Who chose who?

What sort of a question is that I ask? It’s quite clear that I found master and mistress on the streets in Spain, and they are now very LUCKY.

There aren’t many stray Brits wandering around here that get picked up by a fine (Spanish speaking) dog like me. Oh no.

Mistress still wants to ask. She doesn’t really mean “Who chose who?” or if she does, she also means, if you didn’t get to choose your humans – why did they choose you?

Simple really, she says.

So here are her examples. (Yawn, it’s my blog, it’s not fair, off to sulk. I would rather write about lying in the sun, or on the sofa, or under the table. Or…..CATS!!)

Dog number one. Ben. Adopted/rescued so many years ago that mistress is not prepared to confess. A black Labrador puppy from a Blue Cross Home in the UK.

Mistress had come from a doggy home (Boxers and a Rhodesian Ridgeback). Not a cat home though. Master came from a doggy home too. Small mongrels. And some cats. Hmmmm. Yummmmmm. I don’t mean they lived in dog rescue homes, I mean they grew up with dogs.

Apparently this Ben actually had pedigree papers. He and his sister were the runts of the litter, so they got discarded – that’s what master and mistress were told. But they could get the pedigree papers if they gave a larger donation to the shelter.

I don’t think they knew what they were looking for. A dog, preferably a puppy to give a home to. They weren’t into showing dogs so the papers didn’t matter. There were some nice tiny puppy Dobermans or Rottweilers at the kennels too but they were too young to leave, and master and mistress wanted to take a dog home with them.

So they took Ben. The kennels people wanted them to take his sister. These days they would have done, but it was their first dog together and they thought best to start with one. (Not necessarily true…..) And master thought the dog was a nice assertive puppy. In fact these days they would actually go for older dogs because no-one ever wants them. They just don’t look so cute…..

I guess they were part-way down the rescue road. Mistress so wanted a rescue dog, but had been used to big pedigree dogs. So in the end getting a pedigree albeit without papers was probably similar to going to a breed-specific rescue society.

Next dog. Paddy. The one dog who always listened to mistress and not master. Not that mistress was going to take him. For some reason they had decided another companion was in order, so they went up to the local rescue shelter (master and mistress had moved house and area by then) which was pretty grotty.

Mistress saw this cute little puppy lying at the back of one of the kennels with big eyes. “No, we’re not having that one,” said master. “We’ll have this nice barky one here. He so wants to leave these horrid kennels.”

Mistress looked at him. He was pretty mis-shapen. (The dog, not master, although…..) He was barking a lot. Anyway – she was still being a bit pretentious – he was black like the labrador. So they would look cool together. And he looked slightly like a labrador. In fact on his papers he was a labrador cross. Either crossed with a setter, or possibly a cocker spaniel. He was six months old or so, and he was apparently an ok dog, but his owners didn’t want him. They never do.

He was called Ludo. Mistress didn’t think that suited him. She was convinced he was part Irish setter cross because he had beautiful feathers on the back of his legs (she had always wanted a setter, along with every other dog in the world). He had red bits on his chest (they went very white many years later). So they called him Paddy (Irish setter – yes?). Although she did think later they should have called him Rags, or Ragamuffin, or Bag of Rags. The right names always come later.

And then there was Prince. Another house move, another rescue centre – this time in a city. There were at least two in the same city in fact, and master and mistress went to both of them. Absolutely full of unwanted dogs – bursting at the seams. Big dogs, little dogs, puppies. You name it. And people going there on a Sunday afternoon for a wander round with their children to look at the nice doggies (not to home them – just to look at the nice doggies in cages). Mistress came away from the second one in tears.

They went back to the first one. Master had always fancied a German Shepherd, (and there were lots), but they obviously needed one who was able to get on with other dogs. They still had Ben and Paddy, who were ageing happily and not barking quite as much.

When they walked into the kennels, Prince barked LOUDLY. They walked all the way round and he barked again. And then they left. But they ended up with him – because he was another barky dog who said “PICK ME – please?“. I think there was a bit of desperation in that bark and I will write Prince’s story later ‘cos we were good pals.

Oh, for the record – Ben reached nine or ten, Paddy was 15 or 16, and Prince died last year aged around 13. I think.

So. Mistress is trying to make my blog serious, and it is meant to be about sunshine, and Spain, and strawberries (and a little bit about cats).

To those of you humans who have not been found by your dogs (like I found mine!!), what made you choose your dogs? Did they bark a lot (like Paddy and Prince)? Did you go for a breed within a rescue home (like Ben and Prince) or just a funny dog like Paddy?

Or did you get your dogs from a breed-specific rescue centre?

If you buy from a breeder, and you have read all the way down this rescued dog saga (which I would be surprised about) – what do you choose and why?

And finally – if you have ever rescued a dog and then decide to buy one – why do you do that?

I think mistress needs to lighten up and go grab a glass of wine on pawty weekend. But hey, we’d both be interested in any responses. Ruff, Pipps and Serious Mistress. (Master definitely needs to come back soon!!!!)


5 comments on “Who chose who?

  1. pix & kardz says:

    well Pippa, I may have already told you the story of Lady the border collie who spent only one summer in my childhood home. Or maybe I talked about her in one of Mistress’s blogs.
    In any event she was officially my bro’s because being three years older than me he had saved up some money. My Dad drove us to the City Pound. Not a very happy place because it’s where they impounded dogs. Don’t know if that place exists today or if their serves have been relegated to the SPCA. But nevertheless it was also a hopeful place and that was where we met her. A smallish border collie, with half of her face black and the other half white, and it was love at first sight.
    So my bro parted with some hard-earned cash and I provided all the moral support a 10-year old could muster and Lady adopted all of us. Summers are endless when you are younger and to think that all the adventures with Lady were confined to but a few months seems incredulous. But that’s how it was.
    She had many endearing qualities but there was one habit that we could never convince her to break. She was so obedient in so many ways. She was friendly and protective of kids and she loved to play. She especially loved to be pulled in a little wooden wagon. And when one of us would be upset, or pretend to be, she was great at cheering up or providing comfort with a big slobbery doggy kiss upside the face that made us laugh.
    But she loved to wander. Into the neighbour’s yard. And she loved to leave little presents behind that she would never dream of leaving behind in her own yard.
    Needless to say, the neighnours were not habit. Not one bit. So the time came to build a nice big kennel for those times when she didn’t want to be inside but nobody could be outside with her. But nice or not, it was a kennel and confining and she didn’t like it. Can’t say I blamed her. And so she protested. Loudly. In her beautiful border collie voice.
    This made the neighbour on the other side very upset. No barking allowed! Now how fair is that. He could complain but Lady couldn’t? And with one thing or another we realized (well the others in the family, not me) that Lady needed more space than we could afford to give her in a small city back yard. And I don’t know whose decision it was, but a good home was found for her in the country where she would have lots of space.
    Anyhow this goes well beyond the scope of the question, but I would say Lady adopted us from a place where she wouldn’t have lasted too long. I heard she ended up having a wonderful life after she moved out of the city, and I hope in her puppy heart that she wasn’t sad for long but I certainly missed her for quite a while.

    • Pippadogblog says:

      Haroo. That is a bit of a sad story though really. Well, for you and your bro, and for Lady being passed around. But as you say, it is a tail with a happy wagging, I mean ending. It’s really good you reading our old posts so we have to check up on them again (far more interesting than Misery’s silly posts anyway).

    • Vicky says:

      Aww, that must have been very sad for you and your brother. I suppose in a way you were Ladys’ stepping stone to her future, which she probably wouldn’t have had at all if she’d stayed in the pound.

  2. Vicky says:

    Wooof Pippa!! I think you probably already know my choice……. The big dog that nobody else wants.
    If I was in Spain at the time you were a street dog, I’d have done exactly what your master & mistress did too πŸ™‚

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