Whiskey: The Unexpected Puppy

Last summer, my son's dog died. It was devastating for everyone, but no one was more broken up then my oldest son, Tristan. She had been his baby, his best friend, and his life, and anyone who has ever lost a dog can relate to that. Finding another puppy who could even come close to Brownie would prove impossible in the months following her death. But we had to try.

Eventually, however, Tristan decided he had to have another Poodle, this one red, not black, and with white markings. So we found a breeder, were told it would be several months before there was a puppy available, and sat back to wait. That should have been it. It really should have.

But fate doesn't always play along, and we were about to learn that first hand. My sister had a dog, a Labradoodle named Willow. Cute dog, sweet, too bouncy for my tastes, but nice enough. She decided to breed Willow to a Golden Retriever a few months after Brownie had passed away. And in January, Willow had nine puppies.

My sister, of course, offered to let him buy a puppy, and Tristan dutifully took a look, but decided they weren't for him. They weren't Poodles, and they weren't dark red, so they weren't for him. Okay. My sister listed her pups for sale and they sold in just a few days. All except for the runt who was walking funny. He'd been born first with no one to witness, so we were never quite sure why. Maybe his mother stepped in him. Whatever the reason, my sister didn't feel comfortable selling a potentially injured pup. She'd wait until the vet cleared him before selling him.

So the weeks passed and we visited once a week so the kids could play with the puppies. Tristan never once mentioned having one of the Goldendoodle puppies for his own. He played with them, talked about the Poodle he'd get in just another three or four months. He was content and things were going as expected.

Then something happened we did not expect. The Saturday before the puppies were to go to their new homes, and just a few hours before my sister would sell the remaining puppy (who had been given a clean bill of health just the day before), we went to see the puppies for the last time.

By this time, we'd all visited once a week for two months. So we'd hold a puppy for a minute, put it down, then visit with my sister (actually my sweetheart of a niece). Tristan was the only one who was still title fascinated, so he hung out with the puppies while we all visited.

I honestly can't tell you what happened next. I do know that Tristan spent two hours laughing in the puppy room while I was mostly playing hide and seek with my niece. I do know that when I called him so we could go home, he came out of the room with a puppy in his arms.

"Mommy, I want Whiskey," he said, clutching at the puppy my nephew had called Whiskey. The runt with the weird hips.

I nodded. "I know, he's cute. Let's go."

My sister reached for the puppy, but Tristan wouldn't give him up. "No, Mommy. I want to buy him."

It was then that my sister, mother, and I probably looked a little ridiculous. We were shocked, to say the least. This kid had exhibited no interest in this puppy just the week before. Now, however, he wanted to buy him.

I recovered first. "Are you sure?" I felt compelled to ask.

He was. That was his puppy. Still, he'd been so set on a red Poodle I was hesitant to agree. We compromised. He'd sleep on it, and the next day, if he hadn't changed his mind, I'd take him to the bank and he could get money out of his account.

Morning didn't change anything. He was in love with that puppy, and it was obvious Whiskey worshipped him in return. So he paid his deposit, got a receipt, and a week later we had a new friend. Whiskey was here to stay.

Not what we expected, but we wouldn't trade him for anything.

Dog Breeds: American Treeing Feist

Also known as the Mountain Feist or the American Feist, the Treeing Feist has been in North America for quite long time. They were here decades, probably even longer, before the Rat Terriers made an appearance on American shores. Though we're not sure how they got here, we do know both Abraham Lincoln and George Washington wrote about 'fice' or 'fyce' dogs, proving they're not exactly new arrivals.

American Feists should have a short and smooth coat. Coat colors vary and may include black, red, white, black and tan, red and white, red bridle, and even blue and white.  Because the coat is short and flat, it's easy enough to groom. A good brushing once a week followed by a buff with a chamois cloth will keep your pup looking his best.

Eyes should be small and dark while the ears are erect or semi-erect.  Standing no more than 22 inches high and weighing no more than 30 pounds, the American Feist is a small dog with a muscular build. They are Swift and agile, the perfect combination for a dog used for hunting.

This breed is full of spirit and highly active. They can live in an apartment, but they'll need to be walked two or three times a day in this scenario. The Treeing Feist would do better with at least a small yard.

Lovable to a fault, the American Feist makes a wonderful family pet. Though frequently used for hunting rabbits, rodents, birds, and other small game, they adapt well to ripping with children. They may not enjoy living with small animals such as guinea pigs, gerbils, and even cats, but they're generally sweet with humans, young and old.

If you're looking for a dog with a powerful personality and boundless energy, the American Treeing Feist might be for you.

Dog Breeds: American Toy Terrier

Developed in the United States in the 1930s, the American Toy Terrier is descended from the Smooth Fox Terrier. Other breeds used in the development of the Toy Terrier include the Chihuahua, the Italian Greyhound, the Manchester Terrier, and the Miniature Pinscher. This breed wasn't officially recognized until 2003, so it actually goes by many names. It can be called the Toy Fox Terrier or the Amertoy, depending on the association involved.

The Toy Terrier has a distinct appearance. The nose should be black for all dogs except those of chocolate coloring (these dogs should have chocolate noses). Eyes are dark, round, and set forward on the head. Ears are v-shaped and erect. The muzzle should be fairly small and narrow. The tail has traditionally been docked at birth, but since this procedure is illegal in much of Europe, and frowned upon in many other countries, it is becoming less common as time goes on.

The coat is typically short and quite thick, which makes it easy to groom. Most Toy Terriers are tri-colored, usually white with tan or black and tan markings. Other colors can and do appear, but not all colors are accepted by all associations. Regardless of association, this tiny breed should weight no more than 7 pounds and stand about 10 inches high.

They may be small, but they're very much like their Fox Terrier ancestors. They're smart, tough, and are prone to fits of stubbornness. Though generally curious, active, and pleasant, this small breed can be a bit of a fighter. They're natural hunters, so expect them to go after mice, rats, and generally anything that's small and mobile. And once they're hunting, they won't stop until they catch their prey.

But the American Toy Terrier is more than just a hunter. They're also intelligent enough to learn just about any trick, sensitive enough to respond to your moods, and loving enough to be a friend through thick and thin. And you'd be hard pressed to find a more loyal canine. In general, this is a wonderful breed with a few little quirks.

Like many small breeds, the American Toy Terrier has its own set of health problems. Some dogs are prone to Legg-Calvé-Perthes, which involves spontaneous degeneration of the head of the femur bone. Others suffer from allergies, commonly to wheat, corn or beet pulp. Because of very short hair, this breed can't tolerate the cold, so get a dog sweater for your canine companion.

If you're looking for an energetic dog who will never leave your side, the American Toy Terrier might be for you.

The Search for a New Puppy

My oldest son, who is now 9, recently suffered a great loss. His baby, a small black Poodle he's had since he was 3, was killed a little over a month ago. He was quite naturally devastated, and he cried for days. But, like most little boys who need dogs for companionship, Tristan soon started asking about a new puppy. It's not that he was over Brownie. Far from it. It's just that he NEEDS a dog. It's a part of who he is. Like his glasses or his medic ID bracelet. A small dog running at his heels makes him complete, and going through the summer without a puppy was going to be hard.

And thus began our search for a dog. Since it was going to be Tristan's dog, and he was going to be the one looking after this dog, it only made sense that he get to choose. The first thing he wanted me to look for was a small black Poodle, boy or girl, as long as it looked like Brownie.

I'm not that stupid, so relax. I didn't go out and get a small black Poodle he could call Brownie. But I also didn't want to refuse out of hand. Here's where his desire for a purebred Poodle comes in handy. You don't go out and pick up a purebred, show quality, Toy Poodle from your local shelter. It just doesn't work that way. It can take months, sometimes a year, before that perfect Poodle shows up.

What did this mean for me? Well, it meant that I could help him search for a puppy in a convincing manner without committing to a black Poodle. So we searched for a while, looked at pictures of dogs that might have black puppies, and cried quite a bit for Brownie. Tristan cried every night for 2 weeks, actually, which I had expected. He was grieving.

So a little time passed, only a couple weeks really (though it seemed longer), and we were still looking at puppy pictures. I know my son, and I knew he'd do a flip flop on me. And he did. One afternoon, as he was browsing yet another breeder's website, he turned to me and said, "I don't want another Brownie. I want something small and sweet and not black. Or brown. That would remind me of Brownie too much."

That was the sentence I'd been waiting for. I'd known he'd want a Poodle, but not one exactly like his baby. So we discussed it in detail. He was fine with any color that wasn't black or brown, but he wanted a little girl, and he wanted it smaller than Brownie had been. She'd been 8 pounds all soaking wet, not exactly large, so smaller came as a surprise. 6 pounds is what he'd decided he wanted.

To be frank, that size made me a little nervous, but it wasn't my dog. I wasn't the one who would have to feed her. I wasn't the one who would have to carry her outside, or put her in my bike basket when her little legs couldn't keep up. Tristan had been doing all these things since he was 3. He could do them at 9. Not my dog. Not my call.

So now we had a real description of the dog he might want. At this point, I called the breeder who had bred Brownie all those years ago. As soon as I told her what had happened, and as soon as I gave her Tristan's wish list, she told me she had two girls who might be pregnant with puppies who might fit his needs. We'd have to wait and see.

But just knowing a puppy might be born soon was enough to lift Tristan's spirits. Not completely, and he continues to grieve for Brownie, but he's getting better. And having to wait for a puppy is good for him. It allows him to finish grieving while knowing there's a light at the end of the tunnel.

And that light is enough for now.