My Impulsive Decision

Last fall our beloved dog, Moose, died. It was a sad time, especially since my brother and I were both far from home.

Well, along came December, and I got to go home for Christmas break. While I was home, my dad decided it was time for a new dog. As I had never had the opportunity to choose the dog we got in the past, he said I could choose it this time (a little late - I am 26, so the joy of choosing a dog had faded into history - or so I thought).

I took my sister to look at a few. She was in favor of a Labrador Retriever, like Moose. Since we live on a farm, our dogs are generally hardy sports-types that can handle anything and chase some cows. But I had a different idea.

I wanted a Basset Hound. Yes, a slow, short dog with no practical use.

We went to look at one. The owner told us that he was not really a Basset Hound. Instead he was the product of a brief rendezvous between a Basset and a Welsh Corgi, which is another type of really short dog. I stood there for a minute, and then I did something most uncharacteristic of me. I said, "We'll take him." My sister stared at me like I had just declared myself Batman.

I am someone who will spend hours making a minor decision. I like stability and careful, thought-out decision-making. Not this time. This was my dog, and it was going to be MY choice.

So I brought home this elongated little dog.

Here we are 6 months later, and he has grown into a slightly larger elongated little dog. He is sure a trooper, though. He will chase cows... at least until they turn around and chase him. He runs (well, it really can't be classified as a run) along trying to keep up with a walking pace when we are out working. When he strains, he can stick his head up over the bed of the pick-up. He does try to chase balls and sticks when you throw them, but they rarely make it all the way back to you (they are very large in relation to his body). All in all, he desperately tries to be a good farm dog.

It is kind of like watching that one uncoordinated kid everyone knows is destined for nerd-dom try to play any of a number of sports. Everyone in the stands knows that he is about to fail big-time. He really should be home watching Star Trek or Battlestar Gallactica, but for some reason he still believes he can play this sport. So he tries.

Well, enough reminiscing. I think my dog is great. Most of the time (when he isn't struggling to prove himself a farm dog) he just rolls over and wants someone to rub his belly.Not a bad gig.