Puppy Failure
When the Cat Lady tried to keep a dog
On a recent Saturday morning, as I was driving to my sister’s house for coffee, I nearly hit a dog that was eating roadkill on the side of the road.
I swerved and slowed down, passing the dog as my brain caught up to the image. That wasn’t a dog; it was a puppy, I thought.
I stopped the car and got out. The puppy — a beagle — looked at me. “Hey! You can’t be here by yourself. It isn’t safe!” I said. She came limping toward me as fast as she could. Her front left paw was injured.
She was young — and very, very cute. That someone dumped her on the side of the road still makes me burn with anger.
The short version of what happened next is that I took her home, named her Jamie, and decided to keep her. She had a soft tissue injury, possibly from being tossed from a car. Over the next two weeks, her paw healed. She was able to run like a fool.
She ran. She played. She peed on the floor. I tried ineptly to train her.
About a week after I found Jamie, my nephew’s wife called to tell me that there was a kitten on the side of the road (the same road where Jamie had been dumped). My nephew wouldn’t let her pick it up.
I got in my car and found the kitten. The short version of that story is that his name is Simon, and he lives in my house.
Here’s the difference between Jamie and Simon: I spent two grueling weeks failing to train Jamie where to pee and poop. I spent twenty seconds showing Simon where the litter box is — he has had no accidents since moving in, although he did puke on my pillow last night.
Puppies take time. They grow out of it. Dogs are such good companions.
When I complained online about how Jamie reminded me how much I love cats, all the dog people in my life rushed to give me this advice. And, of course, they had to badmouth cats in the process. “Dogs love you. Cats just hide under the bed,” one friend said.
I really did try to be a good dog owner. She really will grow out of it, I told myself. Yes, in a couple of years, the cat-loving part of my brain responded.
In the end, I decided Jamie would be happier — and my cats and I would be happier — if I didn’t keep her. I posted her on Facebook, and within twenty minutes, one of my friends had claimed her. Jamie has gone to live with a dog person. She now has doggie friends to chew on instead of a bunch of irritable cats.
I don’t regret picking her up on the side of the road. In fact, I don’t ever want to be the sort of person who can just drive on and leave an animal in distress. She’s a good girl — but she made me miss my cats. I’m thoroughly a cat person, through and through. I admire dog people and their patience — but I will never be one of them.
