A Pup Called Simon

A year after we were married, my husband and I bought our first home. The first thing we did after moving in was look for a dog to adopt. My heart was set on a golden retriever, but we soon learned that you don't just choose a dog, a dog chooses you. After a few months of weekly visits to local animal shelters, 9/11 happened and Stan had an opportunity to work on a project helping the City of New York develop systems to manage mounting claims. So off he went to NYC.

What happened next? I visited the Arlington Animal Shelter and saw a black lab mix puppy boarding with an older dog. The puppy was trying unsuccessfully to get the older dog to play. The other dog just looked on with the amused yet affectionate and tolerant expression of an elder. As I approached the kennel, the puppy immediately turned to me and licked my hand enthusiastically, its little tail going in all directions. Shelter staff took us to the back lawn to see how well we interacted. The pup was clearly very interested, paying close attention and inviting me to play. Energetic, sharp, enthused but not OCD or hyper. In short, perfect.

The four-month-old pup, supposedly discovered along the side of a road in WVA, had a waiting list of people to be interviewed by shelter staff. Panic - he's the one! Ha! The duds ahead of us on the list fell out of the running like dominoes. One tiny glitch, though: the shelter insisted on interviewing both adoptive parents and Stan was in NYC with little chance of taking a day off that week. I am very proud that Stan worked on the NYC-9/11 project, but his boss could bite me - after 2 months in NYC, Stan was taking a day off to come adopt a dog. And so he did.

Naturally, it was love at first sight with Stan and the pup. The adoption went through. We went home, bought the essentials, puppy-proofed the house and brought him home the next day. I'll never forget it. I sat in the back seat with puppy on my lap holding fast to me. No car sickness - oh, we're going to get along just fine. Once home, we took him on a tour where he inspected and put his seal of approval on each room. He seemed to say "good job people, I think I'll stay". Then he proceeded to declare a spot as his master bath. The scene is forever etched in my memory. Dog starting to tinkle. Stan scooping him up by his front armpits and rushing out the door. All the while the fountain continuing to flow uninterrupted. Can you blame him? We failed to show him the way to his loo.

We decided to name him Simon, because he's simply a Simon. No goopy names like Oreo, Blackie or Licorice. Truth be told, Simon does look like he's stuffed with vanilla creme oozing from the center. He has this patch of white fur on his chest and a paw that looks like he accidentally dipped his toes in a pan of white paint. The patch is in the shape of a tie, which is appropriate because he's a serious yet peppy dog ready to "work" (learn, play).

Ready or not, we had our work cut out for us. Stan returned to NY on Sunday so Simon and I were left to our own devices. Simon decided he no longer cared for his usual food, proceeded to stop eating altogether and quickly lost weight. (Apparently puppies shouldn't be going on diets.) Quite alarming to a first-time dog owner. I put him on chicken and rice, which he would only eat pure. There was no tricking him by mixing in some of his dog food. Now that he was moving up in the world, his palate was simply too refined for basic kibble. Stan returned the following weekend and he took over Simon's culinary experiment. We picked up food samples from ProFeed and organized Simon's taste test. Simon picked one food and ate it voraciously for the next seven years.