Three years ago, my husband and I inherited a puppy from our college-aged daughter. She stumbled upon this character when her friend’s dog had a big litter of mutts (father unknown, mother’s breed unidentifiable.) She picked the one with the biggest head and the bluest eyes and named him Albert. He captured our hearts.
The daughter did an excellent job of potty-training and cage training Albert; however, she wasn’t home much, as is the case with most college students, and Al became a nuisance, barking non-stop, which annoyed the daylights out of her neighbors.
Outcome: Albert came to live with his grandparents and has been here since. My husband, who never cared for dogs, did a 180 and is madly in love with Albert, and I’m pretty sure, would choose him over me if he had to pick one or the other.
We decided that Albert needed a companion so our daughter (the same one, who is now in law school) adopted an adult, female, spayed dog from the ASPCA. I requested a fluffy dog and got just that. In rolls Juliet, who is a beautiful white shepherd mix that looks and feels like a fluffy cloud.
The family was complete.
Less than two weeks after adopting Juliet, I happened upon her and Albert engaging in the act. What? They were tied (stuck) butt to butt. I didn’t think a spayed female took part in hanky pank. I asked all of my friends, “Are they supposed to be doing that?” Uh, no.
This is where the “best-laid plans” comes into play. It turns out our spayed female had somehow managed to slip through the bureaucratic canine cracks and tra la, wasn’t spayed after all. I was told to look and see if she had an incision and a green tattoo on her belly. Nope. She was as fertile as the Octomom and Albert was more than happy to accommodate her.
Fast-forward to November 27, 2011: Seventy-eight days after adopting Juliet, she gave birth, in my granddaughter’s swimming pool, in the laundry room, to NINE, yes count them NINE robust, beautiful puppies- five boys, four girls-who are a delightful mishmash of black and white and brown and long haired and short haired. Some of their ears stick up (like Juliet’s) and some droop down, like Albert’s.
My husband and I are the proud owners of 11 dogs. We laugh about it because it certainly wasn’t done by design but skewed plans often have a way of working out wonderfully.
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