Nothing worth while is ever easy!
It takes a village to raise…er no check that…to save a rescued dog.
Another spoo has been added to the Land of Misfit Critters. The story is, there was a very sweet spoo boy in the Pacific Northwest of the USA whose prey drive got the best of him. He did not hurt a child or another dog, but he did dispatch with a bird that did not belong to him. This brought his owners to place him on a dreaded open sales forum. When a breed rescuer saw that he was not neutered, she knew she had to save him from a puppy mill, clueless/greeder “breeder,” or a doodler. She made quite the trip to pick him up, pay for his sins, and find him a temp foster home.
When she picked him up, as you can see by the before picture, he obviously was not being groomed properly. He also appeared to be an outside only dog. While I don’t want to step on any toes of people who may do so, I will firmly say I do not believe spoos are meant to be a dog you just throw in a back yard. When the rescuer got him home, he didn’t seem to know how to act in a house.
BUT!!! He came around like a champ. And he cleaned up nice as you can see. His foster had other spoos and he learned the ropes quickly just like we all know spoos can do. There was still a lingering question as to perhaps how bad his prey drive is and that is where I came in.
Well, truth be told, it wasn’t originally where I jumped on board. I first fell head over heels the moment I saw his unkempt pic because my heart went straight to my second spoo, Shandy. Shandy, like Shasta was a rescue. Shandy had a multitude of health problems from day one and while I am glad I was able to give her two wonderful years in dog heaven on earth, I’m sad I ONLY was able to give her two wonderful years. She died on the surgery table being treated for bloat. Here is a picture her for you to see the reason I connected to the rescued spoo. They could be siblings down to the white butter on top of their waffled heads.
I contacted the rescuer about adopting him and that is when I heard his story and it seemed like a done deal. Here in Mexico, if a dog does something wrong, you say a big sorry in the form of pesos and the dog isn’t destroyed or sold to whomever for whatever. Plus, I am with my dogs 24/7 which gives me a chance to clean the evidence out of their mouth and bury said evidence. No really – it gives me the chance for working on the drive and limiting temptations. Sherlock’s prey drive is off the charts too but I have worked so hard with him he now does instant recall. It was a long first three years though. I knew I could have success with this dog too as poodles are pleasers and just need guidance.
There is another reason I feel so strongly about getting this dog. Shasta just turned 11 and had slowed down greatly. I had a bad health scare with her a few months ago which snapped me into the fact that as she is so large (75 pounds,) from a puppy mill, and has always had health issues; she might not be with me as long as I would hope, (although they are never with you as long as you hope.) Long story short, now that she had slowed, Sherlock was driving her nuts. He of course is play play play all day. If he was working a stripper pole, he would be at it 20 hours a day and be a millionaire.
And Sherlock is really dependent on Shasta for his mental security. I have to even have them groomed together. The few times he has been without her he has been a wreck. When she is gone, he will be lost if he doesn’t have another pack mate. I would never be able to go to the store and leave him without coming home to a stressed puking dog.
While I had been looking at puppies, I figured an older dog would be better as Shasta may not appreciate puppy teeth and puppy lack of boundaries. I had my heart set on a six-month-old pup but the timing was wrong on my end and the pup had someone in the States who also wanted him. As much as I mourned not getting that dog, it seems it was all meant to be so I could give a safe and loving home to Sheldon.
That is right. I have named this rescue Sheldon after the Big Bang Sheldon. What poodle isn’t really smart and really “unique.” Sherlock was named Sherlock because he too was a smart but rather strange character.
So, this now is where I asked for help. Sheldon was in Oregon and I was in heaven…er…Mexico. The rescuer and I had been working for a week to figure out how to get him to me. There were two big problems. First, both Portland, OR where he would fly out of and Guadalajara, JAL where he would fly in are small airports with limited flights that do not have such long layovers that the crate time would not be appropriate. There were no seats available on the only direct flight within the time table. Second, this was in May is the hottest month in the year in Guadalajara and it would be above the allowed 85 C after about 1:00 in the afternoon to 7:00 in the evening and some of places I can change planes have a risk of over 85 (Houston and Phoenix.) LAX and Dallas would probably be fine all day and San Diego would too but all airlines that fly out of San Diego to Guadalajara land during the heat of the day. I also tried San Francisco and San Jose which might have worked if the stars aligned.
I asked if anyone planning a direct morning or evening flight (no afternoon flights in case of heat;) or a flight to Dallas, San Fran, San Jose, or possible San Diego, (if I could figure out how to get him over the CBX bridge into Tijuana,) any time before the 10th of May or going into Houston from Portland, OR or Seattle, could fly with the dog. The rescuer would bring the dog in a crate to either Seattle or Portland airport to help check the dog in as baggage and I would take the dog and crate from the flyer as soon as they were out of the security area at the destination. I of course would pay for the dog’s flight cost plus a little extra in case the flyer would have to pay a porter to help with the crate. Or perhaps someone knew a flight attendant friend with a soft spot for spoos that could sneak him on board. Heck – even someone’s crazy cranky neighbor could hijack a plane and make it happen! All possibilities were open. I would then fly with the dog on a direct flight to Guad when I could arrive in the morning or evening.
Sherlock needed Sheldon, Shasta needed serenity, Sheldon needed safety, and I need a name that begins with Sh so I can fit properly in this sentence. But I needed help as this was turning out to be complicated and perhaps more expensive than I could afford if I had to go the route of last-minute booking, hotel rooms, and Uber’s that don’t leave me at the curb when they see a large crate and 50-pound dog. The dog had to be out of the fosters by the 10th of May. “Anyone???” I pleaded.
Radio silence then an angel.
A Spanish speaking person who saw the plea on Facebook got on with Volaris with the lengthy explanation of what I needed and she was able to book Sheldon and I on a direct flight from Seattle to Guadalajara leaving at 10:20 at night and arriving at 5:30 in the morning on a flight that was showing unavailable on the website. No worries on heat and a direct flight meant less crate time!!! All that was needed was for me to get my ticket there. I couldn’t decide if I want to do it same day or stay overnight so I could go to Target. Target is the ONLY USA store I miss, (okay – Nordstroms too. And Taco Bell.) I finally found a flight that would work but it left me with no Target money so that decision was made for me. It would be a same day trip!
The day of the flight – NOT!
Well pluck a duck and call me Fanny. I just about made a HUGE mistake.
I was absolutely sure I was leaving for the airport at 3:30 am that Wednesday night. I told my work crew not to come the next day and told my dog sitter to arrive that night. Then the rescuer messaged me about seeing me Thursday and I was just about to correct her when I thought first to check my ticket.
I was eight hours away from leaving for the airport. Could you imagine me checking in for my 6:00 am flight a day early?
I blamed the heat (it was 92 degrees that day. 10 degrees over average,) for melting my brain. I can’t wait till I’m a big girl and can count my numbers and use one of those adult calendar thingies. Till then…..
The day of the flight – No. Really. This time I got it right.
My two had no clue how their lives were going to change in the next 48 hours. I took them on their last meal out together. Taking three dogs to a restaurant is impossible so they will go one at a time leaving two behind to wonder what the third is getting they aren’t.
I look forward to this as I never really have had any one-on-one time because I felt too guilty to leave just one alone. Now there will be a buddy to stay home with as I get to have my turn with each to where they are the one and only star.
That week, Shasta had oddly been placing herself in the front seat of the car as if she knows the back is about to get a little more crowded. I ordered her a seat belt so this seems to be working out. All three would be just fine in the back if Sherlock didn’t constantly run from window to window and spin like a top. Bed space will be fine too if Sherlock can learn to conserve space. He always looks like he has managed to put his body in three different areas.
This time the next day I would have 3spoos. Shasta Shea, Sherlock Shane, and Sheldon Shawn Sepahpur. Shay that shwiftly.
First leg of Sheldon Shenanigans – Morning departure of a night owl
I was not going to be able to sleep. It was 2:30 am and Sherlock sensed something as he didn’t take his eyes off of me because I was walking fast and putting some of his things in a bag. (His collar, his leash, and one of his toys.) The killer was when I ripped the bedspread off the bed and put it in the car. He was on it at the time I pulled it off. You see, I wanted Sheldon to have something soft to lay upon for the ride from Guadalajara to Ajijic. And I wanted him to know Shasta and Sherlock’s smell. Hence one confused Sherlock.
Let me say, I am usually a very organized person. I make lists. I list my lists. But when I have a wild hare (or hair?) all bets are off as to how things will go as there is zero planning. This adventure was as close to zero planning as one could get.
This brought about two problems. By chance I thought Houston could have storms. While checking Houston weather I checked Seattle’s. Good gosh granny!!! It is cold there. High of 65° F. How do people live like that? The wardrobe I had laid out screamed “day at the beach.” All of my closed toed shoes were in a box labeled “closed toe shoes” and were piled under Christmas decorations. I had one pair of lace-up closed toes out. The shoe choice was that of one.
All my long-sleeved clothing? In storage boxes under the bed. I had two “Spring” jackets. One bright blue and the other bright pink. Neither would look good with black tennis shoes. I thought I would do a light blue top under the blue jacket. I put on my one pair of jeans that were loose enough I could spend 24 hours in without croaking. Dressed, I decided I needed another swish of mouth wash and accidentally spit it down my jacket and jeans instead of the sink (did I mention I’m exhausted?) So, blue shirt, pink jacket, my second most comfortable jeans that have a hole in the knee that highlights my unshaven knee, and a minty fresh mouth is how I went out the door. I already warned Seattle I would have no makeup on as nothing would look good after just one flight much less three. Hopefully the city had braced itself.
So, Sherlock gave me sad eyes as I left. I was ten minutes ahead of schedule. At 3:20 am and a nice 72° I was off. Hotel California was the first song on the radio. I knew I was in a good mood despite feeling physically drained already because I laughed when the song went off and the Mexican announcer barked the radio blurb in a loud strong Spanish. Listening to old USA songs to be jarred back to Mexico always makes me laugh.
At this point I remembered the second thing I should have thought of besides the weather. I’m night blind. This really hit home when I was on the mountain curves and the white lines disappeared. I hit the lights to turn them on bright but turned them totally off instead. I got them back on to see the reflectors on the upcoming hairpin curve. At that point my guardian angel was at heaven’s front desk turning in her resignation.
But I arrived a little wider awake. The airport was packed at 4:00 am like I knew it would be. I made to through the immigration line, and the United line, and security line in good order so I had time to go to – 🤢 – Chili’s. I remembered the last time I ordered the omelet Mexican style and discovered my gringo stomach couldn’t handle so much red hot pepper so early in the day. I regretfully stayed safe and had the ham and cheese 🤢🤮🤢🤮🤢🤮 The eggs were runny in the middle and I could only choke a bit down.
Now it was time to board and soon I would be back in Houston, where I lived for 25+ years, for a short layover. While just for an hour and twenty minutes, I would visit all my old friends there. Or nap. A nap sounded good.
24 hours till Sheldon and I are home. Maybe…
At the airport I found myself in need poodle prayers. I got on the plane, got my seat belt on, and then we all got off the plane. Houston had storms that had the airport backed up there for at least one hour. As I only had a little over an hour layover, I was frantic they rebook me from Houston to Seattle. Señorita Kim and Señor Cigar were sad.
I killed time trying to figure out how so many people can eat Johnny Rocket burgers at 6:00 am. When my plane’s pilots ordered a Johnny Rocket burger I thought “this is NOT a good sign!” They knew we were going no where for a while.
I finally got on the plane. I was not sure if it was the right plane but I got on it. Once on the plane, they told us takeoff was again delayed for another hour. They gave us a choice this time to get off or stay on. My butt was glued to the seat. Literally. I had sat on some gum on the airport floor.
Finally we taxied but I saw we were at the far end of the runway with the FedEx and DHL planes offloading. They brought stairs to the plane for some reason at the same time the pilot was announcing we would be “taking of shortly.” I’m not a pilot but I was pretty sure we couldn’t take off with stairs attached and an open door.
Leg two of Sheldon’s shenanigans: H-town never looked so good.
(Note to self – figure out why shenanigans is the word that auto fills as soon as I type “sh.”)
Power to the poodle prayers. I arrived in Houston. I would describe the whole crazy chess game they continued to play with with our plane, but envision a plane taxiing down a Mexico interstate highway. I saw more of Guadalajara that morning than the whole two years I had lived there.
I got zero sleep on the plane which was a big bummer because this was the one flight I had a wall to lean on. From there on out I would be dream slobbering on strangers from a middle seat. But hey, at least I had a seat n’ the middle as opposed to a day delay.
I had done a smart cookie thing for a change. As soon as they booted us off the plane the first time in Guadalajara, I cornered the smallest of the United gate workers and said, “connect me or live cursed by the gringa with flaming red hair.” It worked and he had me rebooked in a flash. It seemed everyone one else was looking at their cell phone hoping it would beam an answer from the airline gods. As a result of me speaking with a human, I was just about the only one not running off the plane or crying when we landed. And now I sat leisurely enjoying a parade of humanity marching through Bush Intercontinental.
…Oh my my. That MAN had camel toe. How does that happen? Aww cute kid. How does that woman walk in those shoes that fast? That dog is neither service or emotional support – you don’t drag emotional support behind you on a leash. Are pajama pants a thing here? Why am I the only one without Starbucks?…
Okay. Enough people watching. They called my flight on time. Yippie Skippy!!!
Houston to Seattle – how could leg three go wrong?
The weather was lovely once in Houston as I chased the storm away with my foul attitude, and while the layover had its problems (bad tuna sandwich, my credit card not working out of my home country because I didn’t think to tell them I would be traveling for a day, running into a person I did not want to see….) it was okay. After I saw the line running down the concourse to the United help desk, I felt so glad I had gotten on this flight the minute they took us off the plane in Guadalajara. You can’t shut an airport down for two hours and not have a boat load of people without options. I was all cocky I wasn’t one of them.
Since I was placed on this flight after being delayed, I had no seat choice. I was at the back of the plane in a middle row. Keep in mind, this was a 2:30 pm flight on Thursday. I had not slept since around 9:00 am on Wednesday. All I had eaten was half a bad Chili’s omelet and half a bad tuna sandwich (not even a half,) and I hadn’t had enough fluids. I was tired, hangry, and starting dehydration dizzies. Even though I was in a middle row I figured I would pass out.
When I got to my row I wanted to cry. I was seated next to a body builder who was as wide as a door with shoulders so big, the one on my side took half my space. On the other side was an old man in a funny hat. I watched as Atlas squeezed himself out of his seat to let me in, sat down and waited to be crushed to death. Atlas’ sized caused me to get very cozy with the old guy (who eagerly said he was Jim and he was coming from a funeral which he seemed oddly happy about.) Okay….sleep. Somehow, some way, sleep.
I explained to Jim about how tired I was and why. MISTAKE!!! Turns out he was a preacher and he had “powers” to calm me and help me heal – I was tired so where did the healing need to happen? Sleep heals all!!! nooooooo. noooooo. nooooo. For four hours he told me how he was about to be killed by a lion in Africa but spoke to it and it helped save it from another lion. He went on about auras and how he could heal a person through an aura. He told me stories how he has found missing people like a woman in Seattle. Out of the whole big city, he felt her aura and led her family to the hotel she was staying. This guy was on Planet Insane and I was his captive audience. He tried to lead me to Jesus without even asking if I already knew Jesus. Apparently, my aura told him my soul had never heard of Jesus even though I grew up Southern Baptist, had to sit with my family to read the WHOLE bible out loud twice, and now live in Mexico where every sixth man is Jesus. Lying aura! I just about crawled over the seats of the plane when we landed to get away from this nut.
Finally, Seattle was heaven! For an hour…
Then things for the first time were happy happy happy. I met Cher. That is right. I met THE Cher….THE spoo who was the rescuer’s service dog (a real service dog I might add.) And after I quit being in awe of Cher and how well trained she was, I met her owner, Wendy the rescuer. She was just as lovely as I thought she would be. She and I worked to call Volaris because someone at the Lufthansa desk said the dog would have to be taken to cargo. It took like eight calls before a young man said the dog would go at baggage. We were relieved as cargo was off site of the airport.
We then drove to the cell phone lot where the foster had Sheldon and her three adorable spoos. He didn’t want to get out of the car. When he did, he was shaking and did not want to leave the foster. “Oh my,” I thought. “It is going to take months to get this dog to attach to me.” After letting the dogs pee and giving them some treats, Wendy and I were off to the airport with the XXL crate Wendy had to have special ordered so we would have the 3″ head clearance for Sheldon that international flights require.
We got to the airport and started to put the crate together. What a sight we must have been. Two women and two spoos all on the floor putting together a crate the size of Texas. It was a bugger to get together but we finished it right at the time of the two-hour window for checking baggage with an international flight. We got in line. Ahead of us was a group of six young people. I would later learn they were Brazilian. These youngsters all had suitcases over the weight allowed. They were at the counter taking out one shoe and putting it in another case and when that didn’t work taking out something else. I finally ask over them if we were going to still be okay because now we were within the two-hour time limit. The guy behind the counter said something about the door to the crate being too big.
We finally got to the front and were informed the WHOLE crate was too big and the dog could not fly. I lost it. If Wendy had not have been there, I would be in the Seattle jail right now. I had ORIGINALLY thought he would be okay to go in the XL but when talking to the Volaris “pet shipping” guy and finding out the dog’s dimensions from Wendy, I was so bummed when told he HAD to go in an XXL. Shasta had to go in an XXL but Shasta is huge. They would not budge. They wanted to put me on a series of flights the next day. I had nowhere to go for the night. Wendy lives in Portland and had made the special trip to Seattle just so we could get a direct flight and she couldn’t come back the next day. My head shorted out at this point and the next thing I remember is Wendy on the phone with the foster mom who was still in the cell phone parking lot asking her to go to the closest Petco and get a smaller crate. We had to have it by 9:20, not just have it, but have it put together with the dog in it at the cargo window by 9:20. Plus, I had to be through security too and the lines were extremely long. The desk clerk noticed I had TSA and said I would be fine with security. My plane boarded at 9:40. It was 8:40. We had forty minutes to deal with the crate issue and 20 more minutes after that to get me though security and airport to the plane.
The foster mom took off after a new crate and Wendy and I had to start taking apart the old new crate. Now this is where zip ties come in to play. We had put all kinds of zip ties on this crate to make sure Sheldon did not end up on a Mexico runway. We had zip tied the zip ties and now we needed it all apart. We had no knife and I stupidly thought we could stop some man for his pocket knife. Wendy reminded me we were in an airport. Asking strangers for a knife – not a good idea. I remembered the” key trick” from deep in the corner of the “useless information” area of my brain. Thanks goodness twisting a key worked to pop through the zips. Meanwhile, Wendy was surgically removing the “live animal” tags we were going to need on the new crate. She joked that we were poodle MacGyver’s. Boy did I need a laugh at that point.
Now let me add that we were now doing this in a pedestrian traffic lane and didn’t care. Without my having food, and 24 hours of them stretching out, my jeans no longer fit. I was bent over on that floor giving all of flying Seattle butt crack. And I knew it because I could feel the damp Seattle breeze down to an area that shouldn’t feel a breeze in public. The crate bolts and zip ties were flinging all over the place. And we were moving at full pace. We looked like the pit crew changing tires and building a new car during a pit stop. With butt crack.
The foster mom called she was on her way back with a crate the same time we got the Godzilla crate apart and we went out to pick up the small one. Keep in mind we had two standard poodles leashed to us this whole time. Cher was a champ and Sheldon was nervous but still kept pace. We got the small crate and dashed inside.
This is where I will give you most amazing part of this trip – the woman who was now at the Volaris desk had two standard poodles – what are the odds – and after she could see Wendy was determined and I was contained in my crazy, she became the third angel I had getting me and Sheldon on that plane. We had filled out the paperwork already, and this woman left the desk to take us to the cargo check. She asked the woman that had to approve the crate and the dog if we had time to get the crate together and if we were okay for time and I saw her wink. The Cargo woman became the fourth angel. She helped Wendy put together the new crate while I held Cher and Sheldon, she didn’t even look at the dog’s papers, told us “never mind” with the stickers and dish for water, and approved it all so I was good to go try to get though security and on the plane myself.
I took off running. I came to the first security check point with a huge line and it said TSA was closed. I think I looked like a wild animal at that point because an airport worker asked if I was okay. I said the only way I could get on the plane in time was a TSA line. He said the TSA on the check in on the other side of the airport was open. Again – running. When he said other side of the airport, he meant other side of Seattle. But the TSA line ended up only having four people in front of me. The other lines had hundreds. Then it turned out the two people in front of me had NEVER been through a security line by the way they couldn’t figure out trays and jackets and what constituted metal. I was sweating and about to barf and did the unthinkable for me. I walked around them, pushed their trays back, and threw my bag on the belt. I turned to the guy scanning and said I was running late and then asked where was gate S15? As he scanned me, he said…uggggg…”on the other side of the airport, go down both escalators, take the train, go up both escalators, and follow the “S” signs.” The plane was starting to board at that time. I ran some more. Remember the jeans that were too large? I was full on gangster with my pants down my butt. Problem was, I was cowboy so the need to keep pulling them up was pretty darn important. Each time I used one hand to pull up my pants I let go of my purse strap which had to be held on my shoulder since I was running, my purse would slipped off, and I had to sling it back on again. When you have long hair, you can’t sling a bag strap on and off your shoulder without ripping off hair. I was leaving trails of long red hair through the Seattle airport. Somehow I made it though.
The Volaris angel who had been at the gate was already there helping process last minute boarding. She finally came over to me for a hug and told me Sheldon was on the plane and the crew had been told a dog was on board. I walked onto the gangway with noodle legs, sweat running down my very breezy crack, and so thankful.
I got to my seat and who was I sitting between? Two of the Brazilian, privileged, better than everyone, attractive 20’somethings. They did not shut up the whole flight. And it wasn’t them just talking over me. It was them standing up to talk to the two in front and the two behind. They could have booked three seats together in two rows but each needed an isle or a window so they were little fleas hopping up and down bugging the sh$% out of everyone around them. So again, I got zero sleep. I wanted to hurt someone really really bad. But even with sleep deprivation, the sparrow in me just smiled faintly every time they bumped into me and said a non-sincere “sorry.”
Once I hit Mexico, everything seemed back in line. I had all my paperwork in order so I zipped through immigration. I had flown dogs into Guadalajara before so I knew what to expect. I had a purse full of pesos so if there was any problem, I could pay it away. I knew from the past that the dogs come out on the belt last. They want to make sure the owner has had time to get through immigration so the dog isn’t just making circles on the belt. I’m standing there waiting and I also know since it is Mexico, the dog could come out on any carousel and not just the one for my flight. I was looking back and forth at all four carousels that were going. Meanwhile, on the plane I had back spasms and leg cramps to beat the band. At one point I think I was crying blood. Now off the plane, my body was jerky. I couldn’t keep my legs still. I was swaying. Plus, my head was doing the Carrie thing spinning to look at all the carousels. I know I looked like I was on drugs.
I figured we were half done with luggage by looking at how many people were still waiting. Then I turned to look at carousel three and I saw the drug dog headed right for me. AND it snapped into my head that I had rubbed myself all over the floor of the Seattle airport. Who knows what I smelled of? He made one pass by me, then two. Finally, he walked off. At that point, everyone was gone but the belt was still moving. I was going to give it two more seconds before going to ask – or yell – “Where is my dog?” Then out he came. I couldn’t lift him and the crate off the belt so he was traveling south while I was pulling north. Out of nowhere, two men appeared and smilingly put him on my cart. Gee whiz, I love Mexico and Mexicans.
We went to customs. That went like butter. No hassles. The customs person for animal import was a vet and pointed out some skin issues and gunk in an ear. I thought she was going to use this to get a bribe out of me by denying him but she just said, “take him to the vet because that ear hurts.” I hit the button and got green so we left customs with no baggage search and found a wonderful porter who got me, the dog, and the crate loaded in my car and on our way.
The drive again was interesting as I couldn’t see in places due to my night blindness. Sheldon put his head across the console and pushed his nose on me when we hit the Ajijic road and I knew it was all okay. It had all been worth it.
It was a long long journey. Wendy the rescuer was the only reason the dog made it to Ajijic. I lost my ever-loving mind and if she wasn’t as smart and calm as she is, we would not be where we were. Sleep deprived and starving, I was suddenly full energy thinking about introducing the dogs. This would be a make or break moment.
And on the ride I had changed his name. Sheldon did not suit him. The run of the “sh” names was over.
In the dark video below is the introduction of Shasta and Sherlock to -drum roll please – Wafflehead the Wonder Dog. To be called Waffles, Waffs, Waffers, Waffleman, Waff-a-poo, Waffsies….
I thought all the way home how to introduce them. I was going to do it in the driveway outside my gate one at a time but Waffles is strong, and would have to be leashed, and I didn’t have the energy to be drug down the street. I decided to give him high ground and an ability to decide when he was comfortable to get out of the car.
As you see, Sherlock could not control himself – literally. He OCD spun the whole night. The four of us were all in bed later and he would get up and spin then give a Waffles a butt sniff and calm for a while.
The next day it was very apparent who Waffles preferred. That would be me. He was either standing by me, sitting on me, or right under my feet when walking. Only once did he follow the other two out of the room that I was in. He was a big ole mamma’s boy in no time. No shaking scared dog any more. And I was so happy to be momma. His temperament was great and would only bloom more over time.
We had one tiff over a toy the next day as Waffs found the toy drawers and that was a slight problem with Sherlock. Sherlock has always insisted on taking all the toys out himself THEN letting Shasta pick one. Waffs went right in for Sherlock’s favorite squeakiest toy (actually it hadn’t been his favor till right that minute,). So!!! That means the dogs are officially siblings.
Postscript: Six months have passed and a lot has happened to the 3spooges.
Shasta is still with us. She really perked up for a few months after Waffles arrived but has slowed down again. But, she still is able to beat both dogs to the bacon.
Sherlock and Waffles are BFF’s. They take turns getting each other in trouble and are always by each other’s sides.
All four of us have moved from Ajijic to Queretaro. We have a great three story house with stairs to dart up as well as roof top decks facing both sides so we can bark at passing pooches. Best of all, we have a huge yard (by Queretaro standards,) to landscape with lots of places for spoos to hide and play chase in.
We are all looking to the future which is sure to be amazing now we are a pack with one more spoo heart full of love ❤🐩🐩🐩❤
What a story! What an odyssey! Thank you for sharing it and the photos are wonderful!
Loved your story of getting Waffles. I think having 3 dogs is better than 2.
Love your post, as always!! Waffles is one lucky boy and it sounds like you are all lucky to have him as well!