Having achieved my goal, I could now relax and be a puppy. Which is to say, a couple of weeks later, when we left my sponsor’s driveway in Maggie’s blue Highlander, I barfed in the crate and then proceeded to scream at the top of my lungs for the entire duration of the trip. It was great fun, but quite a workout, so by the time we pulled into her garage, I was more than ready for a nap.

First things first, however. I had to renew my acquaintance with Kelty, a senior Gordon Setter, a big, lumbering guy, kind of slow in more ways than one, but he did remember me, even though I was no longer a black and tan relative. I guess the United Puppy Service finally showed up with his brain.

After a quick hi-how-are-you-nice-to-see-you-again butt sniff, I started for the door, looking forward to that snooze and not at all prepared to be mugged by a tangle of uncoordinated legs, wildly flapping red ears and a dangling slice of ham otherwise known as a tongue.  

What the hell?  No one warned me there’d be another puppy. It took me eight weeks to get away from the ten I was born with. Much to my relief, it turned out that he was merely visiting for a few weeks while his person was out of town.

Trying to avoid a slap from that sloppy wet tongue, I repeated the back door greeting long enough to find out that the intruder’s name was Clancy, and he was four months older than I was. He charged into the house ahead of me and slid feet first across the tile into the couch. The couch! Exactly what I was looking for. I stood on my hind legs and pawed at the sofa cushions as my back feet scrambled for a boost up. I hauled myself aboard, sprawled on my belly. OK, not the most graceful display, but not bad for an eleven week old pup. After kicking a couple of pillows on to the floor, I circled a couple of times before curling up in the corner, whereupon I wailed a bit just to hear the sound of my own lovely voice. Then, along with the side benefit of ear scrunches from Maggie, I let go of my eyelids and drifted into dreamland.

I was born at the end of October, and when I was around five weeks old, the sponsor of my litter hosted a Christmas party.  We were, needless to say, adorable, and guests wandered in throughout the evening to coo and cuddle and inhale the fragrance of puppy breath. 

I endured this silly behavior as I waited patiently for Maggie to enter the room. When at last she did, I extricated myself from my siblings and walked towards my sponsor’s latest newfangled idea…a litter box for puppies.

Before I go on, let me say I have no idea what she was drinking when she came up with that one. What puppy with the slightest shred of integrity would choose do his business in a cat potty (with the possible exception of a few minor toy breeds)? 

Nonetheless, Maggie watched with baited breath to see if I understood the purpose of this box. I eyed its gritty contents, building up the suspense, and resisting the urge to plunge in and scatter the nasty stuff in all directions. Finally, I stepped aboard. As I turned and slowly lowered my butt, she murmured a word of encouragement. I definitely had her attention, even if it was a tinkle she was expecting.  That, of course, was entirely beneath my dignity. Instead, I carefully took a seat on the sand, tilted my nose up in a look she’d soon come to recognize, and quietly surveyed the wriggling pile of red fur that was my loopy brothers and sisters.

Obviously, I was irresistible, and mere seconds passed before Maggie reached down and lifted me into her arms, at which point I gazed into those wonderful, familiar blue eyes and snuggled into her sweater. My job was done. I was going home.

Others have described the beginning stage of life, and done an admirable job, so having been through it several times myself, I won’t bore you with the details. Let’s just call it the eating, pooping, sleeping phase, and move on.

Despite the constant presence of my ten annoying siblings…    

I mean, seriously, why would my brother Jack high five everyone who came in the room? Who’s he trying to impress? It’s not as if mom was going to let us out of her sight for another six weeks or so!

I waited patiently through those first few weeks until my person and partner, the CEO, Top Dog, and Love Of My Life…Maggie…came to take me home. I knew she wouldn’t remember me, but that wasn’t important, because I could pick her out on a black and starless night in a shuttered barn full of vintage roadkill. At its prime. I’d know her anywhere. All I had to do was get myself on her radar. She’d do the rest.

That reminds me of Annie, an English Setter puppy I once knew. Typical of the breed, she was white with a lot of black freckles, but what set her apart was a distinctive black patch over one eye. She told me, when she slowed down enough to pause for breath, that she’d been raised in a large pen with her brothers and sisters, along with a litter of relatives born around the same time. Standing out in a horde like that could be tough, but Annie, for once in her life, was on the ball.

When her future owner came to see the puppies, he circled the pen with his camera, taking shots of the clamoring crowd. Then, without any hesitation, and despite being overwhelmed by so many choices, he picked Annie out of the spotted mob. It wasn’t until he looked at the photos that he realized it hadn’t been his decision. Annie, with her black eye patch, had made sure she was in the center of each and every one. 

Of course Annie made sure she got everyone else cut out of the photos.

If Annie, a somewhat brainless, not too swift English Setter, could accomplish such a feat, I knew that catching Maggie’s eye would be a piece of steak…uh, cake, and I was, as usual, right. Stay tuned and I'll tell you how I did it..