On St. Francis’ Day, my parents finally got around to calling our local Irish wolfhound breeder/national wolfhound rescue lady and telling her that our dog Liath had died back in the summer.
Now, usually this sort of occasion does elicit some feelers from the rescue people as to whether you’d be interested in taking another rescue dog someday, and if so, when. My parents in the past have said that of course they’re not ready, and probably won’t be for at least another year. (Of course, if you say that you’re never going to own another dog, they’ll still call you up again in a year or so. And they’re right to do so, because a year is a long time.)
This time, however, the rescue lady pretty much offered my parents a dog, and they pretty much jumped at it. (Coincidence? YOU be the judge. Heh.)
The sad story wasn’t even one of the epic sad stories of suffering and privation (like Rory’s and Liath’s) or peril and misadventure (like Cormac’s). No, this was a sad story of human selfishness and stupidity,
coupled with the ability to BS a breeder. Apparently, when the owners didn’t have kids yet, they thought a wolfhound puppy would be perfect. Then the wife got pregnant, and all of a sudden they decided that the puppy wasn’t perfect; so they made her stay out all alone in the yard all day (violating their agreement with the breeder, as well as guaranteeing themselves trouble from a bored and lonely wolfhound puppy). Astoundingly, she didn’t do well out there. So they apparently called the breeder and asked her where they could get a giant-sized crate, or whether it would be better to keep the dog in the chicken coop. (Which as you’d imagine is a recipe for diseases, never mind being stupid and cruel.) So the breeder pointed out that the contract they’d signed had been soooo broken, and took the puppy back. The problem is that a 9 month old puppy is a bit too old to sell, too spayed to breed, and not show quality or she would have been kept. So strictly speaking, Mom and Dad are doing a breeder a favor (if I understood the story correctly, which I probably didn’t — it might have been the Humane Society that pulled the puppy and I just missed that part), but it’s still in the rescue category.
UPDATE: I still don’t understand the whole story, but apparently the puppy’s previous owners bought the puppy from a mall pet store. DON’T DO THAT! Mall pet stores buy from puppy mills! If you want a dog, buy it from the person who bred it, and stay in touch with the breeder. A reputable breeder is out to find good homes for their dogs, not just to make money and kick you to the curb. A good breeder will make sure that you’re ready for what you’re getting into.
But it gets even more sad. You know what this poor dog was named, either by her owners or her befooled breeder? A name that no novel would permit?
Think of a cardinal virtue that starts with the letter P.
*pound my head against handy brick wall*
Anyway, I’ll let you know more about the dog when she’s settled in her new home, and hopefully is given a more Irish name. (Whoops. That doesn’t sound right, does it? We Irish really do possess that virtue, honest….)
Meanwhile, I thought I’d just give St. Francis a shout-out. 🙂