When I suggest to someone to consider adopting an adult dog from a shelter the response is often "We want a Puppy." If they have not thought it out past the puppy stage, I try to dissuade them from getting a canine altogether. (Maybe a guinea pig or a hamster would be better.)
When they have thought it though and they realize that puppies do become dogs they sometimes have other "reasons" for wanting a puppy: " I want a pure bred so I know want I am getting," "I want a puppy so it will be MY dog," "raised My way," "loyal to ME," and similar "reasons."
I will quickly address the first. If you want dog as a companion and not for some special purpose, then insisting on a pure bred is unnecessary and only encourages breeding when there are more dogs around than homes for them. If you get a puppy, even a "pure bred" you do not really know what the dog will be like as an adult. So unless you are going to go bird hunting with that pointer, or have moles to be dug up for that terrier, then get a mutt. As for just "knowing what you are going to get, well, if you adopt an adult dog you will know what you will get. It's there in front of you, it's size, shape and temperament, are all right there. If you insist on a pure bred, they show up at shelters also, so check them first and for goodness sake do some research beyond a breed's size and appearance. (Who would guess that a Dalmatian is not a retriever with spots but instead was bred to be a guard dog that could run alongside horse drawn coaches?)
The second I will address with a story:
"Brandy and The Mike"
I met Brandy by accident.
I was not looking for a dog at the time as I had just adopted one and had another old dog. I was [volunteering] at Paw's Place doing my usual fix this or that. Before I left I thumbed though some papers on the table that listed some recent arrivals. One of them was Brandy. I had been near the kennel where she was supposed to be but I had not noticed her, so I went to take a look.
There she was, cowering in a corner of the kennel surrounded by various toys. She was very thin and most of her fur was gone. She was depressed looking and even smelled bad. I asked Nancy J. about her and was told that someone found her wandering around Southport and dropped her off. From researching an old rabies tag on her collar, Nancy had determined her name, age and other details of her life. Brandy was an eleven-year-old spayed cocker spaniel mix. She had been someone's little princess for about nine years and then they moved somewhere else where they kept her outside. She wandered off and it seemed that no one was looking for her. (The original owner was contacted and could not take her back.) I went into the kennel to see if there was anything I could do to help cheer up this sad little bag of bones. I sat down and tried to make myself as small as I could. I spoke softly and picked up various toys to see if anything interested her. Not much happened until I picked up the tennis ball. Brandy stood up and her eyes brightened. I tossed the ball and she went for it. I had broken though her sadness by finding out what her favorite toy was. Satisfied that I had helped the old girl I told Nancy what I had discovered. If someone would just toss the tennis ball around for Brandy she would likely feel better and recover from her starved state quicker. Nancy mentioned that Brandy could use a bath and she thought it would be better if it were done at someone's house with warm water. I did not give this much thought beyond mentioning it to my wife when I got home.
Fast forward a week or so.
Having just put down our oldest dog, Sandie, a 20 year old dachshund mix, I was not feeling very chipper so I laid down to take a nap. Upon awakening I heard a second set of dog tags rattling. Knowing that we should have had only one dog at this point, I was rather curious. It turned out that my wife had gone to Paw's Place and bought Brandy home for a warm bath. Still pitiful looking Brandy seemed a little livelier than when I saw her the first time. We gave her a bath and kept her over for a night or two. When I said it was time to go to bed she went straight for Sandie's old bed still set up in our bedroom. The now clean Brandy was returned to Paw's Place to await adoption.
A couple of weeks later:
My wife and I had discussed Brandy off and on, mainly about who would adopt such a pitiful looking 11-year-old dog. We decided that we would adopt her. With our experience with Sandie we were confident that we could give the old girl a good "retirement home."
The next four years:
Brandy quickly established herself as the house princess. After a couple of accidents she was easily re-house trained. A short time passed and I was no longer merely Mike but "THE MIKE," Brandy's center of the universe. She liked my wife just fine but I was "THE MIKE." When I left the house she would stay by the door for hours awaiting my return. When I drove into the driveway my wife would merely say " Mike is home" and Brandy would bounce around until I came in the house and petted her. Merely bouncing a tennis ball on the floor would bring her bounding ready to play catch. Her fur grew back, she gained some weight, and with a good grooming, turned into a pretty dog. She took to being kept in a crate just fine. For vacations we had almost always kenneled or left our dogs at a relative's house. For Brandy, we tried taking her on vacation. She behaved wonderfully in the car and inside hotels or people's homes. Over time she aged. Her eyes fogged up and her legs stiffened. Blood tests revealed that her kidneys were not working so well any more. We helped her kidneys by "flushing" them with fluids delivered under the skin with a large needle. Brandy did not like needle but she was always perkier the text day after being "flushed." We did this from time to time for over a year. During her fourth year with us we no longer kept her caged while we were gone, but let her stay in our bedroom. When she could no longer go a whole day inside without wetting, my wife started bringing her to work were she slept most of time.
After being with us for over four years and being over fifteen years old, Brandy was nearing her end. Her kidneys were going, her heart had a murmur that you could hear from several feet away, and she could barely sit or stand to eat. Even in her degrading and likely painful condition when she awoke without me near she would wander around looking for me and perk up a little when she found me. After giving her fluids one time, she hid under my nightstand shaking in fear. That was the last time we would do that... She stopped going after the tennis ball, her one true joy in life other than being with "THE MIKE."
With all that it was time.
I held her against my chest when the vet administered the final kindness. She slipped away quietly, with no struggle or gasping. I think she was ready.
No One can tell ME that an adult dog, even an old dog that has had a rough patch, cannot become a loving and loyal part of the family, all the way to the end.
"The Mike"
