I’ve been wanting a puppy and haven’t been able to decide what kind I want. All I know is that it has to be black and brown. There is a picture forming in my head and I have been having difficulty in figuring it out.
I’ve always liked and gotten along with Rottweilers and Dobermans. I like their size and overall look. A friend of mine had two of each and they were the gentlest creatures ever. They also were great watchdogs. They never barked at a person walking by or falling leaves, only if someone was within a certain distance of the house.
I’ve learned that I also like the look of the Catahoula Leopard Dog, but still…not adding to this ghost image that refuses to take shape in my mind.
I have no idea what this is but I like it. Not what I want it, but I like it.
There are bits and pieces of these dogs that have helped in shaping what I imagine my dream dog to be. But STILL I CANNOT FIGURE OUT WHAT I AM LOOKING FOR!
I’ve been going through some boxes from when I moved a few months ago and happened upon some letters from my Grandmother. These letters, like always, transport me back to whatever time period the subject matter is taking place in. Last night I found one that went back to middle school, when my baby cousin was born. He was such a pudgy little thing and when I saw her mention his name, I remembered something he used to say when asked who he visited during that language learning period of his life:
“Nana, Tina, Doggy, John”
Why the dog took precedence over my cousin John, I’ll never know. LOL!
My granny had this little dog, which I *THINK* was a daschund. Come to think of it, I’m not really sure if it was her’s or my grandfather’s. No matter. All I know is, this is the dog that is behind that quest.
I think hers looked like the one on the left. But then again…I can’t quite remember. I wonder if it’s because she had so many dogs while I was growing up. Always one at a time, though. So many..heh. More like 2. I am told that the first of the two was number 7. Every dog had the same name: Schatzi. It means “Sweetheart” in German.
The second of the two passed before I started high school. She did adopt not another. I romanticized it in my head that the last dog was the last one that my grandfather bought her before he died. I’m probably wrong, but that is what I am going to hold on to as my reality. So if any family members are reading this, please don’t tell me any different.
My Granny has been in Heaven for 10 years this past January. Even in death, she has been there for me in more ways that I can remember. At times of struggle, I’ve come across her letters in places that I will swear on a Bible I didn’t put them. (They are supposed to be in one particular box.) I’ll wear a necklace of hers when I know I have a hard day ahead of me. A favorite song of hers will come on the radio and it will lift my spirits.
My search hasn’t taken me off the interwebs yet. I don’t know enough about dogs to embark on the journey of going from shelter to shelter trying to find him. Or her.
But I do know the name of my dog, even if I haven’t found it yet.