It seems to me that, when choosing a new puppy, there are two schools of thought:
- Buy from a reputable breeder.
- Breeder?! Don’t you know there are puppies in pounds who need a good home?
I’m about to perform a feat that some might consider amazing: I’m going to tell you a story that will make both of those camps want to throw things at me. (Don’t though. I’m not a good catcher. I am a practiced ducker, though.)
It all started on February 9 when two seemingly unrelated things happened. First, my daughter said, “I can’t snuggle you anymore. I’m too big.” Obviously this declaration went straight to my ovaries, who responded, “Make a baby! Make a baby!” in very atypical fashion. Brain was confused, as she’s known for quite some time that we’re not making any more babies. Second, we literally opened the door to our country home, and the most adorable little black puppy ran inside, puked on the carpet, and sat on my five-year-old daughter’s lap. The puppy didn’t move for an hour. Ava pet her and hugged her and named her Sasha. She was unreasonably distraught when a cowboy knocked on our door and asked if we’d seen his little black puppy. Ava cried uncontrollably as I handed “Sasha” to the cowboy.
Anyone who knows me knows that I’m not a fan of animals. For me to think that something furry is adorable is quite out of character. Nonetheless, I began to consider puppy ownership. I thought it might be a fair compromise between my ovaries and my brain: something that would snuggle me but that I wouldn’t have to feed in the middle of the night. And I knew just the breed: a shih tzu. The husband and I had been Mommy and Daddy to a shih tzu named Elvis before we were Mom and Dad to Tyler and Ava. We loved Elvis (even though he barked at, growled at, and ate his own tail whenever he got excited, which resulted in costly trips to the doggy neurologist). Yes, we would get a dog, and that dog would be a shih tzu. The ovaries and brain were in agreement.
Meet Daphne. She’s the furry one.
Let me tell you what Daphne’s brought to our lives, and then I’ll tell you the story of how she came into our home. Daphne has brought round three of potty training. I didn’t expect this. Mostly because I’m an idiot. Daphne has brought insane allergies into all of my facial orifices. Daphne has brought three pet beds, a multitude of over-licked toys, and a penchant for chewing Ava’s purple boots. Daphne has brought the laughter borne of frustration: We bought puppy pads that were marketed as carrying a smell that would attract her — and they did. She ate them. And Daphne has been a friend to my kids, especially the five-year-old who was born loving animals. (Really. Her second word was “moo.” She would point to the cows behind our fence and talk to them. I try not to let it bother me that “moo” became part of her vocabulary long before “momma.”)
And now the part where I make everyone mad: the story of how we ended up with Daphne. Soon after the cowboy came to claim his little black puppy, the husband and I began our hunt for a shih tzu. The husband went to the pound — we started the journey on what many proclaim the right path. There he found a couple of shih tzus that weren’t yet ready for adoption. Well, patience isn’t a virtue often practiced in the Phomsithi house, and my ovaries, especially, were having none of that. “Now!” they said.
On Valentine’s Day, my husband called me with news. His brother had found some shih tzus for sale on a Facebook group. The breeders could meet us that night — not at their home, though. No, out of concern for the length of our drive (half an hour), they would kindly meet us at the Walmart parking lot instead, saving us a grand total of 10 minutes driving time. Excitedly, we packed up the five-year-old and made the trip. The twelve-year-old was at a school dance and completely unaware of what was happening.
Once we arrived at Walmart, we were met by a couple who seemed very kind. They brought two two-month-old puppies, a small boy and a girl who looked as if she could eat her brother in a single bite. The boy was calm, beautiful, and seemingly the right choice. However, my son wanted a girl. We were leaving him out of meeting the puppies, mostly because I have no patience, and mommy guilt was setting it. “The girl,” I said. “Tyler wants a girl.” We picked up the girl.
“Wow, she’s big,” the husband said. “Don’t you think she’s big, honey?”
“Yes. But Tyler wants a girl.”
“And her nose … she doesn’t look like a shih tzu.”
At this the breeders stepped in. “Here. I have some pictures of her parents on my cell phone,” the wife said.
My husband was still suspicious.
“Does she have papers?” I asked.
“No,” they said. “We didn’t think it was important.”
I suppose this statement was to be taken as noble?
It doesn’t matter. At this point, Ava was not going to put the dog down.
I went to the front seat to gather my purse and pull out the cash required to purchase the pup, though, even then, there was some doubt as to whether or not Daphne was a shih tzu. Again, no patience plus screaming ovaries, plus a dash of inherent trust in people — I’m an idiot.
On the way home, we noted that her eyes weren’t quite as round as Elvis’, nor was her nose as short. She’s a puppy, we reasoned, maybe Elvis looked like this as a baby and we just don’t remember.
Well, it’s been nearly six weeks since we brought Daphne home. Every day she grows bigger … she’s much bigger than Elvis ever was. Every day her nose grows longer and her legs taller. The only thing that seemingly isn’t growing is her shih tzu coat.
No one who has seen her has bought into our claims that she’s a shih tzu.
Recently a long-time dog breeder offered her thoughts. “Looks to me like she’s a mix between a bulldog and a shih tzu,” she said.
Oh well. This wouldn’t be the first time we’ve blown $200 on bull shih at Walmart.
May have been worth it this time, though.
PHOMSITHI'S PLAYGROUND 
Love it.
🙂