The Puppy Bug

Almost 2 years old, I caught the puppy bug. For reasons unknown, I found myself obsessed with the idea of adding a sweet little fur baby to our family. I spent countless hours on my laptop, researching the perfect pet and we found her.

Some time has passed and our puppy is no longer a puppy. As Sophia has matured into a beautiful young lady, I'm slowly starting to get that itch again. This time, however, I feel like my intentions aren't purely maternal/selfish. Even though we spoil our dog rotten (and we do), I feel terrible that she doesn't have a doggy companion.

We try our best to make time to play with her, but whenever Sophia encounters other dogs, she comes alive in a way we often don't see. Additionally, it racks us with guilt whenever we have to leave her alone, even to buy groceries. I feel like getting another dog would give Sophia a constant source of companionship: a playmate for when mommy and daddy are working, and a comrade for when we go out. Someone to look after her when we can't, and be her lifelong friend.

I recently shared a picture of a beautiful merle chi I fell in love with, but I've had trouble connecting with the owner, who just had a death in the family. Even though she says she's holding the dog for me, our emails are growing less frequent and I'm starting to realize it may not happen. So the search for the Next Great Pup continues, and I'm starting over. I've sifted through many, many classified ads, breeder web-sites, and rescue shelters, but it hasn't been easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy.

One unforeseen obstacle is size. Because our Sophia is a mere 4 pounds, we can't get another dog who might accidentally crush her bones. Six pounds full-grown is the limit, but as you could imagine, that doesn't offer a great selection.

So yesterday I found an ad for a beautiful 2.5 pound spotted chihuahua puppy, and we arranged to meet her. The owner gave me his address in Canoga Park, which is 20 miles outside Hollywood. Sean wasn't enthusiastic about driving to the boonies (with gas being $4.50/gallon here), but he knew I was nursing a broken heart over the merle chi. So we packed up Sophia and a check book as we headed up the 101 from trendy to terrifying. The apartment complex was surrounded by cash-check stores and pawn shops. The building itself looked fine enough, even though it was in a sketchy location.

I texted the breeder to let him know we were downstairs. "Did he give you the apartment number? He might be able to buzz us up," Sean said.

I checked my email and lo, no apartment number.

Minutes later, my phone rings and a woman tells me she'll be down in just a minute. We stand around, buzzing with nervous excitement. Suddenly, a car pulls in front of the building and a Hispanic woman and her husband come out. "We were just getting dog food," she said, stepping out of the car, holding the puppy. "Would you like to hold her?"

I scooped up the little bundle of joy, and realized she was shivering from the California night air. As I tried to look at it her, we were standing outside and it was too dark to see. "Can we go inside your place so we can set her down and get a little light?" I said.

The couple exchanged glances and the husband said, "Here, we stand here." He pointed to the front entrance of the apartment, where a couple lights illuminated the dark. It occurred to me perhaps these people didn't want us in their apartment, and I found that a bit... strange. So I asked, "Can we stand inside the lobby? She's really cold."

The husband made some excuse that she was fine, and changed the subject to Sophia, who was lingering shyly behind us. Then it hit me: these people don't live here.

I tried to cuddle the shivering little girl, asking questions about her parents, how big they were, if they had any health issues. It didn't really matter what they said. I couldn't believe they lied about something as trivial and unimportant as where they lived. We drove 20 miles to get there! Couldn't they pretend to live in West Hollywood?

With absolutely no paperwork, no parents of the puppy, and nothing to go by but their word, I passed the pup back to her owner. She was cute, but the idea of handing this strange couple $400 in an alley way was probably less responsible than buying a puppy online.

And so, the pursuit for the perfect puppy continues. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't holding out hope for lover boy (below). But whoever it is, I can't wait to meet him/her. Because as I'm typing this, there's a certain someone licking my armpits.

xo,

Sabrina London