The lovely and talented Phil and I have been talking for a while about getting a companion for our sweet Welsh Terrier boy, Ozzie, who’s 12. We’re looking at more travel in the coming year (new addition to the Fobot art fair calendar: Des Moines, Iowa, June 25-27), and don’t want the old boy to be lonely. Plus, as much as it pains me to say it, Ozzie’s getting old, and we need an emergency back-up dog. And it would be nice if Ozzie could train his replacement.
But Welsh terrier puppies are not the easiest dogs to find. We’ve been looking for several weeks, hoping to have one by Christmas, so we could get him settled and have the house-training done by the time we left for the Coconut Grove Art Festival (February 13-15) and the Winter Park Art Festival (March 19-21). Hell, we would have driven hundreds of miles to bring home the right pup. And to all of you out there saying “Why don’t you rescue a dog from the pound?” I say “Don’t you judge me!” I know what I like, and Ozzie is the most perfect dog that ever lived, and we want another just like him! So there! Sorry.
Back to our story. Monday afternoon I was taking a little break, and went to one of the websites I’d been haunting, looking for puppies. And there he was. In @##$*&! Roxboro, NC, only 50 miles away! From a litter of three, he was the sweetest, mellowest, happiest guy in the bunch. We took him home Monday night, even though we swore we were going to wait until after I got home from the “Ugly Betty” trip this weekend to pick him up. I mean, c’mon, could you leave that little face behind? I think not.
In a perfect world, Mongo and Ozzie would be best buddies by now, sleeping in the same bed and sharing squeaky toys and dating tips. Alas, Ozzie is acting more like a spoiled only child who’s Mom has just brought home a pesky little brother who wants to play ALL THE TIME. But he’s getting better, and a few well-deserved growls have flipped the puppy over on his back in a submissive posture faster than the crack-heads at our local IHOP can flip a pancake.
So, my life is now an endless cycle of trying to wear Mongo out so he’ll sleep, and then standing outside in the freezing cold, hoping to witness the miracle of puppy poo. A miracle that occurs, far too often, indoors.
As far as the name goes, just watch “Blazing Saddles” and look for a big guy. Who farts. ‘Nuff said.
* From the movie “Juno”, in reference to babies.