It's All About The DOG: Wrigley Comes Home

By: Susan Dornan

Earlier this year, I decided that I wanted to adopt another rescue dog to keep my first rescue dog, Griffin, company (actually this was for me but it sounds less desperate if I say it was for the dog). I found Griffin in June of 2008.  Although I fell in love with every dog I saw (which is typical of me, which is why I should have been sedated during this process), Griffin jumped off the web page and said, in my head, because she can do that stuff, “Clearly you will have fallen madly in love with me.  If you hurry I might not be snapped up by someone else, leaving you heartbroken and incapable of connecting with any other animal for the rest of your life. Don’t be an idiot.”

Realizing that this dog who I had never met (and was already delusional about) was clearly in control, I made arrangements to meet her.  When we were introduced, I was mesmerized.  Not only was she beautiful (obviously an intentional cross breed of wild Australian dingo and domestic white-tailed deer.  Okay, fine, we have no idea what her lineage is.)  She looked directly into my eyes and wagged her entire rear end.  I had been praying that she wouldn’t give me that “talk to the paw” look and tell me (again, in my head) to leave immediately and find a less discerning dog.  She didn’t.  She licked my face and then dropped to the floor, pretending to be submissive, so I could give her a good tummy rub.  Needless to say, I was accepted as her new “forever mom” and she now runs both my life and that of my boyfriend, who also hears her talking in his head. 

ANYWAY…the adoption of the new kid, a/k/a Wrigley, occurred on a Sunday this past February. 

I had again been looking for our new pal for some time when I discovered Wrigley, a little Min Pin being fostered in Illinois.  It was love at first sight, just like when I found Griffin. I received a call from Wrigley’s foster mom on a Friday, offering to actually bring him to our home that Sunday afternoon. How could one refuse?

Wrigley's avid dog-rescue foster parents arrived on Sunday with Wrigley in tow. I was transfixed.  He is a gorgeous little guy, and clearly more full of beans than could be depicted in his photos.  I knew that, irrespective of whatever Min Pin "quirks" might await me, I had to have him.

Wrigley’s foster folks are very nice people and, as I said, very avid about dog rescue. They were quite conversational about such topics as how nicely Wrigley's scrotum was healing from his recent neutering, and their hopes that he wouldn't develop the habit that one of their other dogs has acquired in which he hops onto the nearest human lap and expresses his anal sacs.

A moment of silence.

"Wow, yes, I hope he doesn't either. I’d like to see The Dog Whisperer take that one on…”

I smiled and deftly changed the subject to Wrigley's diet, exercise requirements, and so forth.

"Well, he's a little skinny so he'll need extra food, and you should give him some yogurt to help with his dander problem. Now keep an eye on that because you don't want that to turn into mange. That mange is really bad news." Oh good. Mange. I sort of know what this is and that it's unpleasant, so after they leave, I Google "mange":  'a persistent and contagious disease of the skin causing inflammation and itching and loss of hair; affects domestic animals and sometimes people’.

Fabulous. I made a mental note to avoid Wrigley's developing mange at any cost.

"So how's he doing with his potty-training?"

"Well he's been real good with us--no accidents at all, and he goes to the back door when he wants to go out."

As foster mom said this out of the corner of my eye I caught Wrigley lifting his leg and squirting on my cherry wood entertainment center.

This did not shock me. Of course he's going to do these things—he’d been passed around for weeks and surely felt the need to mark this new place as HIS.

Besides, he’d already made himself at home by thoroughly sniffing Griffin’s (very indignant) butt.  Having found it acceptable, he then leaped onto my boyfriend’s lap and tried earnestly to French kiss him. 

Wrigley’s mom then brought out the adoption paper work and we went over it together.  Should I sign, I would accept any and all responsibility for Wrigley's very existence, including the avoidance of MANGE. I could not let him run away accidentally, trade him for another mange-free dog, or give him to someone else because I discovered that “Min Pin” is actually just a euphemism for Attention Deficit Disorder.

Okay, that’s a bit dramatic.  Like many breeds, Min Pins are independent and need a lot of training and consistency.  If you don’t make that investment they will simply take over your home and feel perfectly within their rights to invite their friends over to watch Animal Planet and eat your Doritos while you’re not looking.  That being said, if you make the commitment and follow through, Min Pins are intensely loyal, eager to please, loving, and hilariously funny.  You just have to fulfill your end of the bargain.

I agreed to all of this and signed on the dotted line.  I felt like I’d just passed my citizenship test.

At this point, Wrigley had officially joined our family.  We shook hands with his now-ex-foster family and they said a tearful goodbye to Wrigley, who had apparently already moved on and was snorfling down the crumbs under the couch cushions with wild abandon.

We had NO idea what we’d just signed up for…but that’s another story.

Susan Dornan currently resides in Brookfield, WI.  While she makes a living in the Information Technology industry, her true passions are dogs, great wine, dogs, making people laugh, and of course, dogs.  She shares her life with two rescue pups and a boyfriend with the patience of a saint.