What's It All About, Alfie?

Today, Alison at The Polohouse is featuring pets on her Favorites on the First series.  Who doesn’t like to talk about their pets?  Our Alfie has popped his head into one or two blog posts before, but I thought today I would tell his story. (The post title is a lyric from Alfie by Burt Bacharach.)

Alfie is our second golden retriever.  Our first was Ezra, who grew up with our kids and was part of our family for about twelve years.  When we lost Ezra, we were heartbroken.  Me most of all, I think, because I work from home, and Ez and I had spent most days together.  About a year after Ezra died, though, we began to feel ready for another dog.  The house felt empty during the week with the oldest child away at college and the youngest at school.  The husband missed having someone run to greet him when he came home (because after twenty years of marriage, you know it wasn’t going to be me).  I began stopping by the local dog rescue occasionally, but the husband really wanted a puppy.  We tried to track down Ezra’s breeder who was from Iowa, but I couldn’t find him.  So finally one evening we drove forty miles north to Woodstock, Illinois where there were some golden puppies for sale. 

There were only two male puppies, which was what we wanted, and the breeder let them run around the kitchen.  The husband sat down on the floor.  One puppy was shy and quiet; the other was rambunctious and crawled all over him.  You can guess which one he chose.  Two years later, that crazy puppy is beginning to calm down and has turned into a good buddy for the family.

Don’t get me wrong, though.  Alfie is no saint.  He is very “talkative.”  Which means he whines about everything.  If he wants to go upstairs, but is carrying too many toys in his mouth, he whines.  When he wants to play, he whines.  When he can’t reach a toy, you guessed it.  And he is unbelievably destructive with his toys.  Those cute stuffed dog toys?  Forget it.  Five minutes.  We have gotten toys marketed as tough, but he can tear them up too.  Often in as little as fifteen minutes.  He works at it.  He will lie down and peel the felt off a tennis ball like it’s a lemon.  Kongs and Megalast seem to be the only brands he can’t destroy in short order.

Still, he’s good company and, like most dogs, always in a good mood and happy to do anything his people want to do.  And when he looks up at us with his sad, dark-rimmed eyes, we’re pretty much wrapped around his little paw.

I'm linking to The Polohouse Favorites on the First.