Return to Sender



I have to admit that after my first couple of days with my "Devil Dog" Waffles I had begun to consider ways to sneak her back to Pugdom. I wondered if there was a way to delete my blog entries so no one remembered her. I know, these are horrible thoughts, but the sweet little girl I envisioned seemed to be replaced by a snorting, screeching, screaming banshee.
Monday night she discovered the trashcan in the bathroom and although I removed her right away and sent her to bed, the next morning she darted straight back to the bathroom, finding her way back to the trashcan and the trash, which she soon spread from one side of the room to the other. Alfie wanted to help in the redecorating, so she came over and peed on the bathmat. Then Alfie ran downstairs to the carpet where she began to do circles, rubbing her butt on the floor. Not long after I fed Waffles her breakfast, which she promptly regurgitated. What was it about pugs that I loved?
Last night I decided to try placing a "heartbeat" Teddy in Waffles' crate to help her sleep and her screetches seemed to subside, but suddenly Alfie was whining confused by the noise. And, the heartbeat, which was on a timer, only helped for so long. Waffles was awake in a couple of hours screaming again. This may have been more bearable if I didn't have to be up at the crack of dawn to bring her to the vets for her spaying. As I loaded her in the car, she began to make these loud horrible pug snorts -- I have never had this breathing problem with my other pugs -- and I began to fear that nasal surgery might be in her future.

Driving to the vet's Waffles sat beside me on the driver's seat because she had worked her way out of the harness in the back. Again, visions of a late night return to Pugdom filled my head. My friend Joan has so many pugs she may not even notice Waffles for awhile I thought. "What am I going to do with you," I asked Waffles. And, I still don't know.

But as I looked down at the petite, black bundle snorting away in the seat next to me, a new thought emerged. What if something happens to her? I am responsible. This is my little girl. My visions of sneaking her back turned to once again sneaking her away, this time from the veterinarian. But I did the responsible thing. Five hours later, the vet called to tell me she had come through fine.
Her report informed me that she was a joy and was very relaxed and comfortable recovering in her crate. Oh no, I thought and not for the first time, I got the wrong dog -- no way my Waffles is comfortable in a crate, but as she snuggled in my arms, letting out a long sigh, I had a vision of the future and realized that she might just be a joy.