The official blog of Susan Landis-Steward, writer of whatever she likes, and co-founder of Puddletown Publishing Group

Dogs sniff my crotch. They jump on me. They slobber, drool, have horrible breath, and otherwise annoy me.

Enter the alien lifeforms. In this case, one Gwyneth, a half-Springer Spaniel, half-Jack Russell. (How ironic is it that my last name, during my married-to-a-guy years, was Russell?) The Beloved Jenny was itching for a pooch. She actually started itching years ago but our lives were just too complicated. Then we moved to the country, the Divine Miss M graduated, and Jenny started to drool. For a dog. She spent hours on Craigslist, rescue sites, breed sites, humane society sites. She sent me dozens of links everyday (doesn’t she actually have to work at that DHS mothership?) and basically convinced me a dog would be a good thing.

Friday, she dragged me to two different Humane Societies. Possible because Portland is just a bridge away from Vancouver, WA. And there she was: Henna. Yep, Jenny, on the perennial Welsh kick, changed the poor thing’s name. Which I can never remember so I call her Puppers or Gimpers. I can get away with it because I’m disabled too. Of course a brain injury and a torn ACL are probably not really in the same class but, hey, I can limp if I think about it.

Yep, we adopted a disabled dog and will spend roughly $3000 to have her leg fixed. Why? Well, she fell in love with me and anything that does that has to be a) alien and b) worth bringing home to spend the night. That’s how I got Jenny after all…..

Sophie, the evil cat, is not impressed. But Puppers is so laid back she just sniffs the cat and walks away. Sophie hides, just to elicit sympathy from Jenny, because she knows damn well the dog is not going to do anything to her. Of course, Sophie still hates me. What else is new?

So I now am loved by a dog. I find myself talking baby dog talk although this dog is five years old. I go for walks. I have yet to clean up poop but, hey, we live in the country. Out here we call it compost. I throw things which she won’t chase. I make a stab at things like “sit”, “stay”, “down”, all of which I am very good at but the dog is more interested in the treats in my pocket. So, I still don’t like dogs. But I’m starting to love this one.


Comments on: "Why I Don't Like Dogs….But Love Aliens" (2)

  1. I dunno, if dogs are aliens then they are mixed bunch that got lost from their mother planet. The fact that they are so obsessed with food and adoring US points out that they just can’t be the same aliens who left their planet to discover ours.

    So what was the criteria that made you two walk away with this particular mutt…I mean, alien?

    Sorry I couldn’t make the BBQ but I had a senior moment and had written down the wrong date. No, wait, I think that was the time the alien ate my brain.


  2. We choose this dog because she was up against the bars of her cage, loving us the moment she saw us. We took her outside and she faced off a mastiff without even growling. Just looked him in the eye for a few seconds then limped proudly away. We knew then we had to have this dog.

    Add to that the fact that she’s polite, obeys, is middle-sized, and cute-as-hell, and we’ve got us a dog.

    Come see us anytime. Call for directions or just use the invite. We’d love to see you.

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