Promise AKC S.T.A.R. Puppy

Breed: Lab/Terrier X ?
DOB: January 13th, 2017

Weight: Currently 38lbs. Will probably top out around 42-45.

Likes: Children, swimming, wrestling with Quenya, lamb treats, exploring the outdoors

Quirks: Destroys anything he can crunch up, barks when he doesn't get his way, barks when impatient, barks when interested, barks when bored...you get it.

Promise’s Story

I adopted Promise from my local humane society when he was nine weeks old. He, his seven siblings, and their mother were found as strays in a rural county. The pups were just five weeks old, and it was clear that mom had been on her own for a while. Emaciated and in extremely poor health, to save mom’s life her puppies nursed in rotations for a few days, but were then switched to formula and put into foster homes. Thankfully they stayed in small groups with each other, and by all indications Promise received all the necessary early social training a puppy needs from his biological family. 

Shelter intake. Promise is the puppy farthest to the right with the cute stick-out ears

Four of the eight puppies were left when I walked into the shelter a month after I’d begun my exhaustive search for the perfect dog. My last attempt at a second dog had been a two-year disaster with an unhappy ending that had left me with the kind of paranoia you might see in someone who’s experienced a trauma. Hundreds of dollars in medical and other expenses, false hopes, and a broken heart resulted in my swearing off puppies with their uncertain futures for the rest of my life.

Promise's mother Unity, photo kindly shared by her foster dad

 

I had been visiting shelters looking for adult dogs and had found one that I thought perfect. However—and I won’t lie here although I may be deemed petty—the rescue staff had been excessively condescending when I sat through my application interview. I was told another family had called and said they wanted to look at the dog, and that they would let me know at a future point which of us would get the dog. I was polite, but left the shelter very dissatisfied. 

I waited a day—which naturally felt like an eternity—to hear back, but when I didn’t I went to another rescue the next morning. [I’ll throw in a note that two days after this I got the call that I could adopt the dog if I wished]. I walked through the adult kennels, standing in front of each of them for a few seconds to read the words scrawled on the plastic doors with window markers. Friendly. Loves tennis balls. Wants to be the only pet. Energetic. Polite. Sweet. Smart. Goofy. Likes to play with the hose. Knows sit. It was clear that the shelter staff and volunteers wanted to give each furry refugee some unique trait that would appeal to the right person’s heart.  

1st night home

My heart wasn’t right for any of them, it seemed. I was using my head too, don’t misunderstand. I simply knew I wanted to feel that something so many of us have felt when picking out the right dog. I walked the kennels for half an hour hoping to spark that something to no avail. Discouraged, I decided I’d visit the puppy room for some cuddles and a needed oxytocin rush before I left. Totally rational decision for a someone who passionately loves dogs, right? I can hear your snorts of derision across the internet wavelengths. 

With sanitized hands and shoes wiped clean I entered the puppy room, facing its multiple 4x3 concrete pens—with each wall about 3 feet high—believing I was prepared for whatever was inside. I walked the pens, looking “casually” at what was inside each one. There were two to three puppies per pen, with the larger litters split up. Brindled shepherd-y mixes, black lab-y mixes, fawn and white hound-y mixes. A couple groups of bi-color bully mixes. All adorable, all medium-to-large at maturity. One of the 10-week-old brindled pups had what looked to be the beginning of a rough coat. Attracted to the fluffiness, I picked him up and carried him over the wire play-pen kept for just such a purpose. I sat down inside. He was bold, he was brave, a real hard-mouther and toy-stealer. When I began a game of gentle tug, he gave an eager growl and pulled back with every ounce in his body. The first time I let him take it, and he bumbled happily to the edge of the blanket. The second time, I carefully extracted the toy from his mouth and held it inside my hands. He began insistently biting my fingers in his attempt to get at the toy inside. Minutes ticked by. It took a particularly hard bite for me to face the reality—I loved the way this puppy looked, oh I loved the way he looked! But my arms were covered in real welts, many of which were already turning purple. He would probably mature, develop more bite inhibition, and with training turn into a great dog. But I was looking (and at this point I did quit lying to myself. I was looking) for one of those dogs that is born with a specific kind of greatness. Knowing that I needed a dog that would work well off leash I skipped the hounds, cute as those droopy ears and big eyes were. I went for the plain ones of the group. The black, short-coated, roly-poly lab-things. 

My precious roly-poly lab thing

There were two girls and two boys. With a girl already at home, I knew a boy would be the better bet. Of those two—and again I’m being totally honest here—one had a very short, smooth coat, and one a little longer coat. I picked up the longer coated pup. I carried him over and let him mouth my sore, swollen hands (in my haze of but-he’s-beautiful-this-just-HAS-to-work-out I really had let the earlier puppy bite me far more and harder than was appropriate). He gnawed a moment or two, but then lost interest and smelled the blanket. I picked up a toy and enticed him with it. When he awkwardly trotted over I let him have it. He played a moment, then dropped it to sniff me. On a whim I picked up the toy and threw it. I watched in astonishment as this 9 week old puppy performed a retrieve that would have done a duck-hunter proud. I took the toy when he brought it back and threw it again. Same reaction from blackpup. I picked him up and realized as I held him in my arms that he had provided the unknown something I’d been waiting on. 

I had adopted a cat from this shelter before which made the adoption process go very quickly. An hour later I was driving home with a black ball of 9-week-old fur in the passenger seat. When we hit the dirt road that led to my house the puppy mysteriously managed to switch positions to my lap. I have no idea how that happened! He was confident with Quenya right off the bat, taking to her as a mother figure. 

Every since that night Promise has been growing into a more amazing dog with each day that passes. He has his frustrating quirks; for example, he has a loud opinion about everything from his crate, to Quenya having the better toy, to finding an empty water bowl, and more. They all seem small, insignificant things next to his virtues, however and I have never worried for a minute that I made the wrong choice.