BooBoo and the Goat

Since we're still introducing all the characters for this blog, here are two more.

We have two dogs - Alex and Maggie (aka BooBoo and The Goat) - and they are for the time being, our children.

Alex we got as a puppy from the pound in Bryan, TX. He got his nickname BooBoo from Kristin’s sister when he was about palm-sized. He's a cutie, but VERY sensitive. He gets his feelings hurt, and he pouts. Seriously. In the morning when we’re getting ready, he’ll feel ignored and sit in the doorway with his back to us and his ears folded all the way back so he looks extra pitiful.

Maggie is his polar opposite. We got her when we moved to the house from our one-bedroom apartment. Alex loved the apartment - it was small, he got walked at least twice a day, and he was an only child. Then we moved to the house (twice the space), and he hid in the bedroom all day, stopped eating, wouldn't go outside - you get the picture. So it was either get Alex a friend, or find him a new home.

Kristin - with her usual "anything worth doing is worth doing NOW" gusto - called me one day from the SPCA and said she had one picked out and wanted to get my thoughts. Now, please know that I'm not so dumb as to think my opinion was genuinely being solicited. Kristin had picked a dog and unless I had a major problem with it, we would soon be taking home a new family member.

She showed me Maggie. Maggie is - as best we can tell - part golden retriever, with maybe some chow (she has the scruffy neck and some black spots on her tongue). I think she's also part flea - her standing vertical is incredible, and you never know when she's going to decide she wants to fly. At this point, Maggie was pretty calm, laid back, and quiet. Great! Just what we need - a low-maintenance dog. So we got her.

She threw up three times in my back seat during the 45-minute drive back to Melissa. To carsickness was quickly added kennel cough, plus some badly infected sutures from her spaying (she had been found and turned in to the SPCA with the sutures in – who knows for how long). So the $50 adoption fee was quickly upped by a couple hundred in vet fees, plus beds, toys, etc. I can only imagine what dropping several hundred bucks a month on diapers must feel like.

Anyway, as Maggie started feeling better, we discovered a new side of her (the flea part finally came out). One morning, our previously-docile new dog decided she wanted to play. So she proceeded to more or less hurdle our bed. Imagine lying on your back in bed. It’s early on a Saturday, and just barely starting to get light outside. You’re vaguely aware the dogs are awake, but youhope they won’t make you get up just yet. You begin to sink back into dreamland, but then you hear the sound of a dog jumping. About the time some genetic self-preservation alarm goes off, alerting your sleepy mind that covering your – um - vulnerable - spots might be prudent (but before you have time to actually act on that), you see a large, dark shadow fly at low altitude over you, thankfully landing on the floor on the other side of the bed.

The real Maggie had finally shown up.

Maggie likes helping (the picture here is her helping me set up the Christmas Tree this past year). She also is quite resourceful at entertaining herself if we’re not doing anything interesting. This is never good. She got her nickname because – like a goat - she’ll eat just about anything. She especially likes chasing bugs (toys that move on their own!), but destroying socks, underwear, shoes, furniture and anything plastic are all fun, too.

Alex, of course, would never admit that he likes her, but it’s clear he’s much happier. He likes acting like he’s the alpha dog, and I’m sure it’s hard to be moody when you have a perpetually happy dog around you. So he’s doing much better, and now that we’ve more or less taught her to fight those urges to destroy stuff, we’re all one big happy family.