Thursday, May 8, 2008


The ad read, simply: Lab/Dalmation Puppies for Sale. It seems the litter was the result of letting their beloved 12 year old, Chocolate Lab-Dalmation mix have a little fling with their two year old female Yellow Lab.
Being relatively familiar with the mellow disposition, dim-bulb intellect, and easy charm of the Labrador Retriever, I read up on Dalmations, having heard that they're incredibly hyperactive energetic, smart and prone to kidney stones and deafness. I weighed the pros and cons of each breed and came to the conclusion that this particular blend of breeds could be a great mix: Athletic, smart, good natured, loyal and easy to train. (Stay tuned later for a cautionary tail about the pitfalls of amateur genetic engineering.) I think it was at that point, possibly swayed by my somewhat optimistic portrayal of the perfect mutt, (or maybe just exhausted by the strain of trying to hold off the inevitable) Dave realized he had unwittingly become a passenger on the express train to the puppy farm. He agreed that there was no harm in just taking a look.

Their names were Archie, Betty, Veronica, Reggie, Jughead, and last, but not least: Ethel. A pile of cute, glossy, sleek and squirmy puppy love. Six fat, shiny little black olives climbing all over us and each other for attention. Needless to say, we were instantly smitten.

Even Dave, firmly uncommitted to the idea of a new puppy, melted when Archie (soon to be rechristened Cooper) climbed into his lap for a snuggle.
After checking out all the puppies, and getting to know them and their parents a bit, we agreed that Archie was the one for us. And then the unthinkable happened.
To be continued...  

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