Early in life, the majority of us are asked to select -- or sometimes dictated -- a team. I'm a Cubs fan. Notre Dame football. And most importantly, I'm a dog person. I grew up with dogs; which means that as an adult, I had no illusions about the amount of work involved in being a "puppy parent."
Being an excellent attorney, my dog came into my life as a result of careful negotiations. When my then in-the-process-of-moving-in boyfriend (who later became the husband and then the ex) first introduced the idea of adopting a dog, I was vehemently opposed. But I never have been attracted to idiots (OK, maybe once) and boyfriend (unfortunately for me) was also an excellent negotiator. Our first live-in fight was a knock-down-drag-out over this ugly (I mean, REALLY mother-fuckin' ugly) chair that he wanted to bring into my condo. I was sooo determined to keep that ugly-ass piece of furniture in his group house where it belonged, that when he said, "Fine. Then I want a dog. " I responded, "OK." And a puppy parent I became.
A month later I was in a barn outside of Richmond, Virginia picking out a six-week-old red-bone coon hound. We were there at 8:30 AM (which means we left DC at 6:20 AM. On a Sunday.), the very first to arrive. We wanted a girl and all the female puppies were placed inside a kiddie swimming pool for our choosing. Boyfriend let me pick out our puppy prodigy while he attended to paperwork. As is always the case, someone peed in the pool. So I picked the little dog farthest from the puddle (I saw this as a sign of intelligence -- smart creatures don't frolic in their own urine), and that is how Kiera (Kiera Isabelle with a hyphenated last name. Because I'm a yuppie.) became mine.
I was studying for the bar exam at this point, and therefore home during the day. Hence, I became the designated doggie caregiver. The first couple of days involved sleep-deprivation, puddles, and holding Kiera's ears back so they didn't flop in her water bowl when she drank. Being an urban coon hound in a loft condo had its challenges. Coon hounds (as you may already know) are hunting dogs; they track scents, point in the direction of the prey, and even have webbing between their toes to swim through bodies of water while staying on the trail. And as you may also know, very little hunting happens in a third floor walk-up. The first time Kiera pointed and barked, it was at a FedEx truck.
Because hounds are hunters and expected to stay on the trail, they don't always follow commands. At first, I thought Kiera was simply not a good listener. Turns out that Kiera (just like boyfriend) was far from stupid. I swear sometimes, I could see her thinking. A couple of times I gave her a command and she rolled her eyes at me (another time she actually flipped me off). But when Kiera wanted attention, it had to be RIGHT NOW. When I was studying to take the bar exam, this was not a request I could consistently accommodate (especially when answering timed practice questions). If I ignored her whines, howls, or more formal requests for attention, she would bark. I would look at her. She'd squat - and piss. Right in from of me. ...a vindictive pisser. I spoke with my wise sister about this issue. She explained to me that dogs always seek an alpha. Boyfriend had been selected for that role. "Well, what does she think I am then?" I asked. My sister paused, and then whispered, "Girl... you just another dog."
The love affair between Kiera and boyfriend was mutual. He did not go anywhere without her -- and that included travel to far away states like Texas and Florida for family holidays. Kiera reduced me to my weakest moment on one of these trips. Not a lot of hotels welcome dogs. And the ones that do, traditionally have not met my cleanliness standards. Oprah I am not and we couldn't exactly afford the Ritz. When returning to DC one Christmas, we stopped at a particularly nasty hotel in small town, SC. I was not in the best frame of mind. I was sad about leaving my family, and I was sad about the weather becoming colder as we continued to creep North.
Boyfriend knew this and promised me a lovely dinner. He checked us into the hotel, and asked the clerk, what was the nicest restaurant in town? She highly recommended the Cracker Barrel. After dinner, we walked into our room which was caked in fur (Oprah so would not have tolerated this). I pulled back the sheets and discovered human hair. I wanted to leave, but instead I put on every article of clothing so that no skin could touch the sheets. We crawled into bed and Kiera hopped in with us. I was shaking like Rain Man over the human hair incident and debating sleeping in the car . Boyfriend turned on a JLo movie to calm me. (HUGE JLo fan. Always makes me feel better.) The whole family was in bed watching television, when quite suddenly Kiera jumped up from her spot in the middle and hopped off the bed.
This was extremely odd behavior, even from my crazy coon hound. I looked at her and called her as boyfriend exclaimed, "Oh god." ...Kiera had apparently pissed in the bed. Dogs pee when they smell another dog's urine. Which she had apparently done. In our hotel bed. So with that knowledge, I put on my flip-flops, showered (with the shoes on) and drove us the fuck home.
Kiera now lives with her father. I miss her everyday. Despite the fact that I was never viewed as the alpha, Kiera constantly showed me unconditional love. ...And I guess you never forget your first real love.
Being an excellent attorney, my dog came into my life as a result of careful negotiations. When my then in-the-process-of-moving-in boyfriend (who later became the husband and then the ex) first introduced the idea of adopting a dog, I was vehemently opposed. But I never have been attracted to idiots (OK, maybe once) and boyfriend (unfortunately for me) was also an excellent negotiator. Our first live-in fight was a knock-down-drag-out over this ugly (I mean, REALLY mother-fuckin' ugly) chair that he wanted to bring into my condo. I was sooo determined to keep that ugly-ass piece of furniture in his group house where it belonged, that when he said, "Fine. Then I want a dog. " I responded, "OK." And a puppy parent I became.
A month later I was in a barn outside of Richmond, Virginia picking out a six-week-old red-bone coon hound. We were there at 8:30 AM (which means we left DC at 6:20 AM. On a Sunday.), the very first to arrive. We wanted a girl and all the female puppies were placed inside a kiddie swimming pool for our choosing. Boyfriend let me pick out our puppy prodigy while he attended to paperwork. As is always the case, someone peed in the pool. So I picked the little dog farthest from the puddle (I saw this as a sign of intelligence -- smart creatures don't frolic in their own urine), and that is how Kiera (Kiera Isabelle with a hyphenated last name. Because I'm a yuppie.) became mine.
I was studying for the bar exam at this point, and therefore home during the day. Hence, I became the designated doggie caregiver. The first couple of days involved sleep-deprivation, puddles, and holding Kiera's ears back so they didn't flop in her water bowl when she drank. Being an urban coon hound in a loft condo had its challenges. Coon hounds (as you may already know) are hunting dogs; they track scents, point in the direction of the prey, and even have webbing between their toes to swim through bodies of water while staying on the trail. And as you may also know, very little hunting happens in a third floor walk-up. The first time Kiera pointed and barked, it was at a FedEx truck.
Because hounds are hunters and expected to stay on the trail, they don't always follow commands. At first, I thought Kiera was simply not a good listener. Turns out that Kiera (just like boyfriend) was far from stupid. I swear sometimes, I could see her thinking. A couple of times I gave her a command and she rolled her eyes at me (another time she actually flipped me off). But when Kiera wanted attention, it had to be RIGHT NOW. When I was studying to take the bar exam, this was not a request I could consistently accommodate (especially when answering timed practice questions). If I ignored her whines, howls, or more formal requests for attention, she would bark. I would look at her. She'd squat - and piss. Right in from of me. ...a vindictive pisser. I spoke with my wise sister about this issue. She explained to me that dogs always seek an alpha. Boyfriend had been selected for that role. "Well, what does she think I am then?" I asked. My sister paused, and then whispered, "Girl... you just another dog."
The love affair between Kiera and boyfriend was mutual. He did not go anywhere without her -- and that included travel to far away states like Texas and Florida for family holidays. Kiera reduced me to my weakest moment on one of these trips. Not a lot of hotels welcome dogs. And the ones that do, traditionally have not met my cleanliness standards. Oprah I am not and we couldn't exactly afford the Ritz. When returning to DC one Christmas, we stopped at a particularly nasty hotel in small town, SC. I was not in the best frame of mind. I was sad about leaving my family, and I was sad about the weather becoming colder as we continued to creep North.
Boyfriend knew this and promised me a lovely dinner. He checked us into the hotel, and asked the clerk, what was the nicest restaurant in town? She highly recommended the Cracker Barrel. After dinner, we walked into our room which was caked in fur (Oprah so would not have tolerated this). I pulled back the sheets and discovered human hair. I wanted to leave, but instead I put on every article of clothing so that no skin could touch the sheets. We crawled into bed and Kiera hopped in with us. I was shaking like Rain Man over the human hair incident and debating sleeping in the car . Boyfriend turned on a JLo movie to calm me. (HUGE JLo fan. Always makes me feel better.) The whole family was in bed watching television, when quite suddenly Kiera jumped up from her spot in the middle and hopped off the bed.
This was extremely odd behavior, even from my crazy coon hound. I looked at her and called her as boyfriend exclaimed, "Oh god." ...Kiera had apparently pissed in the bed. Dogs pee when they smell another dog's urine. Which she had apparently done. In our hotel bed. So with that knowledge, I put on my flip-flops, showered (with the shoes on) and drove us the fuck home.
Kiera now lives with her father. I miss her everyday. Despite the fact that I was never viewed as the alpha, Kiera constantly showed me unconditional love. ...And I guess you never forget your first real love.
Kiera passed away on October 17, 2011. Today would have been her ninth birthday.
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