Puppy chronicles

Sunday, February 14, 2010

“Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.”
- Michael Corleone, The Godfather: Part III

Freedom teased like a chocolate sundae on a hot August evening. My mouth watered. But just before I began to bite, I got bit.
Puppies have an oral fixation.
This is an unusual time in my life to commit to a dog. To raise three kids takes stamina, about as much energy as it would take to hike from Michigan to the North Pole, via Alaska. With the twins on their way to graduate school, and the teenager in her junior year of high school, I estimate there are 25 miles left before I hit my destination, the top of the world. Now add in a puppy, and I’m back to, say, British Columbia. Four steps forward, three back.
We've had a lot of pets, so I know what I'm in for. Carcasses of countless creatures that have occupied our home for the past 20 years are buried in shoeboxes in the backyard. Broken habitrail tubes and cracked fish bowls from our house alone will clutter landfills for the next 4,000 years.
Our best pet, Sergei, a gray and white Siberian, died on Memorial Day weekend, and I imagine he runs free in the wide, open ranges of Husky Heaven. He suffered a lot before he died, so it was a relief for both of us to be free of his pain.
Soon after he was gone, I began to dream of my future with my husband: Brian and I sipping Tequila Sunrises and reading best-sellers on the patio; Brian and I grooving to “The Big Chill” soundtrack as we throw a little something together for dinner; Brian and I jumping on whatever plane is available and going where it’s headed because we’re freedom-drunk bohemians.
But a while after Sergei died, something happened. I missed him more than I enjoyed my empty-nest daydreams. I don’t know why this happened because, on paper, this particular dog didn’t look that great. He sassed back. He picked locks, ran off, and ended up in the dog pound. He stuffed himself like a gluttonous Roman and threw up outside. He was only one animal, but he shed like multiple personalities lived inside him.
But Sergei was really nice. When I finally sat down after a long day, he moved to be at my side, even when the basketball-size fatty tumors hung from his haunches and weighed on him heavily. If there wasn’t a squirrel in the vicinity, he looked only at me, as if I were the most beautiful being on the planet. He yowled my name, “Uh-ma-reee.” He said he loved me: “I la u.” Brian said if Sergei had lips, we could have had some interesting conversations.
So I have put my empty-nest dreams on hold.
Most in my situation will opt for a smaller dog, or a toy breed. But, I have unfinished business with the Huskies. Sergei was smart, and he had a lot of potential, so much of it unused. I imagine he probably could have caught a Frisbee in mid-flight, if I had ever had the time to throw him one. But when he was growing up, so were my children. I was immersed in bassoon lessons, hockey teams, and lacrosse tournaments. I taught my kids a lot of neat stuff, but I never really taught Sergei much of anything. I have a little extra time now, so maybe I’m looking for a do-over. Whatever the reason, I haven’t been able to get this particular breed of dog out of my system.
So goodbye mature bliss, long vacations, and undisturbed sleep, and hello potty training, loose teeth and unbridled energy. If Brian has any qualms, he better stage a quick intervention because I’m on the hunt for a breeder.
After I make contact with a breeder, I’ll ask Brian to make us each a Tequila Sunrise, and I’ll propose a toast to Sergei, and the next generation of Pedersen puppy to chronicle.
Posted by Annemarie Schiavi Pedersen at 8:36 AM


Tuesday February 16, 2010
101 Huskies
“Do you spend time with your family? Good. Because a man that doesn't spend time with his family can never be a real man.”
- Don Vito Corleone in “The Godfather”

I sent an e-mail to Judith Russell of Karnovanda Kennels that we looked to adopt a puppy in the Spring, and within the hour she sent photos of four-week old pups that were available immediately.
No way would I take on a puppy during the depths of a Michigan winter. My resolution on this was so solid that I absolutely believed it wouldn’t hurt to take a peek at her photos. A minute later, I called her and arranged to view the pups the following day.
The first wind the kids got that we were getting a puppy came via my text message. I expected their responses to trickle in over the whole afternoon, as usual.
Immediately, Christina answered, “YES,” repeated a hundred times over three text screens. A second later, Beth shot off a text that Nick had already arranged to pick her up at 3 a.m. that morning, after the bars closed, so she could make the Karnovanda meeting.
Brian wrote, “POTTY TRAINING IN WINTER???”
My fingers played dumb, “Huskies don’t get cold.”
“NOT TALKIN ABOUT HUSKY!”
“Cell battery dying.” I lied. “GTG.”

We drove up the curved path to Karnovanda, which is situated next to a small icy lake in northern Oakland County. To our right, Siberian Huskies bounced to life as our car approached. Huskies of every size and color jumped on the flat roofs of their doghouses or ran back and forth in their immaculate pens to warmly greet us. These are some of the most beautiful dogs on the whole Animal Planet.
Judith directed us to her basement, which brimmed with blue ribbons and five-week old Siberian Huskies. She opened the gate to their roomy pen and lifted the pups so that we each had one to hold. We traded them back and forth and took pictures like the paparazzi.
We finally put them on the floor, and sat ourselves, in the middle of puppy pandemonium. Nick lounged as puppies climbed his legs onto his lap. Three pups wiggled in Beth’s arms. Christina held her camera in one hand and photographed herself with two puppies in the other. Puppies ran loose in every direction. We caught them and hugged them, and we never stopped laughing. It was a real life Disney movie, and we were the stars.
We chose our puppy, a mysterious-looking black and white fellow with thick fur. We were especially impressed with his dignified demeanor. We left Karnovanda empty-handed, because the puppy needed to be completely weaned from his mother before we could take him. On the car drive home, we deliberated on his name, perhaps something with an Italian flair.
We’re part Sicilian, which may be why we use “Godfather” films as a touchstone. When Christina saw the puppy, she described him as a tough guy. Beth said the puppy’s dark and shadowy face reminded her of Marlon Brando as he appeared on the movie poster of “The Godfather.” As fast as a Mafia hit, the puppy was christened Vito, after Don Vito Corleone.
Soon, we will welcome Vito into “The Family.”