The Puppy Diaries: Raising a Dog Named Scout Read Free Page B

puppy. A female. A blond golden retriever. By the following summer, I would be through with my physical rehabilitation, and Henry wanted a big water dog that we could train, play with at the beach and in the water, and settle down with as we cruised into our sixties. Because goldens need a great deal of exercise, Henry joked that he wanted to train her as a certified therapy dog—for us.
    Once we had the application in hand, Henry suggested that we fill it out together. I still had a lot of concerns, including my big worry that I might never
be able to love another dog as much as Buddy. I also worried that goldens have high rates of cancer and hip dysplasia, an inherited condition that sometimes shows up in X-rays of a puppy’s parents, but not always. Donna had certifications for any number of health issues regarding all her dogs, although these certifications are never definitive. We also appreciated her insistence we sign a spay/neuter contract, something most reputable breeders require.
    Donna was obviously committed to breeding a healthy litter of puppies; meanwhile, we were certain that we did not want to buy a puppy from a local pet shop, even if we found one that offered the fairly rare English golden retriever. Most commercial pet stores get their puppies from puppy mills, many of which are located in the Midwest, especially Missouri. The dogs in these mills are kept in cramped cages, lack proper medical care and nutrition, and often develop serious health problems. Millions of puppies are churned out by these notorious mills, and although the Department of Agriculture is supposed to inspect the mills and enforce the Animal Welfare Act, the USDA has few inspectors.
    Some of the questions on Donna’s application were a bit daunting; I felt almost as if we were applying to college. She asked how we rated ourselves on such things as the number of hours we would be leaving
the dog alone during the day and the amount of time we would spend traveling. (In part because Henry works from home as a consultant, we were confident that we would be suitable owners.) We were asked to gauge our family’s activity level on a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being a couch potato and 10 being a triathlete. (Especially since we both love the outdoors, we declared ourselves a solid 7.) Donna’s questions were valid because goldens thrive on lots of human company and need a great deal of exercise.
    Her application also asked if we were prepared for constant digging and shedding. The digging wouldn’t be a problem, but the question about shedding gave me pause, because on dark clothing the white hairs of this breed of retriever stand out, magnificently. After thinking it over, I decided that I was willing to put most of my black work clothes—basically my entire wardrobe—in the back of the closet. Besides, Henry and I are not the fussy House Beautiful types; our house and apartment both have dorm-room levels of disarray, perhaps reflecting the fact that we met in college and sometimes think it’s still 1976. In the end only one question stumped me. Was our lawn “meticulously kept”? Well, it depended on your definition of meticulous .
    As we completed Donna’s application, I could feel my worries about getting a new dog melting away.
English golden retrievers have so many good characteristics: not only are they gorgeous dogs that love the outdoors; they are loyal, smart, and sweet-tempered. I also told myself that after meeting Donna, we could always change our minds. Or at least we could right up to the moment when we actually made contact with a real puppy. One lick on the face and I knew we would instantly be past the point of no return.
     
     
    Donna accepted our application, but she wanted to interview us in person. So in May 2009, seven weeks after the new litter of English goldens was born, Henry and I drove from our house in Connecticut to Thistledown Golden Retrievers.
    During the drive, Henry cruelly informed me that he