane. It might have been that I lost my latest foster-fail, Annie-the-Brittany. It might have been that I was worried that Murray-the-Dane was at six, aging, and I wasn’t at all sure I’d survive losing him.

(It wasn’t just me; one of my friends who was a shrink, used to shake her head and tell me I’d need to be institutionalized when he died. Not a particularly helpful statement I might add.)

At the time I didn’t have the connections I now have within the rescue and breeding communities. So I went to the three-day AKC Great Dane breed show. I was in heaven.

There were about 300 Danes of all colors and types. I saw some dogs I liked and talked to a lot of breeders. The two that really impressed me didn’t have any litters planned until the following Spring and already had long waiting lists.

I turned to breeders listed in an AKC forum that were in the general vicinity of California. I discovered a breeder in Northern California in a place called Grass Valley.

I talked to her a few times. She had two puppies, a stunning male, which I had to pass on because Murray, was, well, Murray. No males. She also had a delicate female with a lovely spotted head and just two spots on rest of her snow white body.

Done.

The world was very big. Dalai was very small.

According to my crack map skills, Grass Valley was just a smidgen north of San Francisco. Which meant that I could spend the weekend with my sister-from-another-mother, Tracy, and her partner who lived in Pacifica. I’d drive up Friday and on Saturday, we’d cruise up to Grass Valley and I’d pick up my puppy.

Easy peasy.

I managed to convince another friend, Kathy to go with me. She had never taken the 101 to Northern California. It’s a stunning drive filled with roadside attractions. It was going to be fun.

Our first sign of trouble was when we had difficulty locating the rental car company. It was supposed to be onsite at Burbank airport.

Nope.

Multiple phone calls and several U turns later we picked up the car and dropped off Kathy’s. We were on our way.

Road trip!

The drive up was indeed pretty. But it took forever. And ever. I also discovered that when I am behind the wheel I turn into a crazy suburban man on a family car trip circa 1962. That is, I don’t stop.

Kathy spotted a few places that, in retrospect would have been a hoot to check out. Those included the Garlic Festival. Unfortunately, I was in driving mode; there was no stopping allowed.

Did I mention that this was the beginning of September? Traditionally that weekend is miserably hot, and this was no exception. It was at least a zillion degrees. Something I mentioned every time Kathy pointed out a place to stop.

“That looks fun! Let’s check it out!” she would say.

“Too hot,” I’d reply as we whizzed by the exit.

This went on for many hours. Many, many hours

Eventually we got to the glorious coolness that is Tracy’s house in Pacifica. Wine and air conditioning were enjoyed.

Over dinner her partner Tyler asked where exactly we were going the next day. That is when I discovered that what is a mere half inch on a map, translates into three hours in the car.

Oops.

Not surprisingly, Tyler took over the driving. She got us to a nondescript home in Grass Valley with nary a U-turn or missed exit.

The breeder introduced us a gorgeous Mantle mom, who was the puppies’ mother, and then led us to the puppy pen. I bent down and before I even hit the ground, a mostly white Harlequin female jumped in my lap. That was that.

Dalai picked me.

She slept the entire ride home, except when we stopped for lunch. Since she didn’t have her shots, I carried her out of the car to a deserted area while the others picked up food. I plopped her on the ground where she immediately peed. I snatched her up, and she fell asleep.

When we got to Tracy and Tyler’s place, their two Dachshunds had mixed feelings about the large, clumsy puppy. The older Doxie ignored her; the younger chased her up and down the hallway till Dalai got tired.

I’d brought a crate for her, and I set it and a place for me on the floor in the living room. I expected Dalai to cry for her littermates, or whine all night. Nope. We slept till morning.

Or she did. That’s when I discovered that Dalai was a floor-rattling snorer. Most Danes are, but she was the loudest I’ve heard. I think Tracy and Tyler could hear her from the other end of the house.

The drive home was hot.

We only stopped when Kathy’s insane and hysterical employer called and we needed a cell signal. That happened regularly because a birthday cake was not what she hoped. Apparently was a life-changing disappointment and she felt it the need to rant. Incessantly. Her temper tantrum went on for hours (It was another clue that the rich are different from you and I.)

Our other sign it was time to stop was when Dalai would wake up and fart. I’d pull over, take her out, she’d immediately pee and we’d be on our way.

By the time we got home it was dark. I put Dalai in the backyard and tried to let the other dogs out individually for polite introductions.

Great idea. Not so realistic.

Poppy, Quattro and Murray barreled outside and surrounded her, sniffing intently. Naturally, the two Brittanys tried to play with her.

Murray was not thrilled. In fact he was a little shocked by her appearance. Shocked, I tell you.

Big surprise.

Dalai, on the other hand, loved him.

END PART 1

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Ruckus Meets The World

I’ve been working hard to ensure that Ruckus the Great Dane puppy has as many new and varied experiences as possible. Covid lockdowns slowed us down, but now that things are opened up, we are going places.

Literally.

At eight months, she hasn’t been to a restaurant. Yet. At that age Jasper was a regular at a few LA dining spots. Taking a Great Dane to eateries is a little more complicated than, say, bringing a Chihuahua along for the festivities, but we got pretty good at it.

In before times, not all eating establishments had outside dining areas, and what they had was usually fairly small. While a small dog can tuck under a table, a Dane, even a young one, tends to sprawl into the aisles.

Which means that the dog in question has to be incredibly good natured and agile, because they may get stepped on. They also should be super cute, so the wait staff turn to mush when they dodge around them, rather than get angry and bitter.

Jasper is charming, and let’s face it, he is adorable. Wait staff melt at the sight of him.

Jasper at eight months eyeing a glass of Chardonnay in an LA restaurant. Wait staff love him.

Whenever I take my dogs anywhere, it’s like travelling with a toddler. While I don’t need a bassinet, or a car seat, I bring practically everything else. I have the doggy equivalent of a diaper bag even if we’re just eating out or going to Starbucks. Bowls? Check. Chew toys? Check. Bully stick? Check. Poop bags? Never leave home without them.

Ruckus was six months when she went her first out–of-town horse show. This meant we were going to have to stay overnight somewhere. The show was located in one of California’s wine regions, which meant that there were a lot of hotels and Air B’n’Bs. Once I added Ruckus to the mix, the choices dropped dramatically.

I had a pick of three.

One was a suite at a resort located on a gorgeous vineyard. It featured a variety of well-reviewed restaurants, a spa and a pool. Nightly wine tastings. It sounded dreamy. All for a mere $600+ a night.

Next.

There was also a La Quinta, which are decent hotels and the entire chain is dog friendly. It was, however, almost an hour away from the show. I had a few 7:30 am classes and was planning to stay to watch the late classes.

Nope.

Then there was an Air BnB listing. Located on a small ranch, just minutes from the showgrounds, it was just a room and a connected bathroom. There was a $50 dog cleaning fee, which is normal at hotels if you bring dogs. There was no size limit on the dog, which can happen.

I booked it.

While I was packing the car the night before we left, it looked like I was getting ready to move. Or were bugging out in a war zone. All my gear fit into a small duffel bag and a hanging bag for my show coats, shirts and breeches.

Ruckus? Her kit included three bowls (one water and food bowl for the room, one food bowl for the show); a large container of kibble; a cooler to keep her turkey loaf chilled until we got to the room; a bag of toys; biscuits; two dog beds, dog towels and a sheet to cover the bed to protect it from dog hair since of course she sleeps with me. And of course, poop bags.

At the last minute I looked at the listing again to ensure there was a small fridge and coffeemaker. But I was horrified to notice that the space featured a spanking new beige carpet. Beige! I added a painter’s drop cloth to cover the rug. We were going to be spending our days at a horse show, even the best of which are filthy, dusty and often muddy all at once.

Ruckus being a Very, Good, Dog at the Temecua Horse Show. Photo by London

When I arrived and the Air Bnb host watched with amusement that slowly turned to terror as I unloaded my clown car of stuff. I think she was afraid I never going to leave.

It was all good. We got a rave review because that room was spotless when we left.

Ruckus on the drop cloth that covers the Air B’n’B bed. And her own blankie.

I don’t always bring that much stuff when I take her out in the world, but there’s always a lot. Last week my friend Twinkle and I took Ruckus and her puppy, Mighty (also a Great Dane) to the amazing dog beach, Hendry’s just north of Santa Barbara.

We weren’t sure how much the puppies were going to enjoy it; sometime the waves and the noise upset dogs. But it was crazy hot in the Valley and we figured if we spent 45 minutes there, it would still be better than being at home.

We packed a bucket for water; five bottles of water, four towels, poop, sunscreen (for us and the dogs) and a sheet to spread on the sand while we all rested.

The latter was unnecessary. They never stopped. As soon as we crossed onto the dog part of the beach and removed their leashes, they were off.

Ruckus ran straight into the water with Mighty at her side. They jumped over a wave, landed and bounced into the air and chest bumped each other like drunken frat boys. About that time Mighty realized he was neck deep in water and practically levitated out, and ran for the beach. Ruckus followed but stayed in the surf.

About then the puppies noticed that there were packs of dogs playing in the water and zooming around the beach. So they just joined in.

Most of the dogs were good-sized, Labs, Goldens and big mixes, none were as large as our house horses. A couple of the dogs stopped and stared, but soon they were all tearing around after each other like lunatics. Mighty stayed on the beach as did a few of the other dogs. Ruckus was all about the water. Beach to water, water to beach. The zooming never stopped.

When their playmates owners took them home, I thought our puppies might need a break. They had other ideas and found different friends further down the beach.

Much to our surprise, both dogs came instantly whenever we called them. But they never stopped running. Even when they knocked me into the water, they just leaped around me. Ruckus was pretty excited that I’d joined her in the surf.

(Pro tip: my Samsung phone was in my back pocket. I immediately ran for the towels and removed the case and dried it off. Except for a few glitches that didn’t last, it was fine. A friend tells me if it was an iPhone, it would have been done.)

They were the absolute epitome of doggie delight.

After a couple of hours, we clipped their leashes and literally dragged them away. If I didn’t insist on taking her home I was afraid Ruckus would play till she collapsed. She had such intense FOMO that she didn’t even take a drink until we were back at the car.

Ah, the car. Oops.

She leapt in, and while I was trying to dry my butt off (I hadn’t brought a spare pair of shorts and I was still soaked from hitting the water) she saw a small dog being led by a proper looking lady. Delighted to meet yet another pal, she leapt out of the car to greet it.

In the ensuing 30 seconds, she terrified the owner, spooked the tiny dog, who then growled and confused Ruckus. Her feelings were hurt, but she came right back to me.

The lady was incredibly nice about the whole thing.

Lesson learned. Never leave the tailgate down with Ruckus in the car. Even if I’m standing there. Even exhausted, she is fast.

That was practically the last time Ruckus moved all day. As soon as we started moving, she fell fast asleep. Mighty took a little longer to get comfortable and spent most of the drive home struggling to keep his eyes open.

So far, she has had a blast and been pretty good every time I take her somewhere new. Next up, a restaurant.

They almost all have outdoor patios now.

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I Need to Socialize. Or, The Things I Do For My Dogs

Ruckus on arrival at eight weeks fit under a chair.

When the pandemic started getting real, and lockdown hit, the biggest complaint lots of people had was that they missed other people. I couldn’t relate.

I don’t think of myself as an introvert, but I was positively giddy that it was literally against the law for me to attend a party just to spend my time nursing a single beer, and hanging with the host’s dog until I could sneak out.

I like some people, but I have yet to meet a dog I hated. Or one that made me feel bad about myself.

During the worst of the pandemic, a lot of people became lonely and got dogs to keep them company. Obviously, I didn’t have that problem. In March 2020 I had four dogs, a cat, a canary and five horses. I had almost too much company. Almost.

Even a year into the lockdown, I wasn’t talking to myself. If there were no people around and words were coming out of my mouth, I was speaking the animals. Does it matter that most of the time they don’t listen?Neither do most humans.

Since Dalai the Dane and Poppy the Brittany have transcended into “ancient dog” territory, I was thinking about adding a puppy to the mix long before the pandemic. Jasper was four and a half; that’s the when I like to introduce puppies. He was no longer a puppy himself, but he still liked to play and would enjoy having a playmate.

By the time when Ruckus the eight-week-old Great Dane joined my pack in December, I had really thought the whole thing through. I was ready.

I might have been ready for Ruckus to join the pack, but Jasper took a little convincing. Here he is trying to hide from her.

Ruckus came from the same reputable breeder as Jasper. I had my terrific dog school on standby for puppy classes. Also, by happy accident there were three puppies (two cattle dogs and a black and tan coonhound) at the stable that she could meet up for playdates. My friend Twinkle has Mighty the Great Dane puppy, who is two months older than Ruckus and always up for playing.

Mighty and Ruckus were pooped out from a playdate at the barn. But dang, they are good in the car!

Ruckus also came almost everywhere with me so she’d be comfortable in the car and for long drives.

This puppy was going to be great with other dogs, used to being left at the barn while I rode, at ease in the car. I was pretty darn smug about Ruckus. I was so busy patting myself on the back for socializing her properly that I missed the big, giant elephant in the room. The Pandemic.

D’oh.

In California, Covid-19 was rampant during the winter of 2020-21. The hospitals were packed. Every day the number of infections and deaths from the virus – contrary to what some Fox News/ Newsmax hosts and a certain orange president would have you believe – rose exponentially.

So, while Ruckus went everywhere I did, we weren’t going very out very much. We went to the barn and she played with Mighty almost daily, but she didn’t meet a lot of people.

On a good week I’d see maybe eight people mask-to-mask. During the worst of the pandemic, the only people stopping by my place were delivery drivers, and they just tossed packages over the fence and ran away.

Ruckus wasn’t getting well socialized.

I’m particularly touchy about socializing Danes because of my dearly departed Murray. Murray was a lot of things: gorgeous, devoted to me and an agility beast. But a lot of people just he was just a beast.

It was completely my fault.

I was so terrified of Murray contracting Parvo, which is/was so out-of-control in Los Angeles, that his paws never touched the ground outside of my yard until he was fully vaccinated. This was not a good thing.

He became a somewhat fearful dog. He was dog reactive and terrified of children and men. The former because I am also terrified of kids, and the latter because even then I had no social life. (Sensing a pattern here?)

At his peak Murray was about 140 pounds. While that’s a medium sized Dane, it’s still a lot of dog. Especially when he was scared and wanted to get out of Dodge. I was lucky; his go-to was to run from his fears, not towards them. He once nearly dragged me into traffic because a woman wouldn’t believe that Murray was terrified of her five-year-old.

So I worked with him. A lot. I learned how to distract him. I learned how to keep his attention on me at all times. I learned that his love for agility gave him confidence and he became less reactive. He was always a lot of fun, but always being on alert was exhausting for me.

I never wanted to have an even partially un-socialized dog again.

When I got Dalai I took her everywhere. She went to the barn because there were only a few dogs and they were all vaccinated. As soon as possible we went to training classes. I walked her daily to the nearby Elementary School at the end of classes. (I was worried that I’d get called out as a predator: “Hey kid, would you please pet my puppy?” No one ever noticed which is a whole other problem…)

That was all great until the newest tenant in the apartment building next to my came with a sociopathic little kid. The brat would call Dalai to the fence and then throw shit at her. Needless to say, in no time Dalai became a child hater. Unlike Murray, who would pull me into the street to get away from small children, I have no doubt that Dalai, if left to her own devices, would bite them. Even in her dotage, I never leave alone with people under 15.

right to left: Dalai, tiny Ruckus, Jasper on what my bed.

By the time Jasper came along I had moved to my current place. The neighbor kids are great and willingly patted him every time they crossed paths. So did everyone else. Jasper is a little skitty when he first meets new people, but never, ever scary.

Now that things are opening up, Ruckus is going out and meeting more people. At six months, it’s a little later than I’d planned, but she’s getting there. She goes to dog school. She goes to Tractor Supply. To Petco. To Lowes.

Intermediate Dog School Graduate. She even got a star!

The big test will be in a couple of weeks. We are both going to a horse show. When I’m riding, she will be with her buddy Olive in a pen. The rest of the time she’ll be with me. We’re staying in an Air B’n’b. I’ve warned the host, and have paid a dog fee.

I figure by the time the weekend is over, both Ruckus and I will be completely socialized. Or at least as good as either of us are going to get.

Ruckus is ready to meet and greet! Jasper has to stay home though.

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The Further Education of Ruckus and Me

I am a huge believer in education, particularly when it comes to my animals. (We won’t even discuss the constant training my horses receive, other than to point out that it mostly serves to repair all of the damage I do every time I ride.) Every one of my dogs — except for Keeper, who pretty much arrived trained at birth — has gone with me to dog school.

As has been repeatedly pointed out, it’s not just the dogs that need to learn.

The late, great Murray the Dane, was so well-educated that he had the equivalent of a canine PhD. That was primarily because while Murray was super easy to train, he was extremely dog reactive. Dog school, particularly the terrific one I use, (shout out to J9sK9s !), was a safe, smart way to teach us to work through it.

While Murray never got to the point that he loved strange dogs, with hard, constant work, we were able to go anywhere safely. He was once attacked by a pack of Chihuahuas and pugs — yes, I know- but instead of killing them – which he had every right to do -I put him in a sit- stay until I dispersed the nasty, biting monsters. And he did.

Murray competed quite successfully in agility, which is all off leash. More than once at competitions other dogs went after him, but he never responded. It was always the littler dogs. Napoleon syndrome? Or was it just that all the dogs were smaller than he was.

Naturally, I signed up Ruckus for classes as soon as she was fully vaccinated. Her best buddy, Mighty, and his person, Twinkle, also signed up for the class.

This was either the best, or worst idea either of us have ever had. They definitely have less interest in listening to us when they are with each other. Who can blame them? We are so much less fun.

This school believes only in reward based training. This is not only more humane than the old dominate/alpha dog methods of the past, but is scientifically proven to be more effective. That makes sense – a happy pup is much more likely to enjoy and retain training than a fearful, terrified one.

We started school a couple of weeks ago. It meets on Tuesday nights at 8 pm.

This is a problem.

Ruckus is very much a morning puppy. She wakes up plays, naps, goes to the barn with me. plays there, and then naps again. She usually has a late afternoon burst of energy and dinner. After that, she’s pretty much down for the count.

This means that I after I pack her stuff for class, which includes a water dish, training treats, toys, poop bags, etc. (taking her places is like moving a human baby), I -have to wake her to put her in the car, where she promptly falls asleep again.

Ruckus is never pleased to be woken up for class.

Twinkle and Mighty live a block away from us so we carpool. When Mighty and Twinkle join us she wakes up and two of them wrestle the 15 minutes it takes to get to class.

The school we attend is over a laundromat. The parking lot is busy even at night and is not particularly well lit.

The first night we unloaded the dogs and their accoutrements and all four of us briskly walked to the door. I opened the door with the one finger that wasn’t loaded down with stuff. At which point Ruckus slammed on her brakes, spun out of her collar and fled into the parking lot.

A black dog in a dark parking lot filled with people and cars. Fun!

I dropped our crap and purse and ran after her. Thankfully, she is a big mama’s girl and was terrified; after what might have been the longest minute of my life she let me grab her.

I carried her wiggling, miserable, deadweight into the hall and slammed the door behind us. Together we climbed the stairs with Mighty bringing up the read.

We were late, and class had begun, but everything stopped as we walked in.

No one can say we don’t know how to make an entrance.

She freaked out again when the teacher – a lovely lady, but a stranger – bent down to pat her. When Ruckus recovered from the shock, she realized there were four other puppies in the room. They were all accompanied by strange people. Who were looking at her.

We maneuvered into our space while Mighty, who has regular visits from family and grandchildren, and is not quite as delicate as Ruckus, went to his spot on the far side of the room. He wasn’t happy either. Until the assistant put screens up blocking their view of each other, they locked pleading eyes and paid no attention to us.

The dog nearest us was a lovely, 10-month-old yellow lab puppy. It might be half kangaroo. It kept bouncing up over its screen to check out Ruckus.

I thought it was hilarious, but Ruckus, never having met a marsupial dog before, was scared and quite vociferous. Her barking set off Mighty, and immediately the room was filled with all the other puppies leaping and yowling.

Okay, not ALL the others.

There is one mini Australian shepherd that is perfect. It does everything with grace and style. Quietly and the first time. I think it’s judging all of the uncouth puppies and their owners. Mostly the owners.

I don’t want to spread conspiracy theories, but I believe it’s a ringer. It’s not really a puppy and I am certain its owner is professional dog trainer. Just saying.

Honestly, during class I don’t have time to worry about it. In that room, Ruckus has full on puppy ADD. What we can do somewhat effortlessly at home is a no- go in school. 30 seconds is the longest she can concentrate.

The only comfort I have is that Mighty is equally distracted.

I spend most of class getting her attention away from the full length mirrors (she can’t figure out who that other black puppy is) or trying to keep her from crawling over the screens to find Mighty.

The class is only an hour, but by the time it’s over, we are both exhausted.

I’m pretty sure the instructor needs a drink when we finally coax Ruckus and Mighty down the stairs and the door slams behind us.

I get it. But she might want to get over it; Ruckus is definitely looking at following in her in Murray’s footsteps. I see her on a doctoral track.

Ruckus is a genius. I see a future PhD candidate.

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Sleep? What’s that? I have a super cute puppy instead.

In the five weeks since Ruckus flew into my life and took over, I’ve been reminded of several facts:

I need a lot of sleep.
It’s a good thing I never had children.
This is most important. All animal infants and most human babies are adorable. This is so adults are less likely to murder their young due to exhaustion.

Jasper was my last puppy. That was four and half years ago. He was the easiest puppy in the world. Ever.

That is my story and I’m sticking to it.

It helped that he arrived mostly housebroken and immediately slept through the night. If he did wake up before I did, he played quietly with his toys until I got up to feed the horses. He also never, ever chomped me with needle-like teeth while he was playing or because he was overtired.

None of that may be true, but that is how I remember it. The fact is, when babies grow up, all we remember is that they were cute they were and how adorable their pink tummies ad paws were. I am sure that human parents have similar memories.

With that in mind, Ruckus has been a shock to my system.

To her credit, she also arrived mostly housebroken. She pees immediately when she goes out, and usually poops. I can count the number of accidents she has had in the house on one hand.

I am not discounting this in any way. I have had terriers. They become housebroken if, and when they feel like it, and they usually don’t. I know I am super lucky.

But.

Jasper slept on my bed from the moment he arrived. I crate Ruckus because of Jasper. He’d have had a fit if he had to share his space as soon as she arrived. By the time she moves out of the crate and onto the bed, he will be fine. I hope.

Ruckus has been great about going to bed, at least after the first few days. She is very vocal, and at first, shared her disapproval of her den by screaming herself to sleep. Because she is so young, that didn’t take long.

Now she walks into her house, moans and groans for a minute and then literally starts to snore. Great Danes are intense, world champion snorers. I have three. It is very loud at night.

If Ruckus wakes up and has to go out, she moans louder and barks. Once outside, she immediately takes care of business and goes back into her crate and back to sleep. This is pretty amazing.

Unfortunately, in her first weeks in California, she woke up to potty three times a night. Occasionally, just as I finally fell back asleep, one of the other dogs would have to go out. There seems to be some canine rule that prevents them from waking at the same time. There were a few days I was up five times.

I understand that humans with infants can go through this for years. This is another reason why I don’t have kids. I don’t know how mothers of infants survive until their children are grown.

I realize that most of those people are young. Obviously, I haven’t been young for a very long time. Lack of sleep made me feel even older. I was taking more naps than my 90-year-old Mom.

I could barely function. I was exhausted all of the time. The bags under my eyes had bags.

I spent most evenings propped in front of the tv. Reading was beyond me. I simply could not process the printed word.

I was reduced to watching things like the “The Nanny” and “The Big Bang Theory” because they used small words and spoke clearly. Still, some of those episodes were beyond my feeble brain’s ability to process. I mean, why exactly did the rich guy hire a fired beautician off the street to be a nanny? And what’s the deal with the rich guy’s business partner? Oh never mind. I’m overthinking.

The other thing I forgot, and no one reminds you about, are puppy teeth. This is an important omission.

Like most babies, puppies discover their world by sticking everything in their mouths. Once they have grabbed it, they chomp . Human babies do not have teeth, they have slimey gums, which may be gross, but are not painful.

Puppies actually don’t have teeth either. They have a mouth full of razors inside a Pac-Man head that aims like a laser for any exposed hands or appendages nearby.

Dog trainers tell you to always carry a toy and stick that in the puppy’s mouth. Maybe that works for a particularly slow or dumb dog. Ruckus however, can spit out a toy and grab a hand at lightning speed.

For weeks my hands, and occasionally my face, looked like I had been playing catch with barbed wire. The only good thing about having a broken wrist is that even puppy teeth can’t penetrate a cast.

Last week a miracle happened. Ruckus slept through the night.

It was like a rainbow ended at my house and the pot of gold was on my pillow.

Of course, she was the leprechaun guarding the pot with knife-like teeth when she did wake up.

Kidding. She is biting a lot less.

Soon I will forget this whole time. Except for the super cute pictures, of course. Those are forever.

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I Got A Puppy For Hanukkah.

The puppy I bought from Jasper’s breeder.

A friend recently called me the voice of reason. I laughed, and laughed and laughed.

I’ve been called a lot of things, but, considering I could practically open my own petting zoo (doesn’t that sound awesome!) reasonable, is not one of them.

The latest example of my lack of, um, clarity, is my decision to get a fourth dog, a third Great Dane, to add to my pack.

I deluded myself into believing that I needed this puppy. That part was easy.

There was one serious bump in the road. In addition to, well, THREE Great Danes.

Obviously, I needed a black Dane to fill the huge hole left when Fiona died.

The problem was getting her from her bucolic origins in rural Kentucky, to my crazy homestead in Chatsworth.

With Covid raging, picking her up myself, was not an option. Due to financial and moral considerations, I wasn’t going paying someone else to fly her either. Apparently “puppy escorts” are a thing among people of a higher economic echelon than me. (Note to self: check out possible job option.)

That left me the horrible realization that my 7 ½ week old puppy was going to be in a crate and transported as cargo from Nashville, the closest airport to her home in Kentucky. There are no direct flights from Nashville to LAX, so she would go first to Dallas, and from there land at LAX. At 6:20 PM.

There were no less awful alternatives, so on the day she was due to arrive I swallowed deeply. Xanax washed down by my less-good bourbon worked just fine.

I started getting the house ready for the first puppy in four and a half years. I pulled out a smallish crate, washed it, added a few blankets and a stuffed doggie with a heartbeat and heating pad.

I put it in my bedroom between Dalai’s huge crate and Poppy’s medium one. Nothing says sexy like a bedroom with three huge dog crates. And dog slobber on the walls.

I checked with the breeder to make sure I was supposed to pick them up at the cargo area, not the main airport. I was.

That all took about a half hour, which left me plenty of time to I sit around and chew my fingernails.

At 5 PM Twinkle picked me up. She said it was so I could put the puppy—who I thought I’d name Maeve- on my lap for the drive home. I think it was really so I wouldn’t cause a crash since I was such a wreck.

Either way, I was super grateful.

We arrived right on time. The one good thing about Covid is that rush hour traffic, even a week before Xmas, is almost no-existent.

American’s cramped cargo building was filled with people, waiting in a line. When I got to the front, the guy gave me a form to fill out with all of the puppy’s flight information, her shipper, breeder and everything but my social security number.

Without looking up from the computer, he told me that there were two puppies, and that it would take about 20 minutes for them to be transported from the airplane to the cargo area.

I waited. And waited.

By 7:30 most of the room had changed over. Even the lady from the funeral home claiming human remains had come and gone.

It was strangely reminiscent of being at the DMV. It smelled the same too.

The guy behind the desk stopped meeting my eyes.

was getting frantic.

I didn’t want to piss him off, so I turned my freak-out down to a seven when I approached the desk.

“Just checking on my puppy.” I said.

He looked up without making eye contact, before he started hitting the computer keyboard in what appeared to be a completely random manner. “Hmmmmmm.”

“Hmmm?” I said, trying not to panic.

“Hmmm. Let me call over there and try and find it. One of them is here.”

“What?!!!!” It came out as a squeal. I do not think I have ever made that sound before. I’m not sure that humans have ever made that sound.

He glared at me. “I’ve located it. The dog is at priority parcel. It is over at the airport. Baggage area 4. That’s where you should have gone.”

It was now close to 8:30 pm. My poor terrified puppy that had been in a loud, scary crate for more than 12 hours.

Normally, the week before Xmas, particularly with the monorail construction, it takes an hour to get around the circle at LAX. We made it in 15 minutes.

I zipped into the priority area, and saw a small crate with a cowering, exhausted puppy. I checked that the pup was alive, which it seemed to be.

A smiling gentlemen came out of the office, “They told me you were on your way.” He had sheaf of paperwork which he matched with the paperwork on the crate. I signed a bunch of things and grabbed the crate.

At the car I pulled the puppy out, popped a tiny collar on her and tossed the crate in the backseat. I settled her on my lap.

She was scared, cold, and shaking like a leaf. So was I.

I gave her some of the food that she came with, and a little water as well. She gobbled it and passed out.

Twinkle looked at me as we drove. “She doesn’t really look like her picture. She doesn’t look black. She looks like Mighty.”

Practically the only picture I have of Mighty standing still. Nine weeks old here.

Mighty is a beautiful silver with tan points. In the picture my puppy was black with tan points, and had a white stripe down her chest. This dog was light and had no strip. I wasn’t worried.

I was just glad she was here and alive.

At my place Twinkle carried her in the back yard, while I let the dogs out to meet her. They were unimpressed, and she was thrilled. Big dogs she understood.

By the time everyone got settled, it was about 11. She was definitely silver, not black.

When the phone rang, I didn’t recognize the number, and didn’t pick up. Two minutes later, it rang again. This time I answered.

“This is (mumble) from the airport.”

“Uh huh.”

“You took the wrong puppy. Your puppy is here. The other people are mad.”

It took a second for it all to fall into place, but it made sense. This puppy was not the one I thought I was getting. But all the paperwork matched…

I assured the guy that I’d take the poor thing back, but it would be at least another hour. He said he’d tell the people.

I threw the filthy crate in the back of my SUV, plopped the exhausted, confused puppy on my lap and headed back to LAX.

The puppy immediately fell asleep and as we passed the Getty Center, the guy called again sounding slightly desperate. I assured him that I was on my way, and asked him to make sure that my puppy had some water and food. He told me that the other people had taken her out, so they probably fed and watered her.

When we arrived the guy met me out front. He was practically apoplectic. I handed him the sleeping puppy, but he asked me to put her in the crate.

“We’re not allowed to touch the dogs.” As he walked away with her, I remembered the collar. He said the people would take it off. He disappeared into the airport.

I waited. And waited. And waited.

Eventually he came back out with a crate. Inside was a black puppy, shaking with fear. She was cold and soaked in urine. I pulled her out of the crate and was wiping her off when what appeared to be a homeless woman with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and hear ran up to me. Screaming.

She kept yelling, “You have dogs don’t you? “ She also cursed. A lot.

I ignored her until it finally dawned on me that she was the other puppy’s owner. Maybe she was worried that it had come in contact with unvaccinated dogs. I assured her that I had dogs, but they were all up to date on their shots, so the puppy would not get ill.

“That crate was filthy! How could you leave a dog in that filthy crate for two hours?”

“Huh? I just got home when I got called. I didn’t have time to clean it. I barely had time to feed, water and clean the dog before I came back. Besides, the puppy was on my lap except when we got here and the man had me put her back.”

She kept screeching.

If I hadn’t been holding a limp, obviously dehydrated, starving, cold puppy I’d have said more. Possibly I’d have slugged her.

I was pissed. It was obvious she had not given the dog water or food. She took it out and shoved her back in her filthy soaked crate for those two hours.

Instead I put the pup in passenger seat and offered her food and water. She gobbled some kibble, drank and whimpered I put the seat warmer on and she curled up and went to sleep.

We made it home around 1 AM.

My dogs were shocked and disappointed that the first puppy, which they were delighted to see leave, had been replaced with another one.

I stuffed her into her crate, and we all went to–sort of – sleep.

Poppy ignores the puppy, in the hopes she will go away again.

By morning, it was clear that the puppy’s name was Ruckus. That is certainly what she had created upon arrival, and for the foreseeable future.

Dalai spends a lot of time trying to hide from Ruckus. It doesn’t work.

I got my puppy for Hanukkah.

With that, I guarantee no one will ever call me the voice of reason again.