by Ana L. Palles

About two years ago, my youngest daughter convinced me that our blue-eyed Siberian Husky, Noelle, was lonely. Had I noticed how very sad Noelle was, I would have thought it cruel to deny a pack dog companionship also.

Being the proud owner of a Masters Degree in Advanced Guilt, I took the chair offered when my daughters sat by the computer and reviewed animal shelters around our home. I told my daughters that I would be particularly interested in getting a Golden Retriever for a second dog. I liked goldies, they are sweet, noble, calm, quiet and tend to stay close to their owners. Golden Retrievers also have this wonderful look in their eyes that simply shouts understanding. So if we were going to get a second dog, I wanted it to be a Golden Retriever.

Our previous dog had been a retriever mix and we didn’t even need a fenced yard. That dog would simply sit on the porch and wait if someone had inadvertently forgotten her outside. We never had search and rescue missions for her as we had done for my sister’s blonde Labrador.

Of course, John Steinbeck knew what he was talking about when he mentioned the best laid plans of mice and men. My daughters looked all over but there was no Golden Retriever found in any of the nearby shelters. Apparently, there had been some kind of run on them and even the rescue had a wait list.

Not to worry, my daughter assured me, there were other dogs at the shelter that would be perfect. Our first trip out yielded a likely candidate in what turned out to be a Border Collie mix. It was important to bring Noelle, our Husky, with us as we wanted to make sure that everyone would get along.

We barely made it inside the enclosure when the docile and apparently easy-going Border Collie named, Jennie, flipped out. We looked like comedians in a bad slapstick. There were four people and two dogs and, without a doubt, the dogs were winning. Jennie apparently came equipped with a set of high tension springs on her paws because she jumped straight up in the air and bounced all over the enclosure. She definitely had the better of the middle-aged man who was attempting to settle her down.

Meanwhile, my two daughters and I, kept busy trying to keep Noelle contained. Upon seeing the Border Collie out of control, Noelle wanted to get out of that enclosure and head back to the car as fast as possible. Already a nervous dog, Noelle began pawing at the chain link door. She had no idea why we were visiting this place, but she had no intention of sticking around with an obviously nutty dog.  I can certainly understand how Huskies pull sleds for a living, as Noelle was single-handedly pulling all three of us around in her attempted escape.

I have no idea how we made it out of there. I was shaking and exhausted by the time we made it back to the front of the building. The shelter employee who managed to drag Jennie back towards the building had no further questions for us when we said we didn’t think Jennie would be a good match for us.

Our second attempt seemed more promising. The dog in question was five years old and had some coat similarities with a Golden Retriever. But my daughter told me it was only the fact that her hair was longer than an inch that I thought that.

She was taller than Noelle, which did not escape Noelle’s notice as she started trembling and foaming at the mouth when the dog approached. The other dog wasn’t so sure she liked Noelle’s looks either given the glare and slightly snarling lip.

My daughters were getting disappointed that our trips were proving fruitless. As we were leaving this last shelter, we noticed a little boy playing with one of the puppies. As with all puppies, they are goofy and curious and this one waddled along checking into everything. I decided to stop at her cage and see what kind of a dog she was. She was short haired and had some interesting tan markings. She also had a blue tongue, and somewhat loose skin, but most puppies have loose skin!

The tag announced that she was a Malamute mix. Eureka, I thought! Malamutes are cousins of the Husky and what a wonderful combination that would be: two Nordic dogs. I wondered about the short hair, though, but put it down to puppy hood. The tan markings looked vaguely familiar, but I wasn’t placing them because the tag said malamute and I desperately wanted to believe them. The girls loved the little puppy and I have to admit, I thought she was pretty darn cute. Noelle didn’t seem to have a problem with her and mostly ignored the puppy who followed her around inquisitively.

We did the paperwork and bought a new collar and leash at their onsite shop, and went home with Sasha. After we got home, my oldest daughter told me very seriously, that she was not a malamute. Oh well, how wrong could the shelter have been?

It didn’t take too much time to realize that my daughter was right. I thought this portended a bad omen, because Sasha was something other than we thought. Our dogs are indoor dogs and they have nice comfy beds in our family room. However, sleeping calmly was not on Sasha's to do list.  Apparently, night time was Sasha’s favorite time to bark. We had no idea why she was barking. The dogs were fed, had water, comfy accommodations, and they had each other. What could possibly be causing Sasha to bark and bark? We didn’t know, but after a couple of nights of non-stop barking, we decided we needed to get some sleep. We borrowed a large dog crate and put her comfortably in the basement at night.

Sasha’s barking became more frantic and I wondered how it was possible to bark so continuously. I would have laryngitis by now! But not Sasha. It was high-speed, power barking. I hoped that the basement and the distance between houses was enough to not bother the neighbors, even though it kept us awake. At three in the morning with no sleep, thoughts of taking your dog back to the shelter become reasonable. Yet, we soon discovered that barking wasn’t the only thing Sasha could do incessantly. She also cried non stop.

I had never had a dog that sat and cried. But Sasha cried if she was alone, cried if Noelle had her toy, cried if the bed wasn’t where she liked it. She simply cried and cried. I was now really wanting to know what the heck kind of dog she was. I feverishly clung to hope that this was somehow a strange breed of malamute and all would be well once we figured out how we were supposed to work her.

After trip to the veterinarian, we discovered that Sasha was part Rottweiler and part Hound Dog. I sat in my chair hearing angels in my epiphany moment. Elvis was right after all. Hound dogs do, in fact, cry all the time! What he didn’t tell us is why they cry? And how do you get them to be quiet? Did I mention that I wanted a calm, quiet dog?

Noelle, of course, was not sympathetic. She had her own problems. As the weeks passed, Noelle played her part well as the dutiful mom. She taught the puppy that we answer nature’s call outdoors and that we sleep on our designated beds. The puppy always managed to find her way onto Noelle’s bed and curl up against her. It was all very cute, although we noticed that Noelle’s fluffy tail was looking rather bedraggled. It seems Sasha was in the habit of holding on and pulling on Noelle’s tail when they went anywhere.

It was my mom who really put everything into perspective. Weeks of getting little sleep because of the barking and crying were not only affecting us, they were affecting Noelle as well.

On a dinner visit she turned and reprimanded us. “Have you seen the circles around Noelle’s eyes? This poor dog doesn’t look like she’s getting any rest!” Of course, all of us were standing around with bags under our bloodshot eyes nursing the only thing that kept us going since we’d adopted Sasha, good strong coffee. I couldn’t help but wonder if Noelle realized all of this had been for her!

As goofy and noisy as she is, though, Sasha has become a loved member of the family. On visits to my sister’s house, her chunky Labrador mix, Max, welcomed her into the fold. Like most males, the minute that Sasha starts crying, Max becomes stressed and doesn’t know what to do. He runs to my sister and tries to get her to follow him and do something for the crying puppy. Sasha has her way with him at every visit, taking over his bed, his toys and his food. Max doesn’t seem to care too much, as long as she simply stops crying. I think Elvis would have agreed!