My Granddog

In mid June, my husband and I had a very interesting, if not comical weekend. We dog sat for our daughter's American bulldog. Ellie is considered a rescue dog because our daughter did not get her until she was almost 9 months old. At first glance, she reminds you of Petey on The Little Rascals (although Petey was a pitbull).

Our daughter and her boyfriend co-own Ellie. Shortly after they adopted her, they attended an eleven-week obedience school with about 35 other dogs and their owners. One week Ellie would be perfectly obedient and docile, and the next she behaved like a monster child. Probably the training was more for the owners than for the dogs. Since Ellie weighed about 60 pounds and was a solid mass of muscle, she was a handful on a leash. The first time I walked with her on the leash she almost jerked my arm right out of the socket!

I have been completely surprised at how much difference that training made. Ellie calmed considerably, and most of the time she minds. However, I still cannot believe I agreed to dog sitting. Let me just interject I am not a dog person, nor is my house dog-proof. Midweek before she came, I sat my husband down to lay out the "rules" - no Ellie on the furniture, no Ellie in the muddy woods, and no dirty dog paw prints on the white family room carpeting. Her last brief visit with our daughter included a long trek through the woods after it had rained for several days... argh!

Well, this visit entailed picking up Ellie, her kennel, her food, her treats, toys, her soft blankies, spot cleaner, and her leash. We gathered up as much paraphernalia as any toddler would have! I cannot believe how nervous I was as we drove away with Ellie on the backseat. I had visions of a cartoon dog tearing through the house leaving in its wake black paw prints and chewed up shoes.

Instead, I fell in love with this mutt. Actually, she is a pure bred, but I think of her as a mutt. The first morning I let her out of her kennel, she barreled onto our bed, smack dab on top of my husband's head. I could not stop laughing at his surprise, his amusement, and her sheer glee.

I am delighted to report we survived dog-sitting, even though I was totally exhausted by the end of our weekend. My white carpeting has reminiscent evidence of her playful escapades, my kitchen floor has been officially christened with dog slobber from her ice chewing and drinks of water, my ottoman smells a teeny "doggy" (yes, she was allowed to lay on the ottoman), and an ancient blue and white afghan she became attached to now has a new home, but I am most assuredly in love.