The Savvy Bandit
In the beginning, there was Bandido.
She was meticulously clean, aloof and independent, and her kisses were special–saved only for those truly deserving of such a sweet morsel of brief acknowledgement. Hubby and I looked upon the Peanut Butter Bandit as she drowsed in a sunbeam-bath and we saw that it was good.
And then I was tempted.
Bandit is the perfect companion for a sedentary afternoon. She masterfully navigates her way around my cluttered desk to wink golden scrutiny in my general direction. Targeting a lap, she easily compacts her furry limbs into a purring loaf to nestle warmly between arms wielding both book and coffee. But what could this cotton-ball-pawed creature know of the outside world? She is far too independent to be leashed and led down sidewalks and gravel drives. A hike along a dirt path through the woods is simply out of the question; Bandit is far too aware as a hunter to ever leave herself so exposed in a realm that still smells of predation.
A dog! The idea appeared as an obvious solution. A dog is the perfect companion for long walks through the woods, strolls around the block, afternoons of frisbee in the park.
I mention the idea to Hubby; he agrees that it would be wonderful, but we both decide that we should wait for a time until our finances are such that a canine companion would receive appropriate care.
We waited and I researched. Small breeds are cute, but I felt larger breeds would do better keeping up on long (five mile plus) hikes. So many choices, so many opinions; the information was nearly overwhelming and often contradictory. I chewed my lip and took my notes. Bandit napped and generously left scraps of my legal pad kitty-free for my human scribbling.
Nearly a year later, we had the money and the decision: we placed a deposit with a reputable breeder for a female German Shepherd pup. The rest is history. Actually, scratch that, the rest is still more of a mystery. How on earth did all those books I read, all those sites I perused, neglect to emphasize a very VERY important fact: raising a puppy is nothing like what the books describe. Bandit shrugs that, somewhere between leaving white trails of fur on my lap and scrubbing the perfect triangles of her ears, she tried to tell me that dogs are–in her own words–”NO GOOD!”, but I failed to hear her warnings. Or I’m too stubborn to believe them.
Paradise is not lost, but to keep up I’m forced to quickly learn an entirely different language as I try to bridge the gaps between the humans, Savvy, and Bandit.
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