In the beginning, I told you how I adopted Prada.  But before I go on, I thought I should tell you of my history with dogs.

When I was a kid, we had a black Scottish Terrier/Poodle mix.  The dog was so ugly he was actually cute.  He was so odd looking, most people weren’t sure it was even a dog – the most common guess was a guinea pig, of all things.  When you heard his bark, you assumed it was coming from a Saint Bernard or some other huge dog, not from a sausage with three inch tall legs.  He was a love, though.  Children could yank on his beard or ears and he’d only give you a mournful stare, as if to say “please make them stop”.

Many years later, my husband and I adopted a black Lab/Rottweiler puppy. She was about eight weeks when we brought her home to meet my husband’s pet rabbit.  The rabbit, who hated me since she viewed me as a rival for my husband’s affection, was actually a great “mama” to the puppy and the two played together for hours on end.  The dog became infected with PARVO at four months but surprisingly survived six days of doggy intensive care with a dangerously high temperature that caused some brain damage.  She lived to be a very happy and extremely beloved 13-year-old member of the family with the IQ of a two-year-old pup at best.

When the lab was about eight, my late husband and son selected a year-old what they thought was an Airedale/Golden Retriever mix but turned out to be an Irish Wolfhound (a much larger breed!).  The boy was totally unsocialized and dumber than a bag of rocks but a great companion for the older lab mix. 

After the lab and then my husband passed away, I was stuck with the aging Wolfhound who seemed quite lonely.  I decided to allow my son to pick out a dog.  Unfortunately, he picked the year old neurotic Boxer/Pit Bull mix.  I gave in as I knew we were the dog’s very last hope.  In an attempt to turn him into an aggressive fighter, the jerks he was taken from had forced him to spend his entire first seven months of life closed up in a bathroom with several other dogs.  Luckily for him, it only made him terrified of everything.  It took me two weeks to coax him into going down the stairs and out into the yard – and then only at night if there was no noise.

When the Captain moved in, he adopted a two-year-old American Foxhound mix.  She immediately made it clear, and with no arguments from anyone, that she was The Queen.  The two male dogs gave her plenty of room.  Due to her complicated first two years, she is sadly aging a bit faster than normal but is a wonderful dog.  We had her for at least six months before she even barked once!  She purrs – I swear she does.  And the nose on her?  It is a real shame she wasn’t adopted as a puppy and trained to hunt.  To date, she has killed four squirrels and two rats.  I’ve never known another dog who was patient and quiet enough to catch squirrels.

So, as you can see, I’ve had lots of experience with dogs – and large, strange ones at that!  When I decided I wanted to adopt a just-for-me puppy, I told the family I was finally going to have a “real dog”.  They scoffed, given my history with animals. 

What I ended up with is Prada,  the hairiest person you’ll ever meet.