It’s sort of an accepted myth that people and their dogs look alike. I mean, you see it all the time. The perfectly groomed lady and her equally prissy poodle. The tough guy and his big bad boxer with the studded collar. It’s a tradition, right?
Well, if similar appearance were the only criteria for happy human and canine relationships, the money should never have changed hands! I’d have ended up with a Corgi or a Dachshund or some other nice plump little dog that was more than a little short in the looks (and legs!) department. Riff would have gotten a himself a supermodel. Not that he would have minded, I'm sure. He always had a way with the ladies!
But the money did change hands that soggy day in January of 1991. Five crumpled and slightly damp twenty's, derailed from their original destiny as a utility deposit on my new apartment. In exchange, I was handed a leash, with a tall, narrow-chested yearling borzoi puppy attached.
“Bye, Raffie!” screamed the tidal wave of crying children, from the doorway.
He didn’t look back. That should have struck me as unusual, but I was so jazzed about finally getting my own dog… this dog, the one I was supposed to have had as tottering twelve week old puppy. It bordered on a miracle.
“Feed him bananas!” howled the littlest girl. “They’re his favorite!”
He didn’t look back, but I did. “Bananas, huh?” I raised my eyebrow at the woman.
She shrugged, looking harried and more than a little defensive. “He liked to take food away from the kids. He’s bigger than most of them, you know.”
I knew. It was hard to miss them. There were just so many. I could see why the dog was staring eagerly at my car, and I didn't miss the past tense in her statement. I followed his lead. “I’ll let you know how it goes,” I told her, over my shoulder as we walked away.
We exchanged a few pleasantries. I was as glad to go as the dog. Although the house was in one of the nicer neighborhoods in the suburbs West of the big city, there was an air of gloom surrounding the place- something quite tangible.
I proudly installed my new charge in the back seat of my ’74 Plymouth Satellite and climbed in behind the steering wheel I could barely see over. As I angled the rear view mirror to be able to watch him, our eyes locked. His were brown, with lots of black eyeliner, like mine- only his was natural and mine came from the discount cosmetics bin at the drugstore. We looked at each other for several seconds before I started the car. He was confident and charismatic- but a little guarded. After all, he wasn’t too sure of me. He hadn't had anything much to be sure of yet, in his life.
“It’ll be ok, buddy.” I smiled first. Although he looked away, he kept looking back when he thought I wasn’t looking. It was like being in Junior High, and flirting with a cute boy in study hall. I was so happy I felt I could burst.
I was nineteen, and just two weeks away from being out on my own for the first time ever. The apartment was picked out. The deposit, (including the one for the dog) was paid. I was attending the local community college as a graphic arts major and mostly paying my own way between a crappy telemarketing job, an itty-bitty scholarship, and my Grandparent's generous help with books and supplies. The future was so bright, I had to wear shades.
And, by some stroke of luck… or perhaps fate, I’d found my dog.
Again.
I didn’t put much faith in fate back then. Didn’t put faith in much of anything, really.
I’d first met Riff in early summer of the year before. A friend told me about a litter of borzoi pups across the river in the other town. I had to go see- it was a moral imperative. I loved borzois! As a kid, I’d worked at a kennel and scooped a lot of poop just for the privilege of hanging around the borzois. The first time I laid eyes on one, I had the strangest feeling. I’d always wanted a dog of my own, but until I was eye to eye with a borzoi, my “dog wanting” never had any focus. My instant devotion to the breed went beyond their classic beauty. It was something about their personality, their sensitivity. From the first moment I rested a hand on a narrow borzoi skull and ruffled those velvety ears, I made up my mind that I was going to have one, someday.
When I'd looked at the litter playing on the lady’s lawn, I'd thought that someday just might be right then. There had been fourteen pups- all had survived, but about half had gone on to their new homes already. They were about twelve weeks old. Like all borzois that age, they were all nothing but feet, legs, elbows, tail and nose. And so cute I could barely stand it! I waded in, like someone who had died and gone to heaven.
I’d kind of held a picture in my minds eye of a white dog… my favorite at the kennel had been a big majestic white male, and I had mourned him long and hard when he died unexpectedly of torsion just after his fourth birthday. He had been an exceptionally handsome dog, with soft eyes and a regal bearing. But he’d been kind, too, with a beauty that went far deeper than his pretty face and sleek lines.
There was only one white male in the litter frolicking around on the lawn in front of me. He was a sturdy little guy. Broad chest and big feet that promised size later. But I couldn’t get my hands on him. Two little bitch pups were wrestling for control of my lap. Also, a smaller tri-color male with sable spots and a high wild tail had my sleeve in his mouth and wouldn’t let go. Every time I reached for the all white male, the other one clamped down and shook.
“Dang it… let go, little guy!”
The puppy didn't growl, so much as sound like a person saying "Grrr!" It completely cracked me up!
I gently deposited the bitch pups on the ground, and pried the other male off my arm. He was cute, and I liked his outgoing, “in your face” personality. He looked me in the eyes and began to yap. I stood up and ignored him, heading for the one I was there to see. He followed, clamping onto the hem of my skirt with glee. I did my best to ignore the little pest that was ravaging my garment, with his playful snorts, tugs and stomps, but as I got near enough to introduce myself to the white pup, the little pest let me go and chased his brother away.
Defeated, I sat back down- only to be swarmed in an avalanche of puppies that weren't the ones I wanted to see!
I have always thought that lots of times the puppies pick their owners, but I'd held a picture of a white borzoi in my mind's eye for so long it was hard to mentally look away. And I had to admit that, despite the random antics of the rest of the litter, the sable spotted male kept returning with a persistance that was kind of alarming, for a borzoi.
I'd been around enough border collies to know "willful" when I saw it. The little guy wanted his chance, and he was going to have it! Although he wasn’t what I was looking for, he wasn’t going to let it rest until he got what he wanted. I reached out and snagged him, pulling him into my lap. He looked unabashedly into my eyes while I looked him over, wondering if I could overlook his color. He was mostly white, to be sure, but he had black spots covering both ears and going down the sides of his face, stopping above his eyes like eyebrows. He was spotted on his back, too, but the spots were black, with golden tan hairs underneath. It was an interesting color combination, and one I'd seen before but never paid close attention to. I think technically he'd be called a tri-color black and tan sable on white.
The pup had a positively lovely head- very classic with dark eyes and so much eye pigment he looked like Cleopatra had done his makeup. Nice ear carriage, too. A little big, but nicely folded. The picture went straight down hill from there. Although his rear end was adequate, his shoulder was very upright, which promised choppy front end movement. Also, he had a kink in the end of his tail, which he carried way too high to be correct and he had a chest so narrow it looked like both his front legs were coming out of the same hole. You could see his heart beat in his armpit behind his front legs.
“Definitely not show quality.” I muttered. But when I released him from my exam he stood still, looking me in the eye for a second before climbing back into my lap. Then he sat down, snuggled in, and stayed still. Facing out with his back to me, he watched his litter-mates with a tangible air of superiority. When the two bitch pups came near, he yapped at them. I had officially become "his property."
I found myself considering the future. His conformation was less than promising- it spoke of possible problems later with arthritis. But by the time he was old enough to need extra attention from the vet, I’d be established enough to afford it. Besides, being narrow and shoulder upright wasn’t the end of the world. His hocks and stifles looked good, to my untrained eye. Front narrow sometimes got better with exercise. Plus he was smart... and funny!
“So, I thought you wanted a white one?” the breeder said. She’d been standing behind me quietly.
“Don’t think it was up to me today.” I answered. I was glad she couldn’t see my face… I was grinning like an idiot.
“Not planning to show, are you?”
“Nope.”
And that was that. I carried him inside, mostly ‘cause I couldn’t bear to set him down. I met his parents- it had been an accidental breeding of two unrelated bloodlines, which explained the inconsistency in the quality of puppies. The male was a stunning dog, all white. A quick scan of his papers revealed he had names on this papers I recognized. My heart sang!
The dam of the pups was rather unimpressive. A scrawny, poor quality rescue bitch that had accidentally gotten bred before she could be spayed. A big “oops” to be sure. But I didn’t care. That puppy was the One.
I left a $20 deposit and a promise to return as quickly as possible. The apartment I was staying in with my aunt had a liberal pet policy the last time I had checked. I was staying in the unfinished basement, so there was nothing to destroy during the housebreaking process, and it was likely we’d be relocating before management suspected how large he was going to get. I left, narrowing down my list of puppy names. “Vlad” -‘cause it sounded Russian. I liked "Ivan" too- that had been the call name of my favorite at the kennel years before. Or “Riff,” from a really sad childrens book about a borzoi, by Lynn Hall.
I headed right away for the apartment office, but I had been in for a surprise- and not a nice one, either. The apartment complex had changed the pet rules since I'd last checked. No dogs were allowed at all anymore, unless you had a grandfather clause.
I was absolutely crushed, but I couldn't think of any way around the problem. So, I called the breeder back and told her what had happened. She was sympathetic and even offered to give my deposit back. I remember being torn- I wanted to see him again, but to see him and know I’d have to let him go?
Ouch.
I ended up going anyway. Cried onto the top of his spotted little head. Got my $20 back, and a load of heartbreak that never quite went away. A couple weeks later the breeder called to tell me that I shouldn’t worry. He’d been placed with a nice family with a big yard. I tried to be happy for him, but I couldn’t quite muster it.
And time passed. That could very well have been the end of the story. Stuff like that happens all the time. But not that time…
About 6 months later I had stayed up way too late, playing Dungeons and Dragons with my friends. Too much Dr. Pepper, I guess, or maybe I was just due for some big cosmic break, ‘cause the timing was good. I dreamed that I bought a Sunday paper, and there was a borzoi in the pets section for sale. Borzoi are very rare- usually only one or so a year show up in the local paper. But, when I woke I remembered the dream and picked up a paper when I was in the store getting some more Dr. Pepper that morning. As the dream foretold, there was a borzoi. And I think I still have the clipping.
At first, I didn’t put two and two together. The puppy I had fallen for a few months ago was a “hold in your arms” size fellow. He couldn’t be a 32” at the shoulder, 10 month tri-color male. It didn't even register in my brain as a possibility! I made an appointment to go see- mostly because I figured I had to. You don’t get handed a dream that good and just walk away without seeing it through.
I knocked on the door a couple days later. There was no barking, only the screaming of kids from somewhere within the depths of the McMansion. I felt uncomfortable, and sad, and I didn't know why. But the door opened, and the lady beckoned me in.
The borzoi stood like a statue across the room. Ears alert, eyes intense. Almost vibrating with energy. He was breathtaking… young and still puppyish, but handsome. And he watched me like he expected me to evaporate.
“Come on, boy.” his owner coaxed. “Come and meet…”
The dog exploded into action. He covered the living room in three large bounds, leaping into my arms with this strange, keening cry. He hit me so hard I bounced off the wall in the entry way, hit me so hard I could barely breathe. Or, maybe I couldn’t breathe ‘cause I was laughing so hard. It was my puppy, and he remembered me even before I remembered him! Laugh, cry, slobber. It was great!
His poor owner! She kept trying to drag him off me, but she didn’t have the strength- besides, I was encouraging him. She kept apologizing for him, saying he was terrible about jumping on people. Finally, I took the course of least resistance and sat down on the floor with him. He grinned, wiggled and made “talking” noises at me.
“He sure likes you.” said his owner. She kept commenting over and over how she hadn't ever seen him carry on over anyone like this before. I personally think she was anticipating the sale. “He usually doesn’t warm up to strangers right away…”
I laughed out loud, still in shock at my incredible luck. “I’m not a stranger.” I told her. Just to be sure, I checked for the kink in his tail tip. Yup. It was definitely my pup.
Well, the question from then on was not whether or not I wanted him- I think I might have even stolen him from that point on, if I had to! However, as I was in the process of moving to an apartment by myself, I had a lot of things to arrange before I could take him. Boarding, for one. Double confirming the pet policy at my new place, for another. I decided immediately I'd dump that apartment if I had to. There was absolutely NO way I was going to let my dog go again.
And so, a week later, I was driving to a boarding kennel on the far fringes of the big city, with an enormous grin on my face. The world sure looked brighter with a borzoi in my back seat!
To read the next story, click ---> HERE!
All content (c) C.T. Griffith, 2010. All rights reserved.
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