Come January 4, it will be three months since we lost Sherman. His loss is still being felt on many levels, since he was such a good dog. But life goes on.
For as badly as I took his passing, Karen and Custer suffered more. They both suffered in silence, at least around me, but Custer moped. I mean, the dog was listless at best, morose at worst. He'd play for a time, but then he'd lie down with his head on the floor and not move. It was getting bad.
Karen and I had, eerily, been discussing getting a dog in the event of Sherman's death around the time that he passed. We both knew we had limited time with him, although we thought we had at least a year more. So in a sense we were prepared for it, at least in the sense that we'd discussed it. Our talks did nothing to lessen the impact of his passing.
About a month after Sherman's passing we began exploring options to replace him. We checked in with various rescue outfits, but either we were barred (who knew there was territoriality in dog rescue?), or the rescues all had severe health issues (not uncommon in bulldogs) or they were older than we wanted. Having just lost a dog, and with Custer getting on in years himself, we weren't steeled to losing another dog so soon.
Through her myriad connections in the bulldog world, we were able to locate a person willing to let go of a former show dog that had already been bred and that would be available at the beginning of December. The price was right, and after some fits and starts that only life can cause, we picked up the little girl, named Margo, the second weekend in December. We brought Custer along so we could see how he interacted with her, just to be sure, and since there were no apparent problems, we brought Margo home with us (in a snowstorm, but it wasn't too bad).
We quickly learned that Margo had never been socialized, nor had she ever been out of her own house except to be at shows or go to the vet. Upon arriving at her new home, Margo ran to the end of the dark hallway and sat looking out at us. If either of us approached her, she'd zip buy on the side and run to the kitchen, where she'd look out from behind the kitchen table. It would only be after much coaxing that she'd come into the living room and lie in the bed we'd lain down for her. Otherwise, she'd race to get behind the coffee table and hide there.
Getting her to eat was nearly impossible. I'm not sure she ate much the first three days, although in truth, she could stand to lose a couple of pounds. Karen was finally able to get her to eat a piece of raw meat and a couple of pieces of raw chicken. We were then told that if we put her in a crate with her bowl of food, she'd eat, and this turned out to be true. We're still working on changing that so we can feed her at the same time as Cus, but at least she's eating now.
Taking her out to potty was an experience in and of itself. First of all, to encourage her to go out, she first had to be lassoed with the lead. Then she had to be made aware that opening the door with her standing immediately behind it wasn't effective. Then she had to be made comfortable going down the ramp. Then she had to be cajoled to go outside (admittedly, it is cold out there). Then she had to find the proper spot around the huge conifer that's the unofficial toilet of Bulldog Nation. More often than not, it turns into a game of ring-around-the-rosey, with her scampering playfully if unhelpfully from one side of the tree to the other, without me being able to verify that she actually did anything. Then she'd wander around aimlessly in front of the tree, unsure of what her next move was to be.
But that was just the first few days. Now she helpfully stays back from the door, ambles down the ramp, bravely goes outside, runs to the tree, darts from one side to the next but always stays where she can be seen as she does her business and then happily comes to me jumping and pawing me for approval, which I give her, effusively.
One constant that has happened from Day One in the bathroom routine was the sight of Margo pushing Custer out of the way to get through the doors back into the house. Whereas it as always Custer bustering Sherman out of the way, now the little one is nudging Custer out of the way none too gracefully. He seems unconcernedly confused by the happening, but it's interesting to watch.
The other day Karen wrote me from work asking if I liked the name Margo. I don't. What's more, I'm so tired of using it to prod her to eat, come here, go out the door, do her business, etc., that I've come to dislike it even more. We bandied about a number of names -- only one of which would have kept with the Civil War theme -- and we finally decided on Maisie. It's a pretty name for a pet that's turning out to have quite the personality. And I don't mind hearing it as often as I heard Margo which, thankfully, isn't nearly as much as it used to be. So now Margo is Maisie. She seems to like the name herself.
We are now back to a starting five, Karen, me, Custer, Maisie and Bupkes, who seems particularly unmoved by the new arrival. In fact, for as dyspeptic as he can be with new people or things, he has been surprisingly calm with Maisie's introduction to the family. We're still working out the kinks. Every once in awhile Maisie reverts to Margo and gets a little neurotic. Thankfully, the other two just take it in stride, even if Karen I don't.
We'll always miss Sherman. Maisie, though, has some of the same traits as he did: Sweet, gentle, playful. She also has his coloring and her face reminds us of him.
Welcome, then, to our family Maisie.
(c) 2016 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
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